Keepers of the Lost City

7 Trouble from Down Under

Under the buzzing white light of Storage 4, Nina and Purdue deliberated on the contents of the letter and its unlikely mistakes.

“So what is west of Argentina?” Sam chipped in while the other two were talking. They halted their discussion and looked at Sam. He added, “Perhaps that lad is not as dumb as we think, hey?”

Purdue gave him his full attention. “Meaning?”

Sam shrugged. “Believe it or not, but many times I have used my cleverness to infiltrate organizations and drug rings by pretending to be stupid. That way, they would never see me as a threat. People will sooner trust an idiot because smart people usually end up dead.”

“That did not help our friend here,” Nina said nonchalantly.

“I know,” Sam replied, “but what if this German soldier knew that he was going to die, and decided to leave some kind of clue. There would be no better way than to conceal tactical information in a soppy letter to his bird, right?”

Purdue’s face lit up. “Nina, let’s look at it again. I have a notion on what the bad grammar could be about.”

“A cipher?” she asked.

“My God, I love the two of you,” Purdue grinned.

“Invoice will be mailed to you,” Sam jested.

“I don’t recognize any familiar ciphers in what he did here, Purdue,” she said. “Do you think he used something of his own?”

“That is possible,” Purdue guessed. “But at Oxford, when I was there to attend a symposium on electrical engineering a few years ago, I met a man who knew of secondary level ciphers used specifically during secret operations.”

“Great! Call him. Maybe he can shed light on this,” Nina suggested.

But Purdue shook his head. “We can’t. He was murdered shortly after we attended the 2012 Bilderberg Conference in Chantilly together. I always knew that his expertise in covert communication would make him a liability.”

“So, what are you planning to do?” Sam asked.

“Maybe I can get his widow to give me his hard drive or relevant books?” Purdue reckoned.

“Why don’t you just hack into it?” Sam suggested casually. “God knows you are the man for the job.”

“He would never have that kind of information on his computer, Sam, I can assure you,” Purdue replied. “Let me see if I can get you that book, Nina. I trust you will be able to manage without my help?”

“Of course,” she said.

“I mean, ciphers are not necessarily historical in nature, so it might be a bit out of your avenue. However, your historical skill will be invaluable to regulate any pertinent details from the message,” he explained to Nina.

“I get it, Purdue,” she smiled warmly. “Get me the book and I’ll get on it. No offence, but I would love to go home sooner than later.”

“Not me,” Sam said. “I like it here. The cooking is so much better than my microwave gourmet.”

Purdue smiled, “And the Scotch is free.”

“There you go,” Sam chuckled with Purdue.

“Please excuse me. I have some lawyers at my Old Town offices, so I will get my assistant to promptly contact Dr. Williams’ widow for the cipher, while I arrange for the bodies to be collected tomorrow,” Purdue sighed, suddenly looking a bit wan with stress.

He left the room. He heard Nina whisper, “Oh my God, I hope he is not being chased by those entitled bastards again. Do you think he is in trouble?”

Sam answered quietly. “Leave it. It is Purdue’s business. You don’t get to step on this many toes if you don’t have a myriad of business ties with entire contents of the chamber pot, you know.”

By now Purdue was out of earshot, and he asked Charles to make sure that his overnight bag was ready, just in case.

“Sir, shall I ask Lillian not to hold your dinner in the oven, then?” Charles asked, appropriately keeping his voice low.

“I think so, Charles, thank you,” Purdue answered before getting into his favorite Hummer. “I hope this case does not require me to travel and I still hope to dine here tonight.”

Soon after he left his gates, Purdue called his assistant, Jane, to get in touch with the widow of Dr. Williams to arrange for the cipher book.

He drove to the offices of Hayden & McCleod, his attorneys in Scotland, and the firm that summoned him to attend to a ‘small matter’ that came to their attention. Purdue was above worry, in the way that most men were. With his boundless financial troves and genius, he rarely had anything to fear that was born from the world of mankind. In fact, he was considered one of the highest order of the insanely rich and powerful, although he had proved himself a rogue from the first attempt at assimilating him into the New World Order.

There was just too much adventure, empathy, and passion in David Purdue’s veins, to adhere to the rules of common men such as himself, with equal or less to offer. By the sound of his lawyer’s voice on the phone earlier, the matter in question was not paramount, but important enough not to be ignored. It was usually custom between Purdue and Robert Knox, Esq. to meet at Wrichtishousis to take care of legal matters, but with Sam and Nina at the manor, Purdue thought it better to conduct his business at the lawyer’s offices.

When he arrived at the opulent office, Purdue was met by Robert at the lobby.

“Hey, old boy,” Purdue greeted him.

“David,” Knox smiled uncomfortably. In silence he gestured for his client to come with him as they walked to one of the boardrooms. As they walked through the reception area, Knox loudly requested, “Mr. Purdue, please follow me.” His voice was tense, something uncharacteristic of the barrister who could easily have the devil on his knees on a good day in court.

“What is going on, Robert?” Purdue asked, but his lawyer only cast him a look of warning.

Through a massive, broad hallway, they passed without conversation. Overhead, the golden inlays of the ceiling glimmered in the sharp lighting of grand chandeliers that lit the intricate designs of the thick carpets that stretched from wall to wall. The building was very old, renovated into something magnificent and lavish to accommodate the footsteps of the affluent and powerful. The tall billionaire looked at the seated people as he traversed the hallway, all painfully smart in dress and conduct, waiting for their appointments.

When they ascended the steps up the widening staircase, where the carpet was the hue of dry blood and the bannister of ivory looked like the ribs of a whale, Knox turned to Purdue and said, “Whatever they say, just play it cool, agree and tell them you will need two weeks to sort it out.”

“To sort what out?” Purdue inquired urgently. “Listen, Robert, what is going on here?”

“David,” the lawyer implored with a stern countenance, “just do what I tell you. Use that charm of yours to fool them into thinking that their case is important. Trust me.”

Completely bowled over by his lawyer’s words and odd behavior, Purdue heeded the man’s advice and prepared himself for the presentation that no doubt awaited. They entered the luxurious boardroom, and immediately Purdue felt the cold of what was not the air-conditioning, but the clients of the opposing party. The two people sitting at the end of the table did not even attempt to lighten their intimidating appearance, but David Purdue was not easily intimidated.

“Good afternoon,” he smiled.

The woman bore a striking resemblance to a bitch called Maria, the villainous harpy that served the Order of the Black Sun and its spoiled sons. Maria was proudly involved in the attempted murder of Purdue and Sam Cleave aboard a Spanish trawler just over a month before. It was uncanny, but Purdue tried not to show his befuddlement. The woman glared at him with no display of emotion whatsoever.

They merely nodded to acknowledge him. “Good day, Mr. Purdue,” their representative reciprocated the pleasantries. With the familiar looking woman was an older man of color, but Purdue could not place his ethnicity. It was a strange occurrence, if it was indeed Maria, to be in the company of a man like this. The Italian villainess Purdue got to know was the archetypal Nazi drone, and would never deign to keep company with a man of color. For a moment, Purdue thought of just coming out and asking the man of which nationality he was.

“So, you are the genius inventor?” the man suddenly said to Purdue, snapping him right out of his inner tug-of-war of propriety. “You are the explorer who rips the holy relics of cultures from the wombs of their graves for money? What did you invent this time to make you more money for your next pillage, Mr. Purdue?” With that accent, the man’s mysterious ethnicity was undeniable.

“Ah, you’re Aboriginal!” Purdue exclaimed without thinking. The other people in the room gawked at his response in silent horror. However, if their brainwashed morals felt the need to be offended on his behalf, the man did not share it. He responded to Purdue’s utterance by sarcastically acting out mock surprise. “A genius, hey, McKenzie?”

Ben McKenzie, the opposing counsel who was the only one cordial enough to greet Purdue earlier, rose and buttoned his blazer. He addressed Purdue, who had just sat down with Robert Knox next to him, and retrieved some documents from his narrow messenger case. At the same time, he introduced his two clearly hostile clients. “Mr. Purdue, this is Miss Louisa Palumbo, Department of Nature Conservation in Adelaide,” he gestured to the stern woman. “And this is Mr. Eddie Olden, from the Wilderness Society.”

Before Purdue, the lawyer set down two small silver containers, along with a dossier marked ‘Scorpio Majorus — lawsuit’. “The depositions are in there, along with the laboratory results from two different institutions from Brisbane and Perth.”

Scorpio Majorus was an affiliate company of Purdue’s main holdings, of which he was the CEO. The company comprised of a chain of medical facilities and forensic laboratories, as well as three drug production companies, mainly for research purposes and testing of new drugs for terminal diseases.

Knox immediately grabbed the file to check the papers filed while Purdue scrutinized the little boxes. From his expertise, he recognized them as biological samples. It was concerning, but he was not easily shaken by threats of lawsuits.

“Let’s cut to the chase,” he said. “What are these samples of and what is the nature of your complaint?”

“Mr. Purdue, let me do the talking, please,” Robert Knox requested in a professional tone, while his eyes scurried across the pages’ fine print.

“With respect, Robert, how much do you know about chemistry and biology?” Purdue asked. “Let me talk to the people myself. They are sitting right in front of me, and they are obviously upset about something chemical, otherwise I would not be handed samples, would I?”

With his own brand of firm conduct, Purdue regarded the complainants with no apprehension. He was tired of being nice, or maybe it was the appearance of the woman that automatically made him sour, but he was done being patronized. Purdue waited, switching his attention between Palumbo and Olden to assert his own intimidation. He was, after all, a very wealthy and influential man. Purdue’s status was of such a level that people like them should have felt privileged to address him directly. And he knew it.

Stammering, suddenly a bit less condescending, Eddie Olden shifted in his chair. One glance to his lawyer gave him the green light to speak freely about his complaint. “We have discovered a scourge among the wildlife in our area, Mr. Purdue. Livestock and natural predators alike are dying from poisoning, as per our biological submissions to you,” he presented, pointing to the sample boxes. “The poison was analyzed and found to be a product of Scorpio Majorus, called ‘Pancreo D’. It is apparently a chemical compound used in current experimentation for pancreatic-based testing.”

“That is correct, but it is not an isolated product… and it is not for sale. My companies use it as an ingredient only,” Purdue explained.

“Well, have a look at the documentation, Mr. Purdue,” Louisa suggested calmly. “Your company is behind a spate of illegal scrapping enterprises in Australia.”