The Atlantis Scrolls

Chapter 25

Erasmusbrug reached its swan-like neck up to the clear sky above as Agatha’s driver sped over the bridge. She had barely made it to Rotterdam on time because of a flight delay in Bonn, but was now crossing over the Erasmus Bridge, affectionately known as De Zwaan, because of the shape of the bent white pylon holding it, reinforced with cables.

She could not be late or it would be the end of her career as a consultant. What she omitted from her conversations with her brother, was that her client was one Joost Bloem, a world-renowned collector of obscure artifacts. There was no coincidental discovery by a descendant in his grandmother’s attic. The photograph was among the records of a recently deceased antique trader who was unfortunately on the wrong side of Agatha’s client, Dutch representative of the council.

She was well aware that she was working indirectly for the very board of high-level members of the Black Sun organization, who stepped in when there were management issues within the order. They also knew who she was related to, but for some reason there was a neutral approach from both parties. Agatha Purdue dissociated herself and her career from her brother and assured the council that they were in no way affiliated, apart from name, a most regrettable feature on her résumé.

What they did not know, however, was that Agatha hired the very people they had pursued in Bruges to procure the item they sought. It was, in her small way, her gift to her brother to give him and his colleagues a headstart before Bloem’s people deciphered the passage and followed in their tracks to find what Wewelsburg held in its bowels. Other than that, she was only looking out for herself and she did that really well.

Her driver turned the Audi RS5 into the parking area of the Piet Zwart Institute where she was to meet Mr. Bloem and his assistants.

“Thank you,” she said morosely and passed the driver a few Euros for his trouble. His passenger looked sullen, though she was dressed impeccably as a professional archivist and expert advisor on the subject of rare books containing arcane information and historical ledgers in general. He drove off as Agatha entered the Willem de Kooning Academy, the city’s main art school, to meet with her client in the administrative building where her client kept an office. The tall librarian had her hair up in a stylish bun and strode down the wide corridor in a pencil-skirt suit and heels, the very antithesis of the bland recluse she really was.

From the last office on the left, where the drapes on the windows were drawn so that the light barely penetrated, she heard Bloem’s voice.

“Miss Purdue. Right on time, as always,” he said cordially, reaching out both hands to shake hers. Mr. Bloem was extremely attractive, in his early fifties, with fair hair, sporting a slight reddish tint, that fell in long clumps to his collar. Agatha was used to money, coming from a ridiculously wealthy family, but she had to admit that Mr. Bloem’s attire was the pinnacle of style. Had she not been a lesbian, he might well have enticed her. Apparently he was of the same mind, because his lustful blue eyes openly scanned her curvature as he greeted her.

One thing she knew about the Dutch — they were never reserved.

“I believe you have obtained our journal?” he asked as they sat down on opposite sides of his desk.

“Yes, Mr. Bloem. Right here,” she replied. Carefully she placed her leather case on the polished surface and unclipped it. Bloem’s assistant, Wesley, entered the office with a briefcase. He was much younger than his boss, but equally elegant in his choice of clothing. It was a welcome sight after spending so many years in undeveloped countries where a man with socks was considered posh, Agatha thought.

“Wesley, give the lady her money, please,” Bloem exclaimed. Agatha thought him an odd choice for the council, as they were stately, senior men with hardly an ounce of Bloem’s personality or penchant for the dramatic. However, the man had a seat on the board of a prominent art school, so he was bound to be a bit more colorful. She accepted the briefcase from young Wesley and waited for Mr. Bloem to examine his purchase.

“Exquisite,” he gasped in awe as he pulled his gloves from his pocket to handle the piece. “Miss Purdue, aren’t you going to check your money?”

“I trust you,” she smiled, but her body language betrayed her anxiousness. She knew that any affiliate of the Black Sun, no matter how accessible in nature, would be a dangerous individual. Someone of Bloem’s reputation, someone who walked with the council who trumped the other members of the order, would have to be formidably wicked and apathetic by nature. Not once did Agatha allow that fact to slip her mind in exchange for all the pleasantries.

“You trust me!” he exclaimed in his heavy Dutch accent, looking decidedly amused. “My sweet girl, I am the last person you should trust, especially with money.”

Wesley laughed with Bloem as they exchanged mischievous glances. They made Agatha feel a right idiot, a naïve one at that, but she dared not act out in her own condescending way. She was a very sharp tack and she was now in the presence of a new level of bastard that made her insults toward others look weak and juvenile.

“Is that all, then, Mr. Bloem?” she asked in a docile tone.

“Check your money, Agatha,” he suddenly said in a deep, serious voice while his eyes drilled into her. She obliged.

Bloem paged carefully through the codex, looking for the page that was the photograph he had given Agatha. Wesley stood behind him, leering over his shoulder, looking as invested in the writings as his master. Agatha checked that the fee they had agreed on was there. Bloem looked up at her in silence, making her feel dreadfully uncomfortable.

“Is it all there?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Bloem,” she nodded, staring at him like a submissive idiot. It was this look that always caused disinterest from men, but she could not help it. Her brain spiraled and calculated her timing, her body language, and her breathing. Agatha was terrified.

“Always check the case, sweetheart. You never know who is out to fuck you over, right?” he warned, and turned his attentions back to the codex. “Now tell me, before you skip off into the jungle…” he said without looking at her, “how did you come by this relic? How did you manage to find it, I mean?”

His words froze her blood.

Don’t fuck it up, Agatha. Play dumb. Play dumb and all will be fine, she argued in her petrified, throbbing brain. She leaned forward, clasping her hands neatly in her lap.

“I followed the clues in the poem, of course,” she smiled, taking care to say only as much as was needed. He waited; then shrugged, “Just like that?”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a feigned self-assurance that was quite convincing. “I just figured out that it was located in the Angelus Bell at the Cologne Cathedral. Of course it took me quite some time to research and guess most of it before I figured it out.”

“Really?” he smirked. “I have it on good authority that your intelligence surpasses most great minds and that you have an uncanny ability to unravel puzzles, like codes and such.”

“I dabble,” she said plainly. With no idea what he was fishing for, she played it straight and neutral.

“You dabble. Do you dabble in the things your brother dabbles in?” he asked, dropping his eyes to the very poem Nina had translated for her in Thurso.

“I’m not sure I understand,” she answered, her heart pounding erratically.

“Your brother, David. He would love something like this. In fact, he is known to chase after things that aren’t his,” Bloem sneered sarcastically as he caressed the poem under his gloved fingertip.

“He is more of an explorer, I hear. On the other hand, I enjoy the indoor life far more. I don’t share his innate trait for placing himself in peril,” she replied. The mention of her brother already had her anticipating that Bloem suspected her of employing his resources, but he could be bluffing.

“You are the wiser sibling, then,” he declared. “But tell me, Miss Purdue, what kept you from investigating further into the poem that clearly states more than what old Werner snapped on his old Leica III before hiding the journal of Ernaux?”

He knew Werner and he knew Ernaux. He even knew what camera the German was likely to use shortly before he hid the codex during the era of Adenauer and Himmler. Her intellect was far superior to his, but that did not serve her here, because his knowledge was greater. For the first time in Agatha’s life she was cornered in a match of wits because she was unprepared in her assurance that she was smarter than most. Perhaps playing dumb would be the very sign that she was hiding something.

“I mean, what would stop you from going after the very same thing?” he asked.

“Time,” she said with the strong tone reminiscent of her usual confidence. If he suspected her of deviousness, she reckoned that she should admit to being conniving. It would give him reason to believe that she was honest and proud of her abilities, even unafraid in the presence of the likes of him.

Bloem and Wesley gawked at the confident rogue before unleashing their boisterous laughter. Agatha was not used to people and their quirks. She had no idea if they took her seriously or if she was being ridiculed for trying to sound intrepid. Bloem leaned forward over the codex, his devilish appeal rendering her helpless to his charms.

“Miss Purdue, I like you. Seriously, had you not been a Purdue, I would have considered employing you fulltime,” he chuckled. “You are a bloody dangerous cookie, aren’t you? Such a brain with that kind of immorality… I cannot help but admire you for it.”

Agatha elected to say nothing in return, apart from a grateful nod of acknowledgment while Wesley cautiously replaced the codex in the case for Bloem.

Bloem stood up and adjusted his suit. “Miss Purdue, I thank you for your services. You were worth every penny.”

They shook hands and Agatha walked toward the door that Wesley held for her, her briefcase in hand.

“A job well done, I must say… and in record time,” Bloem raved in good spirits.

Although she had concluded her business with Bloem, she hoped she had played her role well.

“But I am afraid I don’t trust you,” he abruptly stated from behind her, and Wesley closed the door.