The Inca Prophecy

27 The Black Disc

The ghastly grin of Purdue and Sam’s captor disappeared as he got to business. He ordered Isabella to pour the two gentlemen some Scotch as a final gesture of courtesy. Truth be told, no matter how Sam and Purdue wanted to play hardball, they both knew they direly needed a few tots of Scotch.

“I will make this quick,” the suave man said after clearing his throat. His hands came together in a spire as he spoke. “My name is Basil Barnard. This is not some James Bond movie, so I shall refrain dragging on the obligatory speech of why this is happening, who I am, and why I hate you. All you have to know is that I am not a patriot, and my grandfather was a great man who had a stake in the very reserve you have been prying into. And that makes it mine.”

“You could always just have secured the find by law, you know,” Purdue informed him. “Then it is yours by law and nobody would be allowed to interfere. Rather ungentlemanly to mow down scores of people who don’t even know who the bloody hell you are, just because you refuse to fork out permit costs and a bit of patience on turnaround.” Purdue paused before insulting the man properly. “Or, can we assume you cannot afford the finances involved for permits?”

Sam added salt to the wound after surveying the two women sitting opposite them at the table. “By the looks of his help, I would say he is not a wealthy man at all.”

Another backhand ripped through Sam’s face as Maria slapped him for it.

“Holy shee-it!” Sam exclaimed. “Are you hiding a cock under that coat, love?”

Maria was known for her powerful assaults in hand-to-hand combat, even if it was only a love tap like this. Stephen had learned that lesson in the airport elevator, and now Sam Cleave knew too. She smiled and lifted her hand.

“Maria!” Barnard cried. “Be a dear and get the ropes ready, will you?”

She nodded and went out to summon the men to prepare for the execution of the two Scottish intruders.

“Mr. Barnard, would your grandfather be the Allied traitor who helped the SS obtain stolen artifacts from Catholic thieves who stole it from the true owners in 1533?” Purdue asked with spiteful civility. But Barnard was cool and unprovoked. In fact, he did not even react with enough passion to make the insult worthwhile.

“Probably him, Purdue,” Sam said. “The Black Sun is not taking care of its legacy, I see. The Nazi afterbirth have to fight for their own treasures. Not like in the old days when the High Command took care of their own. Or do they perhaps only support members worth supporting?”

“You might have a point there,” Purdue answered Sam. “I know the organization to fund all pursuits for ancient relics and give grants for nuclear research, biological agent testing, and other high profile ventures. And I should know. I was once the Renatus of the Black Sun’s organization.”

“One of the best reasons to kill you,” Barnard blandly stated.

Sam quickly intervened. “It means one of two things, Purdue. Either the esteemed Mr. Barnard is not high enough on the food chain for the Black Sun to endorse his endeavors,” Sam turned to address Barnard, “or he is pursuing this hunt without their knowledge.”

Barnard smiled, and those big incisors filled the bottom half of his face in a monstrous way that could have gotten him into a circus if he’d dared to audition. He grinned, but it looked more like a feral primate baring its teeth for battle. “You’ll never know. And you’ll never be able to tell on me, either.” He meant to sound as juvenile as he did, but it was time to stop talking and accompany Sam and Purdue out onto the main deck.

Aptly, the sun was setting on the horizon in line with the distant Iberian landmass when the two doomed men were pushed forward into the hands of their executioners. Maria and Isabelle stood aside for once, allowing the strength of men to seal the fate of men. Two large mariners from Barnard’s gang stripped the two Scots down to nothing but their haircuts and started tying their hands to one another.

“It is probably cold, from what I see,” Maria teased, laughing. “Hell, it’s the Mediterranean, boys, not the North Sea.”

A bout of laughter erupted, but Sam was having none of this. He used the rope between his left wrist and Purdue’s right to strangle one of the mariners, but he came second in the match. The large man punched Sam so hard that he collapsed.

“Ow! Right in the bollocks,” Barnard cringed. “Hurry up, lads. We only have a few hours to get back to Málaga.”

“Just two questions,” Purdue requested.

“Alright,” Barnard answered cordially.

“How did you know we were still alive? And how did you know which vessel was hosting us?” Purdue asked as the cool night wind played with his white hair. He was trying to buy time, for what reason he did not rightly know. They were alone and doomed.

Barnard sneered as he approached Purdue with both Maria and Isabelle by his side for good measure. “You should do better background checks on your hired crew, Renatus.”

Purdue lost the color in his face. “Peter.”

“No,” a woman said from above him. “Hannah.”

Purdue looked up in disbelief at where the skinny stewardess leered down at him with a cheerful wave. “Isn’t she lovely?” Barnard asked Purdue. “My triad of beautiful slayers is complete. Come down, Hannah-love. It is time to say goodbye to Mr. Purdue and his pet photographer.”

In his periphery Purdue could see Sam coming to, and in the distance by the entrance to the lower deck stood Vincent’s beloved golden lady. They had tied his feet to a heavy chain, as was Sam’s, and they had tied one of their hands to the other’s, while the free wrists were tied to a long, loose rope on both sides.

“Ladies,” Barnard announced, kissing the hand of each, “and seamen!” A sporadic succession of chuckles followed as he continued. “Tonight you will all be witness to the demise of two of the biggest festering cancers on the face of the mighty Black Sun society!”

A mighty cheer ensued from the small group of mercenaries, who shot their guns up into the night sky. Spain’s habit of spontaneous fireworks for the smallest celebration made it so that the noise on the Cóncord went unchecked. Sam looked pissed when he got to his feet, but that was of little solace to Purdue. They were both being restrained by skilled seafaring men who knew a sailor’s knot when they tied one. There was little chance of escape.

“Purdue,” Sam wheezed, “I think this time we might be fucked, mate.”

Purdue could not buy his way out, and it was too late for charm. “I believe so, old boy.”

“Good thing we had some single malt for old time’s sake,” Sam responded, trying to lighten the mood. “God I hope I die before the fish start chewing on my knob.”

“Without further ado,” Barnard proclaimed, “the execution of David Purdue and Sam Cleave… by keelhauling!”

“Oh Christ no!” Sam exclaimed. “I don’t want to drown!”

“Me neither,” Purdue snapped. “I had a more adventurous death in mind than this!”

The men tossed the long rope from Purdue’s wrist around the left yardarm and snaked it over a few times with a solid knot to secure it.

“Purdue, I ju…,” Sam was going to say goodbye, but they were promptly picked up by the two enormous mariners and flung harshly into the pitch black void. Purdue was thrown too far out for the rope’s reach and subsequently the recoil dislocated his shoulder as he crashed into the cold water. His screams were drowned out by the heaving waves of the powerful current that swept under the boat.

A similar fate befell Sam. His forearm broke as one of the men was holding the end of his rope in order to bring it to the stern. Both men were wailing in pain as they sank in under the side, swallowing mouthfuls of water and suffering the pounding of the hull against their tender bodies. Sam, a smoker, had less lung capacity than Purdue. Under the water, he could see nothing and the strong pull of the water along the moving trawler prevented him from reaching Purdue.

But both men saw the same thing as they opened their eyes under water. A frightful vision greeted them from the bottom, an image that took no more than three seconds to register, yet it felt like a slow motion film. Almost out of sight was the wreck where Vincent had died.

Catching meager breath between ebbing spaces, they barely had time to gasp before going under again. Beneath them a circle formed, a large radius that appeared to be an entire territory. It kept stretching as the inside of the circle fell away and left the center pitch black. Before Sam’s lungs filled with water, he saw the big black circle with edges like lightning. Purdue beheld the same vision, but he lasted a second more to see the edges light up like magma.

Their bodies went limp as the clanking of metal on water echoed into the darkness that smothered them together. In the darkness of the moonless night, Sam Cleave and David Purdue would become the subjects of future legends bound to the cursed history of the Alboran Sea.