“Nina, dear,” he played as he picked up the call.
“Sam, where are you?” her voice pierced his ear in a strange tone he judged as the excitement of discovery.
“Good evening to you too. And I have been well since we spoke a month ago, thank you. How have you been?” he smirked with a charming broadcaster’s voice.
“Sam, stop fucking around and listen,” she barked.
“O-kay?” he said light-heartedly, delighted that the old Nina was still under her skin, even if Purdue’s fingers were on it. ‘Why did I think that? Good God!’ Then he cleared his throat and said, “I’m home. Why?”
“So have you seen the news tonight?” she asked quickly.
“Umm, yes,” he started.
“Did you see that report on the robbery of the British Museum? And the other one? Did you see that shit?” she asked from the other end of the line, chewing on something that filled her mouth enough to distort her words so that Sam had to concentrate to understand her.
“I did, why?” he asked with a skew smile and a raised eyebrow. It was so good just to hear Nina’s voice again and her trademark over-zealous pressing. She lowered her voice covertly, as if anyone on the deserted second floor would hear her.
“I think I know who did it.”
Pause.
“Sam.”
“I’m here.”
“So?”
“Give me a second to mull this over…”
Pause.
“…okay, I’m ready. Why do you think you know who did it?” he asked, now rid of his stupid grin and feeling his blood rushing through his veins as it did before when he decided that he missed danger and recklessness. This was just too much of a coincidence. Just after he decided to get snoopy, just when he misses Nina, both matters come to him at the same time? It was a sign, he was convinced. With eager anticipation he awaited her explanation.
“I met this chick in Clarks. She wore an exact replica of one of the stolen pieces that was taken from the Viking exhibit where that guard was shot in the head, Sam. Only, at closer inspection, I don’t think it was a fake!” she rambled wildly. Sam could hear her pant and before he rated the sexiness of the sound it occurred to him that she was perhaps nervous about it, perhaps scared.
“Nina, what did you do?” Sam asked. He knew her well enough to know that she would not have just observed something at a distance and made such a deduction of authenticity.
“I… sort of…” she stuttered.
“You what, Nina?” he sighed, immediately concerned for her recklessness.
“…invited her over here, to Wrichtishousis,” she said softly, her tone deeply uncertain of her impulsive action.
“Jesus! Are you insane?” Sam exclaimed, heading for his bedroom to get dressed.
“Look, she doesn’t know what I do for a living. She doesn’t know that I know. So, I thought if I invited her over for dinner and a drink, you know, get her sloshed, I could find out a bit more. Maybe I could have another look at her neck ring, Sam. Imagine if we could get to the bottom of this?” she said as calmly as she could, as not to alarm him even more. Her sober voice did the opposite. Nina, composed, spelled trouble.
“I’m coming to join you. If this is real, if this woman is involved, you are dealing with a downright deadly group of people, Nina. With me there, they’ll hopefully think twice. And if I look stupid enough, they’ll let us live because we are just there to get pissed and talk crap all night, right? Play dumb,” he said as he slipped into his jeans with immense effort, grasping at his pants with one hand only.
“What the hell are you doing over there?” she asked.
“I’m hopping around my flat like an idiot, so that I can get to you sooner, you freak,” he groaned.
Nina chuckled. “Oh, it sounded like… something else.”
“Doctor Gould!” he gasped. “Don’t mock the less fortunate. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
After she spoke to Sam, Nina felt a bit better about her hasty decision. She hoped Val would get lost on her way to the mansion, but that was unlikely. By the sound of what Val told her in conversation the other day, she knew Edinburgh well enough. Getting here though, from Glasgow would be so much quicker on a bike than by car, so Nina hoped Sam would get there well before Val arrived so that they could settle in and get their story together.
Nina closed her antique books, Heimskringla and Kalevala, among others. Seeing the Viking symbols in the book Herman gave her, she was immediately thrown back into her lucid and frightening dream. She had drawn the symbols she saw as well as the number that was etched in the rock. What baffled her most, though, was Sam’s presence at the river and his impact on the Nazis as well as his influence on the chieftain.
She knew if she told him about his involvement in her dream, he would probably childishly make some damn remark about subliminal suggestion and how she secretly wants him roaming her dreams. In other words, that had to stay top-secret until if or when he needed to know about it. After she had cleared up the study, she went downstairs to one of the living areas, where she would entertain Val and Sam. The lavish room had high, bare windows and a giant hearth in the corner of the adjoining walls, where a fire had already been lit by the house staff before they left for the evening.
Nina put out some red wine, since she had no idea what Val liked to drink. Sam would undoubtedly bitch about his whisky, so she served a bottle of single malt on a tray on the coffee table. Anxiously, she paced the room. She hated being ready too early for company. It was almost as bad as having guests arrive an hour before time, but with added boredom.
Chapter 8
“You are not listening to me. I distinctly told you that it is an ornate marcasite vial. It should be in a similar looking container, either a pewter box or a brass pot with a lid. Now, because we do not know yet what casing it was trapped in, we will just have to steal all the relevant artifacts, wouldn’t we?” Lita’s hoarse voice bit into the ears of her men. They found it difficult to execute her orders, on account of her mystifying explanations and description of the object she was looking for. The problem was that she reserved the details for her own knowledge alone, leaving most of her reasons unclear. With unclear descriptions, her men had much trouble deciphering what they were supposed to locate. If only Lita could tell them why and what, it would be easier for them to ascertain the type of hiding place her prize would be in.
Terrified of the sadistic noble woman, the men only exchanged nervous glances. They dared not question her, not even to clarify her order. Lita was brutally high strung and her intelligence had made her extremely intolerant of regular thinkers, making of her a tyrant with a general disdain for the so-called morons around her in everyday life. A fiery temper was her worst trait and although she was well aware of this, she constantly realized that she could not control it, no matter how she kept track of the developing annoyances in her when faced with situations where she was misunderstood.
“Madam?” one man dared. Lita turned on her heel and her blazing eyes addressed him, sending a small twinge of fear through him, but he maintained his composure.
“Yes?”
“Madam, could you perhaps tell us what approximate size your vial is? That would narrow things down considerably,” he said, trying to sound helpful in his uncertain voice. Another man in the assembly of employees followed up, not only to aid his colleague, but to win favor with the mistress as a man who uses his own discretion, “Yes, Madam. If we narrowed the search that way, I’m sure we could locate your vial much quicker.” The two men gave one another a surreptitious nod in agreement, shuffling their feet as their other colleagues cast glances to them.