“Not prying, Sgt. Anaru,” Louisa reassured him. “I just recognized the sigils because I work closely with some Aboriginal tribal leaders, especially in and around Adelaide and Alice Springs. The Outback has been suffering poaching too lately, so I have met with what tourists would call shamans.”
“My, that sounds interesting,” Purdue smiled. He twisted his long lean body to face her where she sat behind him. “Anything you can translate on these beacons?”
The sergeant could take no more of the exclusion. With a heavy sigh, he said, “It means that we should not mess with this land. That is what it means. As you can see, many people have no bloody respect for those markers. See the chips of red paint here and there?”
“Aye,” Nina replied. “They painted over the symbols.”
“Precisely, Dr. Gould,” the sergeant sneered. “Bloody tourists interfering with holy things.” His eyes cut into the women in the backseat just as the two cars rounded the muddy mess of the open area outside the back of the farmhouse. Both vehicles stopped as the drizzle formed sheets of ghostly veils that gave the house, as well as the gaping mouth of the looming hill, a supernatural appearance. Black in silhouette and boasting its silent towers, the house of Nekenhalle reminded Sam of a ghost ship casually emerging from the fog.
“Shall we all first head for the house?” Purdue asked the sergeant.
“Yes, sir,” Sgt. Anaru confirmed.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, reminding all that it was still crawling along the land. Both cars vacated, the group gathered on the veranda of the house. Sgt. Anaru, Cecil Harding and his brother Gary still remembered their last scrap with the farmhouse, all looking a bit apprehensive about what could still be lurking inside.
“Alright people, thank you for aiding us in the search for Lewis Harding. As Gary had told us in his statement, there is a good chance that Mr. Harding would be in the vicinity of the mine entrance, where he initially vanished from,” the stern and captivating Sgt. Anaru proclaimed. “However, as you are all volunteers, I implore you to use the buddy system, alright? Also, you can choose where you search, but do take note that the police service does not take responsibility for your safety. Wandering off is a very unwise idea.”
“I’ll look through the house,” Nina cried immediately. “Sam needs to film the interior of the house for when he does coverage for the expose on Mr. Harding’s disappearance, right?”
“Aye!” Sam chipped in quickly. “We’ll get footage inside and if we do not discover clues as to Mr. Harding’s possible whereabouts, we will join up with the exterior comb of the place.”
He looked at Nina and surreptitiously whispered. “Ta.”
“I am going up to the mine,” Louisa announced. “Who is with me?”
“You are a brave lady, Louisa,” Purdue smiled. “I shall join you and the Harding brothers at the mine’s mouth.” Purdue was wearing a technologically loaded utility vest, and on his hip he wore a sidearm, as did Sam, both for which the two Scots had presented licenses for, at Anaru’s request.
Louisa nodded amicably. Her hair was in a ponytail under a baseball cap and she carried a compact hard case over her shoulder. Attached to her belt, an extending baton hanged down the top half of her cargo pants.
Nina and Sam were dressed in jeans and flannels, similar to the Harding brothers and the elders, Herman and Sully. They trusted in their Caterpillars and combat boots to tread through the rough terrain. The native elders had Winchester rifles slung over their backs by leather holsters and they also elected to head through the brush and trees that surrounded the entrance of the mine, working their way in towards the gaping hole.
Just before Purdue left with the others, he pulled Sam and Nina aside.
“You two, be careful, please. I don’t want us to end up as statistics, which is what this farm does to people, it seems. Williams knew this place was too wicked to leave to his wife,” Purdue whispered.
“What exactly are we looking for? Coordinates? Treasure?” Sam asked under his breath.
“The Lost City is here, according to all sources, Sam,” Purdue explained. “Only Williams would have known where it was precisely from here. Find hidden documents or some sort of beacon to the city’s location. Look, we are essentially looking for an answer to the mystery of Operation Eden.”
“So we are not looking for an actual El Dorado rip-off, right?” Nina made sure. “Because I have a feeling Operation Eden did not come from some beautiful garden city hung in fruitful harvests and flowing springs over golden temples. I think it derives its name from a place where deception was wrought by a serpent, if you catch my drift.”
“Aye, that makes perfect sense. After all, when one things of Eden, the first thing that comes to mind is a woman and a snake,” Sam conceded. “Purdue, watch your back with those Aussies. If anything happens to you, you’ll be facing another lawsuit when we get home.” Sam’s jest brought a smile to Purdue’s face and Nina laid her hand on his arm to reinforce her protectiveness over her friend.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Purdue gasped, fumbling in his backpack. “Nina, I want you to take this, just for protection. You never know where the monsters can rear their heads.”
He placed the small device in her hand, explaining briefly what Sam already knew from their previous use of the Taser-type gadget in Spain. “That is a powerful jolter, Nina,” Sam supported Purdue’s gift. “That jolt will being back Elvis, I swear.”
Nina glared at the small weapon with cynicism, but accepted Purdue’s generous grant of power. “Thanks Purdue,” she smiled. “If Sam gives me any shit, I’ll turn him into a crisp.”
As if the gods heard her words, lightning flared up the dark and gloomy doorway of the farmhouse, summoning them to their diligent task.
31 Snake Eat Snake
After visiting hours at Hazelwood Private Clinic, where Miss Williams was under the best care and supervision in Europe, her grandmother returned to Grange House by taxi. It was still early, the sky virtually illuminated with cloud cover that reflected its light over Edinburgh, when the elderly lady entered her lavish home. As usual, her staff had gone home and she sat down in front of the fireplace for a sweet sherry.
Outside the window, the wind was gently moving the trees, a sign of the serenity her granddaughter exhibited when she visited her. The small-framed heiress reveled in the warmth of the sherry, like the generous fire that warmed her legs. From the other room the sound of Tchaikovsky permeated like a sweet scent. Aptly, it was Op. 76 — The Storm overture in E minor, a beautiful and terrible composition Mrs. Williams enjoyed listening to on solemn nights.
After she emptied her copita, she set the glass down on her mantle and locked the door of the study. On her way through the late Dr. Williams’ office, she grabbed the crystal decanter with his favorite cognac and two of the set’s shot glasses. With an expression of determination and a hint of anticipation, she opened the hidden compartment door in the wooden panel next to the tall window, and disappeared into the darkness beyond. Her sure fingers flicked the switch to her right, illuminating the long decline of steps that led down to her husband’s sarcophagus under the fireplace.
“I am coming, my love,” she sang cheerfully as her small feet skipped along the cold stone floor. Down here, the outside world became irrelevant and nothing above the ground floor mattered. Her mature voice reverberated in the compact grave chamber and she came to sit down next to the commemorative plaque her husband’s name was engraved upon.