King Solomon's Diamonds

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Wrichtishousis was even more radiant than Dave Purdue could remember. His home for over two decades, the majestic mansion’s towers, three in number, reached toward the ethereal Edinburgh sky as if to attach the manor to the heavens. Purdue’s white crown of hair stirred in the silent breath of the evening as he closed the car door and walked slowly up the remainder of the drive toward his front door.

Careless of the company he was in or the taking of luggage, his eyes reacquainted themselves with his residence. Too many months had passed since he had been forced to flee its security. Its security.

“Um, you did not get rid of my staff also, did you, Patrick?” he asked sincerely.

By his side Special Agent Patrick Smith, Purdue’s former hunter and rekindled ally from the British Secret Service, sighed and motioned for his men to close the gates of the estate for the night. “We kept them on, David. No worries,” he replied in a calm, deep tone. “But they have denied any knowledge or involvement in your pursuits. I hope that they did not impair our superior’s investigation as to the harboring of religious and invaluable relics on your property.”

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