Deep Sea One

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It had been years since Purdue visited the monastery. He had promised to make it there much sooner, but unforeseen adventure had ensnared him and on return home he found himself lacking a few choice things never before depleted in his home. Coming home. It was a phrase he thought he would not experience again. For a while. It had been months since the treacherous trek and near-fatal adventure he undertook with a team of unlikely colleagues to find out if the fabled Wolfenstein Ice Station actually existed. The discovery of the lost subterranean Nazi compound in Antarctica had only fueled the grandeur of his recorded profile, especially the media attention he received after journalist Sam Cleave utilized his extraordinary writing skills to publicize it — just about when Professor Frank Matlock's book on the expedition hit the shelves.

After the outbursts about conspiracy theories and naysayers pitting scholar against scholar in the halls of academia, Dave Purdue felt the rather rare need to put his feet up for a bit and embarked on a brisk journey to Ireland to collect some of his favorite wines. He was a refined alcoholic, scandalously easy to appease with the presentation of proper cultivars or even the slightest promise of a hundred-proof alcohol. For once he felt like taking time for himself for a night, not bothering with any of his technological dreams and gadgets. Inventions could wait, he thought. His normally restless demeanor took a temporary cessation to make way for some introspection, something he usually shoved to the back of his needs to accommodate his flamboyancy. Such was the life of an obnoxious billionaire.

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