Keepers of the Lost City

14 Fortress Breached

Deciphering the letter to Heike was not an urgent matter, but Purdue had set his passion on it. Like a Pitbull locking its jaws on its target, he could not let go of something he was curious about until its mystery was solved satisfactorily. This was such an instance. It was a find he had almost died for, that Sam had literally almost died for, and that alone gave it debt. Had he simply dug it up, the letter would not merit his attention in excess of a quick examination and a bit of research. However, with all the hell Purdue and his friends had endured since these Nazi remains were found, and now a young woman he did not even know personally lying in Intensive Care, he had to gut this thing right to the core.

Sam called sometime during the night, making sure that Purdue was aware of the assignment he had been hired for.

“You know I only took this gig to make sure that all information about you would be controlled, at least on my part,” he told Purdue.

“Thank you, Sam. I appreciate the shield. Incidentally, what do they want you to tell the world about me?” he asked, watching Bruichladdich sleep under the drawing room coffee table.

“I think they want a full-blown expose to implicate you, or Scorpio Majorus as a whole, in a culling scandal that is currently being perpetrated on a large scale in Australia. So far, I have only conducted an interview with Eddie Olden from the Wildlife this-and-that, but I will screen their opinions when I edit and compile the report,” Sam informed Purdue. “First have to do the second part for them in a day or two, with that Palumbo chick.”

“So, pretty much what they discussed with me,” Purdue stated. “They think one of our pharmaceutical components are used as poison to kill animals.”

“Aye. Is it true?” Sam asked.

“No,” Purdue exclaimed, swirling the whisky in his glass. “Well, it is not supposed to be used on its own, Sam. I have never before authorized anything harmful in any of my businesses to be used for such nefarious ends. Especially animals. My God, I might not have any pets, but I would never endorse such an atrocity against animals.”

“Well, you have a pet for the foreseeable future,” Sam jested.

“Oh!” Purdue chuckled. “Yes, Bruich. I am just looking at him, napping. Lily actually took a great liking to the old thing, so he is being more than pampered, believe you me.”

“Thanks for babysitting him, Purdue,” Sam said.

“No worries,” Purdue replied. “After all, my constant expeditions are mostly the reason you leave him a temporary orphan, usually. It is the least I could do. Have you heard from Nina?”

Sam sounded exhausted. After a long yawn he answered, “She sent me a text this morning about something she found in one of those books she got with the house, remember? When she moved in, she found that small library of Third Reich occult stuff…?”

“I do remember!” Purdue agreed. “And the diaries of SS officers. What did she find?”

“She told me that she was waiting for you to get that cipher book for her and then she intended to cross reference it with some of the other diaries. Apparently, a lot of those personal accounts in that library were writing in appalling grammar.”

Purdue was suddenly reminded of the terrible thing that happened around his request for that book. “About that,” he sighed. “I seem to be lawsuit chum these days. Just closely averted another.”

He briefly told Sam about the young Williams girl and her dreadful experience. “So we have lost that book to someone who knew that I wanted it. Christ, Sam! Sometimes I think the whole world is out to get me. With the laboratories leaking poison to some imbeciles to destroy my business reputation and people getting bludgeoned and left for dead to obtain my resources, it leaves me quite uncertain, you know?”

“Look, I don’t blame you,” Sam replied. “But if I were you, I would see what the common denominator is in these problems. How could someone know about the book? I hope you did not e-mail the widow. When it comes to technology — and you of all people know this — everyone is watching from somewhere.”

“We spoke on the phone,” Purdue told him, but his statement revealed to Sam that it gave birth to a notion that could present his answer.

“Aye? And?” Sam pressed.

“Sam, I will talk to you later, old boy. Have a good one and get some sleep, alright?” Purdue concluded the call, leaving Sam to speculate on his epiphany. He frantically searched his call box, the one where he had spoken to Mrs. Williams. It was the closest to him, so he started there. “They bugged my line, the bastards. They bugged my line, my secure line!”

In a midnight frenzy, Purdue jogged down to his techno-lab to get his electrical tools. He felt miserable about his privacy being violated, especially since he was a technological genius, having invented some of the world’s tightest security systems and network surveillance material. Now he found his own house intruded upon by means of what was probably one of his own systems. This was what he did not want to share with Sam over the phone, otherwise the culprit would know that he knew.

One by one, he eviscerated the five strategically places phone boxes throughout the vast mansion. He had to find it! He had to find some — any — bugging device, because the alternative implicated his own house staff and he rued such an idea. Like a madman he fiddled, fumbled, and disassembled each box. Of course, he bore in mind that tapping his phone was not the only way of listening to his conversations, but he had to eliminate this possibility first.

If his landline was not being tapped, Purdue reckoned that a more old-fashioned approach may be at work. The thought that there could be an innumerable amount of microphones hidden brought him immense dread. God knows where throughout his abode. It would take up precious time he did not have, to seek them all out.

“Nope, not this one either,” he sighed after he had ripped the second box apart to scrutinized its contents. Purdue left them like that, electing not to reassemble them until he had gotten to the bottom of the setback and detected the spy. He constantly imagined Jane abusing her privilege as his personal assistant, but he did not want it to be true. Other than her, he could not imagine dear Lillian or the sacredly loyal Charles ever doing this.

For the next three hours, Purdue spent his time clipping wires, redirecting data and coding within his own servers. By the time the sun bled over the moody morning sky, he felt much like the crawling thunderclouds that smothered the light with regular intervals. His brain was wracked. By now he had practically reintroduced his old phone system to the circuits, but still he had not found the peace of mind he sought. Yet, he had not located a definite culprit, which still left him feeling vulnerable and it was annoying him no end.

“Good morning, sir,” Charles greeted. “Sir, may I say that you look in dire need of sleep.”

“That is because I AM in dire need of sleep, my dear Charles,” the boss sighed, leaning against the mantle with a cup of black coffee for medicine. “I think someone is eavesdropping on us and I spent the night trying to find the problem.”

The astonished butler looked around the place where a mess of wires, bolts, and motherboards lay scattered. Small steel pliers and delicate screwdrivers were all over the tables and chairs and under dirt rags. Soldering irons in various sizes lay near the respective phone boxes and the digital alphanumeric pads displayed nothing. Charles said nothing, but his mind raced. He was trying to think of a way in which such an intrusion could be facilitated, but he knew little of the genius work his employer did.

“Shall I get you some breakfast, sir?” he asked.

Purdue looked up at him, looking positively insane. He reminded Charles of the archetypical mad scientist, with his unkempt white hair bristling around his face and his bloodshot eyes staring widely at his butler. A momentary pause almost short-circuited Purdue’s mind before he recalled the initial request. “Yes! Yes, thank you, Charles. I think I need a spot of English tea before I try to conquer this day.”

“Very well, sir,” the butler nodded, heading for the kitchen.

Purdue figured a few minutes of mental vacancy would do him well. He went to sit down in the drawing room to give Bruich a bit of a cuddle.

“Come on, old boy,” he groaned, lifting the heavy feline onto his lap. “I don’t recall you being this heavy. Maybe the lack of sleep did me in more than I thought.”

Lazily, he stroked the lush ginger hair of the big cat. “My God, I think I am prone to falling asleep if you lie on my lap, Bruich. You are so warm! And in this godless cold weather it is a godsend.”

Under Purdue’s palm, he could feel the cat exude intense heat, while its body was quivering. It was odd that it could be feeling cold while it felt this hot, but then again, Purdue had never owned a cat, so he figured that it was normal.

“Good morning, sir,” Lily chimed, tray in hand.

“Morning, Miss Lilian,” Purdue greeted, but he appeared preoccupied. Of course, the evidence of his preoccupation was making a mess of the whole house, but she could see that something was puzzling him. “How well do you know cats?”

She shrugged, “I suppose, as much as the average person, sir.”

“Are they supposed to be shaking?” he asked, and he put the cat down on the other couch, between the comfortable cushions.

“Not that I know of,” she started saying, placing the tray on the small table next to his chair. Before she could elaborate, Bruich convulsed and proceeded to vomit profusely on the couch.

“Oh my God!” Lily exclaimed. “What is wrong with him?”

Purdue was speechless, feeling an inkling of panic grip him. “I don’t… know. He was shaking when I held him. What did we feed him?”

“Cat food,” she replied. “The exact type Mr. Cleave told me to get.”

“He appears to be sick. Lily, can you call a veterinarian, please? Charles!” he called the butler, asking him to take care of the mess and get Sam’s beloved pet to the local vet. He had no idea what ailed the cat, but he had bigger things to worry about. “Charles, don’t worry about the mess I made with the hardware. I shall clean it up myself.”

“Are you sure, sir?” the butler asked as he lifted the sick cat off the couch with a wince. “I can do that once I have taken care of the cat. My staff will have it cleared up in no time…”

“No!” Purdue cried. He looked stressed for a moment, before he calmed down slightly. “No, thank you. I know what was done at each station, you see, so only I know what to clear up and where to put it, understand?”

“I see, sir. Very well,” the butler replied.

Purdue took his tray of breakfast. Looking back at Charles, he added, “And please do not let Mr. Cleave know that his cat is ill.”

Purdue had now lost what he maintained of his frail appetite, so he took his breakfast upstairs to eat in his study.