Keepers of the Lost City

9 Closing the Door

When Purdue arrived back at Wrichtishousis, he evaded most of his staff altogether and headed up to his private study. But on his way there, his assistant, Jane, found him on the landing of the first story. Like the rest of them, she had grown fond of Sam’s big old cat, and the feline was dosing happily against her bosom.

“Mr. Purdue,” she smiled, but he was unexpectedly elusive in his reply.

“Hi Jane. Listen, please excuse me from my guests for tonight. I seem to be coming down with something,” he explained briskly, eagerly trying to pass her to get to the beckoning double doors of his study. Jane stepped in front of him, keeping her actions subordinate.

“They left, sir,” she reported.

“They what?” he frowned, clutching the valise that bore his new worries. “Why?”

“Dr. Gould felt that you would not need her before you have received the samples back from Dr. Harris, so she asked me to apologize on her behalf. She left the letter translation here for you, and asked that you call her as soon as she is needed again,” Jane elucidated.

“Fair enough,” Purdue replied.

“As for Mr. Cleave, he was called out on assignment by a friend from the Post, to advise on an important report they wish to cover…,” she paused, “concerning you.”

“Excuse me?” he asked with wide eyes. It was turning out to be a miserable day indeed.

“Apparently you made the Channel 8 news,” she sighed, looking very serious. “BBC Alba apparently asked for Mr. Cleave’s advice on a report about Scorpio Majorus’ alleged involvement in the culling of Australian wildlife?”

“Oh God, it already got out?” Purdue muttered, running his long fingers along the side of his head. “This is a set-up, you know, or else someone in our ranks are sabotaging our work to ruin my reputation.”

“Do you think… they… are involved in this, sir?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and wandering eyes. Of course, she was referring to the Order of the Black Sun. She had been Purdue’s secretary long enough to have learned of their obsession with destroying him.

“My dear, I can almost guarantee it,” he hissed. “Please tell Charles that I will be unavailable for all calls until tomorrow, would you?”

“Of course, Mr. Purdue,” she said. “Now please, go and relax. We’ll get back on the horse again tomorrow, aye?”

“Absolutely,” he smiled wryly. “Good evening!”

“Good evening, Mr. Purdue,” she answered as she descended the stairs to find Charles, while Purdue rushed to his reclusive study, where a fire was burning in the hearth already.

“Ah, Charles, you are a god amongst men,” Purdue whispered as he entered.

Once inside, he locked his door and opened his balcony doors for some fresh, cool Edinburgh air, and then proceeded to pour what bartenders did not have a name for. It was strong and it defied measurement, but it was just what Purdue needed to still the questions and subdued anger he felt after the meeting at Hayden & McCleod.

He had the samples with him and had his lawyer make a copy of all the documentation in the dossier. After drinking down a considerable amount of the cognac in his glass, he picked up the phone and dialed the cell phone number of the freelance forensic expert who was working on the mummified tissue analysis.

“Hello, Harris,” he said when the man answered the phone. “I know this is probably inconveniencing you, but I need you to run a secondary submission of samples for me. I need these results yesterday, understand? I will send Charles to bring them to you, and this test is just between you and I, please.” He took another big swig of the cognac, pulling a dreadful face as the alcohol assaulted his throat. “This analysis is priority. It is evidence in a court case, so I need you to keep this secret, alright? Nobody, and I mean nobody, at the lab is to know that you are running these tests, not even Sharon. Do you understand? I have reason to believe that some of my pharmaceutical employees are not as trustworthy as I thought. Thank you, Harris.”

Purdue always retreated to his study during those rare occasions when he felt a bit defeated by the world he ran so easily. He knew the cognac was a bad idea, but with the day he had, he needed it. Lawsuits rarely intimidated him. If the mood took him, David Purdue could buy entire countries, so he was hardly ever concerned about being sued. But what bothered him about this case, apart from Miss Palumbo’s unfortunate resemblance, was the fact that a chemical meant to be used for the betterment of medicine was being abused in his name.

Thunder rumbled gently over Edinburgh as Purdue unbuttoned his shirt. Already feeling lightheaded from the onset of his inebriation, he hastened to the shower in the en suite bathroom, to wash off the impending misery. His study darkened under the moving clouds as the night drew nearer. The hot water from the large, square aluminum showerhead soothed his skin in a cloud of steam. With eyes closed in reminiscence, he replayed the meeting at the attorney’s office several times, trying to find an explanation behind the problem.

All he could think of was that someone was being paid once more to fuck him, but he had no idea where to start.

‘Let it go,’ his inner voice recommended. ‘There is nothing you can do about any of it until you get those samples back, so you may as well just relax.’

It was good advice, he thought. Purdue hoped that Sam would know best how to delay or suspend completely, the supposed article aimed at burying his business reputation. He refused to be vilified, especially by nefarious institutions attacking innocent organizations to get to him. The Black Sun was behind it, he knew, and he knew that they would stop at nothing to force his investors and clients to turn their backs on him. They tried it by confiscating his holdings and property once, and they failed. He dried his hair, leaving the strands wet and wild before looking in the mirror.

His pale blue eyes regarded his reflection. “And they will fail again.”

Three days later, a special container truck arrived at Wrichtishousis.

“What is this?” Lily, the housekeeper, asked Charles. They both stood in the upstairs lobby window, looking down at the garden. At the massive cast iron gates of Purdue’s property, the private security were checking the paperwork.

“It is the collectors from Spain,” Charles replied dryly in his posh tone. “People from the Historical Foundation of Barcelona. They have come to pick up the collection of mummies from the boss, Lillian.”

“Oh thank God,” she sighed, rolling her eyes in relief. “I have not been able to shut me eyes at night since those things came here.”

He looked at her with a stone face. “Do not venture to imply that you are superstitious, Lillian.” She knew the stiff British butler well, and this was his professional swing at humor.

“Not superstitious. Don’t be daft,” she scoffed, looking very unconvincing. “Sleeping on the same grounds as the dead is like sleeping in a bloody cemetery. Those damned things turned this grand mansion into nothing but a glorified mausoleum, Charles. Not to mention that these are the remains of godless Nazi’s!”

He had no response, but he looked amused as he turned back to the window to see when they’d come up. “I shall go and tell Mr. Purdue that they are here.”

The rigid butler went to call on his employer to announce the arrival of the authorities with the Spanish representatives. Purdue was already dressed for the reception of the foundation’s delegates, ready to deliver to them the cooked up footage Sam had edited from their ordeal in the Alboran Sea. Purdue had mentioned nothing about any additional finds, such as the letters, logbooks, and artifacts. These items were strictly for his own ends, to serve the investigation into their cause of death that he pursued solely for his own curiosity.

“Thank you, Charles,” he told the butler. “I will meet them down in Storage 4.”

Purdue had, in the last three days, emptied the storage chamber that doubled as a document analysis laboratory. All the items not listed, everything apart from the human remains he was allowed to study for a limited time, had been removed and kept in another chamber under the ground floor. Under the pale white fluorescent lights of Storage 4 Purdue waited for his guests.

Charles led them down the sub-level staircase of cement, from where this section of the mansion was the polar opposite of the rest of the house. From lavish, large hallways and staircases, fierce high ceilings and priceless drapes, furniture and floors, the sub-level morphed into narrow mazes of arching concrete ceilings. The floors were of crude tiling to facilitate the transporting of heavy materials, if need be, and the on the left side, several doors to various laboratories and storage rooms lined the wall.

“This is very impressive,” Purdue heard a man say, as their footsteps clapped on the hard, cold stairs. He heard them come down the main corridor toward the room where he waited. At last, two men in suits appeared at the doorway. Behind them, a group of five workmen, dressed in overalls, waited.

“Señor Cruz, of the Spanish Embassy in Edinburgh,” Charles introduced, “and Dr. Martino, from the Historical Foundation of Barcelona, sir.” Charles gestured for them to enter, and then departed on Purdue’s silent order.

“Wonderful to finally meet you, Mr. Purdue,” Señor Cruz smiled as he shook hands with Purdue. “I always see the headlines and hear of the adventures on your expeditions, but although we live in the same city, I have never had the pleasure.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Señor Cruz,” Purdue replied cordially. “And you, Dr. Martino.”

The scholar from the historical foundation seemed kind, but reserved. “My English is not good, Señor Purdue. I am sorry for that,” he smiled sheepishly. “But I understand much, so you can talk.”

“Gracias, Dr. Martino,” Purdue chuckled. He turned to the neatly piled and catalogued caskets. “Well, as promised, your inventory. We have taken the liberty of placing them in separate wooden boxes and we tried to disturb their original positions as little as possible during the examination.”

Dr. Martino babbled to the men to start loading the boxes while Señor Cruz spoke to Purdue.

“Did you find anything of interest during your analysis, Mr. Purdue?” Señor Cruz asked.

Purdue vowed to keep all results secret, if any, therefore he thought it wise to assume that the investigation yielded nothing on a chemical level. Only the results Harris were working on would provide more details on that.

“Unfortunately not,” Purdue lied, thinking of the invaluable items found on two of the mummies — the love letter to Heike and the logbook of an officer they could not identify. “But I suppose it is for the better. I am sure the German government will not want their fallen soldiers exploited.”

The two Spanish men exchanged glances. Dr. Martino nodded as his colleague replied, “Of course, yes. We have to meet with the German ambassador in two days in Madrid to discuss the fate of the Nazi soldiers.”

Something in the man’s voice held a hint of uncertainty, but Purdue reckoned that it was just the looming meeting with the German ambassador that made him nervous. By the time the workmen carried out the last caskets, Purdue could not help but feel relieved when he closed the door behind the delegation. Returning the remains would hopefully close the book on the death-defying chapter that he wished to leave behind once and for all. Of all the close calls he had suffered, being keelhauled was quite enough.