Then he looked at the other three, discussing their destination and tending to Sam’s injury. Dr. Philips lamented his actions now, but he was too close now to abort his mission. Like most people he had befriended before, he would have to avoid getting attached to them to spare him the moral conundrum that would no doubt ride his back when the time came.
He caught his breath loudly suddenly, as if his inner thoughts manifested physically. Richard Philips knew that he had to set his work above his need for friendship. Not only would he do it for his own reputation, but for his great forefathers. Richard would do it to restore the work of SS High Officer Heinrich Manfred Schaub, and Schaub’s father, the American Howard Philips Lovecraft, who had unwittingly fathered Heinrich with Sabine Schaub, a fellow writer on a book tour in Rhode Island in the early 1930s.
Richard Philips was adamant to glorify the so-called fallacies of his two ancestors and prove to the world, with no small amount of personal satisfaction, that their words and practices were not insane or grotesque at all. He wished to show the world that these men, like him, were innovative thinkers ahead of their time. His own experiments had now proved successful and he could not wait to join his grandfather’s mentor, Alfred Meiner, in Venice for the unveiling of the ultimate crossing.
But for now he was just an academic with some interesting lectures, fleeing from authorities with the sacrificial lambs of the Black Sun’s end game. They needed to silence Cleave in order to prevent a possible book that exposed another criminal organization. They needed to exterminate Gould to keep Renatus from straying in his loyalties. As for the wife of the slain ARK architect, Mueller… well, she was just unfortunate by association.
At least he had successfully retrieved the books that were missing from the Library of Forbidden Books and was transporting them back to complete the codes he and Meiner needed to facilitate their grotesque design. One thing that did not sit well with him though, was that the aquatic denizen of some hellish out-world he had unintentionally summoned was loose in the North Sea, possibly following the very vessel it was nesting with in the mouth.
Chapter 32
For once the rain had subsided a bit. It had been four days since Purdue and Agatha had assimilated the astronomical pointers with the spires of Venice’s ancient stone and brick treasures. They had, between them, utilized the locations of certain pinnacles aligned with constellations to draw a map that would take them to the supposed grave of the antique library. After all, it was a stroke of genius for the keepers of the literary mausoleum in the Middle Ages to hide it in the stars. Perpetually existent, it was the one map that could not be stolen or corrupted by any human.
Agatha and her brother arranged their diving gear and readied their waterproof flash lights for the journey into the submerged world under Venice. Another brilliant, although unintentional, security measure for the forbidden library was most certainly the condition of the water in the canals. It was extremely hazardous to be underwater for anyone who was not covered from head to toe in protective gear, due to the pollution and toxicity of the water. Purdue had assured that their diving gear was made of the sturdiest insulation material that would prevent any of Venice’s soiled substances from reaching their bodies.
One more step closer to the end of the world, but with a great weight off his shoulders, Purdue silently celebrated the technological aspects of the Longinus he had finally completed the night before. The stress of getting it done was interfering greatly with his focus on locating the hidden library to obtain, and ultimately alter, the information Meiner sought, thus warping his molecular terrorism so that it would never see any accomplishment.
Purdue could see his sister’s apprehension, but short of spiking her cookies, he did not know how to calm her. The thought of swimming under the dark and unfamiliar water where broken statues, debris, and, in some places, entire foundations rested was too much for her.
“Agatha,” he started to attempt an encouraging speech, but she closed her eyes, lolled her head, and held up her hand at him. Her gesture for him not to bother was typical. Agatha Purdue was not one for coaxing or swaying. She was the kind of woman who bit her lip and suffered inside and no amount of sweet talk was going to change her mind that her phobia was unavoidable. She was way too intelligent to allow even the emotional aspect of his efforts to penetrate her cynicism.
“Do you have the laser?” she asked plainly, effectively hiding her mounting anxiety.
“Yes, here,” he said gently and passed his sister his pen-sized laser cutter that converted into a thermo detector and radar device. She slipped it into the inlaid zipper pocket on her thigh, stretching tautly over her thermal suit. She had not gone on an illegal adventure with her brother since they scaled the fortress walls of the Brigade Apostate’s headquarters to steal the Longinus. And that risk of danger, armed men with precision marksmanship, was by far preferable to the silent darkness of the underwater populated channels.
They set off just short of midnight. Purdue still had not slept since he had to preside over the interment of Izaak Geldenhuys, the latest victim of a torrent of serial murders committed on members of the council. Purdue found the whole thing remarkably expedient. He was not amused by the manner in which the council dictated his existence now, how the members had cunningly made him the leader of the Black Sun to keep him from doing the organization harm under the protective eyes of his appointed counselors and staff. To him the deaths of the nefarious old bastards was quite expedient, actually, and he almost wished he was the one who thought up the splendid idea.
Yet he had to fulfill his duties as Renatus and attend each burial ceremony in the sunken chambers of the Black Sun house in Belgium. The lavish catacombs had been constructed especially for this purpose and featured niches for plaques and urns on the north side and inside the southern wall, tombs for coffins. It was still maintained in an old world way, with a healthy mix of technology and laser scanning for motion detection just to remind visitors that it was the twenty-first century after all.
“Much as I love the romantic Gothic setting of this city, I have to admit that it is a tad beyond my boundary for eccentricity with the water streets,” Agatha whispered as she walk-jogged to keep up with her determined brother’s strides. He was surprised at her plain eloquence of the complaint, but he found her timidity refreshing for a change. It made her seem almost… human.
“I think it is beautiful, old girl. You should forget about the water and take in the antiquity, the art of the city. Look at the gondolas, smell the cuisine, listen to the intricate classical sound of the music, my dear. Nowhere else in the world would you find this exact combination of sensations. It is something to be relished,” he smiled. She looked at Purdue. He almost looked like himself just then. That naughty countenance and the attitude of carefree invincibility simmered under his skin and much as she detested his mischievous flamboyancy sometimes, it was good to see him like this.
They passed along Rio dei Tolentini a few minutes later, using a small boat Purdue had secured from Thomas Carlos, a tour operator and gondola owner he had befriended a few days before. In the serene midnight air it was almost magical to see the fire-lit lamps swinging lazily over the gondolas and the soft lights illuminating the old stone courtyards where cheerful voices echoed between the three- and four-story buildings that flanked the water. The scent of jasmine and freshly baked bread permeated all around as Agatha and Dave Purdue neared their entry point on the tablet’s marker map.