Preston Child - Mystery of the Amber Room

“Where did you study?” Sam asked, completely off topic.

“Pre-med Cornell and four years at Beijing University, sir. I was working on my masters at Stanford, but I had to interrupt it to come and help out with the flood of 2014 in Brunei,” he explained while he examined Sam's eyes.

“And you are hidden away in a small place like this? Almost a pity, I would say,” Sam remarked.

“My family is here, and it is where my skill is needed most, I think,” the young doctor said, keeping things light and personal because he wanted to cultivate a close rapport with the Scotsman, especially considering what he suspected was wrong. It would be impossible to have a serious discussion about such a condition even with the most open-minded of people.

“Mr. Cleave, why don't you come with me into my office so that we can speak in private,” the doctor suggested with a serious tone that worried Nina.

“Can Nina come with?” Sam asked. “I want her with me in private conversations about my health.”

“Very well,” the doctor said, and they accompanied him to a small room off the short hallway of the ward. Nina looked at Sam, but he seemed calm. In the sterile environment, Nina felt queasy. The doctor closed the door and gave the two of them a long, hard look.

“Were you up in the village off the beach, perhaps?” he asked them.

“Aye,” Sam said. “Is it a local infection?”

“Is that where you got hurt, ma'am?” He addressed Nina with a tinge of apprehension. She affirmed with a nod, looking somewhat embarrassed for her clumsy fib earlier.

“Is it a disease or something, doctor?” Sam pressed for an answer. “Do those people have some illness…?”

The doctor took a deep breath. “Mr. Cleave, do you believe in the supernatural?”

Purdue woke up in what felt like a freezer, or a coffin made to preserve a corpse. His eyes could not make out anything in front of him. Darkness and silence were akin to the frigid atmosphere that was burning his exposed skin. His left hand reached for his right wrist, but he found that his watch had been removed. Every breath was a rattle of torment as he panted from the cold air coming in from somewhere in the blackness. It was then that Purdue discovered that he was completely nude.

‘Oh my God! Please don’t tell me I am lying on a slab in some morgue. Please don’t tell me that I have been mistaken for dead!’ his inner voice pleaded. ‘Stay calm, David. Just stay calm until you know what is going on. No use panicking prematurely. Panic only clouds the mind. Panic only clouds the mind.'

Carefully he moved his hand down his body and moved them along his sides to feel what was underneath him.

‘Satin.’

‘Could it be a coffin?', he wondered but thought that a coffin would be anything but cold. Sporadic muscle twitches eventually turned into full-fledged cramps, especially in his feet. In pain Purdue wailed into the darkness, clutching his feet. At least this meant that he was not confined to a casket or a morgue fridge. Still, knowing this brought him no solace. The cold was unbearable, even more so than the solid dark around him.

Suddenly, the silence was broken by footsteps approaching.

‘Is this my salvation? Or my doom?’

Purdue listened carefully, fighting the urge to hyperventilate. No voices filled the place, only the incessant footfalls. His heart raced at the myriad of thoughts at what it could be — where he could be. A switch flicked and white light blinded Purdue, stinging his eyes.

“There he is,” he heard a high-pitched male voice that brought to mind Liberace. “My Lord and Savior.”

Purdue could not open his eyes. Even through shut eyelids, the light pierced into his skull.

“Take your time, Her Purdue,” the voice advised in a heavy Berlin accent. “Your eyes must first adjust, or you will go blind, darling. And we don't want that. You are just too precious.”

Uncharacteristic of Dave Purdue, he elected to respond with a well pronounced “Fuck you.”

The man giggled at his profanity, sounding rather amused by it. A clapping of hands cut through Purdue's ears, and he winced.

“Why am I naked? I don’t swing that way, mate,” Purdue managed to say.

“Oh, you will swing any way we push you, my dear. You will see. Resistance is very unhealthy. Cooperation is just as important as oxygen as you will soon realize. I am your host, Klaus, and you are naked for the simple reason that nude men are easy to detect when they escape. There is no need to restrain you when you are naked, you see. I believe in simple but effective methods,” the man explained.

Purdue forced his eyes to adjust to his bright environment. Contrary to every image he had had in his head while lying in the darkness, the chamber where he was held captive was large and luxurious. It reminded him of the décor in the chapel of Glamis Castle in his home country, Scotland. Renaissance-style paintings adorned ceilings and walls, all in colorful oils and gilded framing. Golden chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling and stained glass windows decorated the window panes that peeked through from behind lavish drapery in dark purple.

Last his eyes found the man of whom he had only heard the voice until that moment, and he looked almost exactly as Purdue had pictured him. Not very tall, the slim and elegantly dressed Klaus stood attentively with his hands neatly folded in front of him. Deep dimples formed on his cheeks when he smiled, and his dark beady eyes appeared to glow occasionally under the bright light. Purdue noticed that Klaus wore his hair in a way that reminded him of Hitler's — dark side parting, very short from the top of the ear down. But his face was clean shaven, and there was no trace of the detestable clump of hair under the nose that the demonic Nazi leader had sported.

“When can I get dressed?” Purdue asked, trying to be as polite as possible. “I am really cold.”

“You cannot, I'm afraid. As long as you are here you will be naked for practical as well as,” Klaus' eyes examined Purdue's tall, lean physique with shameless delight, “ esthetic purposes.”

“Without clothing, I will freeze to death! This is ludicrous!” Purdue objected.

“Please, control yourself, Herr Purdue,” Klaus replied evenly. “Rules are rules. However, the heating will be turned on as soon as I command so that you will be comfortable. We only chilled the room to wake you.”

“Couldn’t you just wake me the old fashioned way?” Purdue sneered.

“What is the old fashioned way? Calling your name? Pouring water on you? Sending a pet cat to paw your face? Please. This is a temple of unholy gods, my dear man. We are certainly not about kindness and pampering,” Klaus reported in a cold voice that did not fit his smiling face and blazing eyes.

Purdue's legs were shivering, and his nipples hardened from the cold while he stood beside the silk cloth covered table that had served as his bed since he was brought here. His hands covered his manhood, revealing his dropping body temperature by the purple look of his nails and lips.

“Heizung!” Klaus ordered. He took a gentler tone, “Within a few minutes, it will be much more comfortable for you, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Purdue stuttered through clattering teeth.

“You may sit if you wish, but you will not be allowed to leave this room until you are taken out — or carried out — depending on the degree of your cooperation,” Klaus informed him.

“About that,” Purdue said. “Where am I? A temple? And what will you need from me?”

“Slowly!” Klaus exclaimed with a big smile, clapping his palms together. “You just want to get to the details. Relax.”