The Valhalla Prophecy (47 page)

“But are those the directions to the eitr pit the Soviets already found, or the other one?” Nina asked.

“I don’t know yet. It’ll take a while for it to translate the whole thing.”

Eddie glanced back toward the entrance. “Yeah, you just take your time, mate. No rush.”

“I think I can be faster,” said Tova. She was examining one of the blocks of runes, running her finger over the ancient text—but rather than doing so line by line,
she was skipping quickly through it, picking out key words. “I know where these directions lead.”

Nina and Berkeley hurried across to her. “Where?” Nina asked.

Tova tapped on one particular word. “Here. This says ‘Helluland.’ It is the Old Norse name for—”

“Baffin Island!” Berkeley interrupted. He raised his tablet and took a snapshot of the text. “Of course, it makes sense. There’s archaeological evidence that Vikings had reached there even before Leif Eriksson. Tanfield Valley, Kimmirut—”

Tova shot him an annoyed glare. “Those finds are not conclusive. But …” She read on. “… this may help confirm them. The runes say where to land on Helluland, and from there”—excitement filled her face—“it tells us the way to Jörmungandr’s western lair!”

“That is what I feared,” said Kagan. He strode to the group of archaeologists and before anyone could react snatched Berkeley’s tablet from his hands and dashed it to the floor. The screen cracked, shards of glass scattering.

“Hey!” Berkeley protested. “What—what are you doing?”

“My job.” The Russian shoved the two women aside, Berkeley already having retreated in shocked fear, and drew his gun. “Get back.”

Nina grabbed the startled Swede and pulled her away as Kagan aimed at the carved runes and fired at almost point-blank range. Gritty splinters spat at them as the bullet shattered a palm-sized chunk of the ancient stone. “Jesus!” Nina yelped. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“This is the best way to make sure that nobody finds the eitr,” Kagan told her. “We destroy the runes and the sun compasses. That way,
nobody
will be able to follow the path of the Vikings.”

Nina interposed herself between him and the carved text. Kagan lowered his gun but did not put it away. “And you’re going to do that by shooting them to pieces?”

“We have no explosives, so it is either that or hit them
with axes. And we do not have much time—Hoyt and his men will soon blow up the gate. Now move.”

“But this is Valhalla!” Tova protested. “It is the most incredible Norse site to be discovered in centuries. Nina, you can’t let him destroy it.”

“I don’t intend to,” Nina assured her.

“You must,” Kagan insisted. “You are the director of the IHA—you know what is at stake here! This is a matter of global security, not archaeology. We have to destroy the runes. Quickly!”

Nina looked to her husband for support, but he shook his head. “Sorry, but he’s right. We can’t let Hoyt get hold of this shit. It’s too dangerous.”

“Dammit, Eddie!” she cried. “If we translate the runes, we give Unit 201 a chance to use Thor’s Hammer on the eitr and neutralize it!”

That gave Kagan pause for thought, but Eddie was unswayed. “And if it doesn’t work, they’ll nuke the fucking place! That’ll do a world of good for global security, won’t it? Especially if it turns out the other pit’s in Norway or Scotland, or even the States.”

Kagan’s moment of doubt passed. “It must be done.” He brought his gun back up—aiming at Nina. “Move aside.”

She flinched but held firm. “No. There has to be another way.”

The Russian was unmoved. “I will shoot through you if I have to—”

Eddie’s own gun snapped up, finding a target: Kagan’s head. “Oi! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Kagan tensed but held his position. “Chase, we have to do this. You know I am right!”

“Yeah, I know, but
hello
! You’re pointing a fucking gun at my wife! I don’t care how right you are, I’ll fucking shoot you if you don’t—”

The whole chamber shook at the piercing boom of an explosion.

A couple of the golden shields on the roof broke loose and dropped to the ground with echoing clangs, clods
of soil falling between the newly exposed beams. “Shit!” said Eddie. “They’re in.”

Shouts echoed through the tunnels outside—along with the muffled clamor of footsteps. “What do we do?” Nina asked. She swept her torch around the walls. The wooden doors through which they had come were the only apparent exit.

“If we give up and let them photograph the runes, they might let us go,” Tova suggested fearfully.

“Hoyt’s not going to offer us any deals.” Eddie hustled to one of the tables near the doors and tipped it on to its side. The chain-mail vests slid off and fell to the floor. He grabbed a couple and draped them over the thick old oak as extra protection. “He’s got no reason to let us live. Kagan, we’ll have to hold ’em off as long as we can. Have you got a spare magazine?”

The Russian overturned another table. “One only.”

“Make every shot count, then. Some of ’em got hit by the booby trap—if they start running out of people, they might fall back.” The noises from the tunnels grew louder; the intruders had spotted the broken roots and knew which way to go to follow their quarry. “Nina, you and Tova find cover and stay down.”

“Wait, what about me?” Berkeley quailed as the women crouched behind the wooden thrones.

“They’re your friends, what are you worried about?” Nina said.

“Then maybe I should just walk out of here.”

“Or maybe you should shut the fuck up and keep your head down,” barked Eddie.

“Or, yes, that.” Berkeley scuttled to hide behind one of the benches.

“Nina, put your light down and point it at the doors,” the Englishman told her, doing the same with his own torch. The twin beams illuminated the entrance. They were not blindingly bright, but he hoped they would produce enough dazzle to confuse anyone entering the large room, if only for a moment.

He readied the Wildey. A moment was all he needed. Footsteps in the hallway outside. Low voices; the
mercenaries had seen the light coming through the part-open doors. He knew from his own training what Hoyt and his men would be thinking. There was only one way in—but anyone taking it would be completely exposed. Would they try to reconnoiter first … or gamble on the shock tactics of a sudden frontal assault?

The voices dropped to urgent whispers. One issued an impatient command. Eddie couldn’t make out the words, but he knew who had spoken them: Hoyt. Whatever the mercenaries planned, they were about to do it. He watched intently for any movement through the gap.

Someone shifted in the shadows. Not at the door, but several yards back down the barricaded passage. Eddie caught the faint gleam of gunmetal as a man brought up his P90 to shoot out the lights …

The Englishman fired first, the Wildey’s retort like cannon fire. Tova shrieked and covered her ears. The man outside flew backward with a thumb-sized hole in his sternum—and an exit wound the size of a clenched fist in his back. “Holy
fuck
!” someone gasped.

“Hoyt!” Eddie shouted as the gunshot’s echoes faded. “That was your warning—pack up and fuck off.”

A pause, then a humorless laugh came from the tunnel. “Chase, goddamn. You’re like fuckin’ lung cancer—we think we’ve gotten rid of you, but then you pop back up and make life shit.” He gave an order, but too quietly for Eddie to make out. “Y’know, we’ve had our differences, but we could reach a deal here. There’s a lot of money to be made.”

“Go to hell,” barked Kagan. “We will not let you find the source of the eitr. And your spy Slavin is dead.” More muttering. “Is that Kagan?” said Hoyt. “It’s getting like a damn high school reunion around here. Although there’s someone who’ll never get to attend, ain’t there, Chase? A cute little German girl?”

“Bastard,” Eddie growled, before raising his voice. “We smashed the runes, Hoyt! You’ll never find the other eitr pit.”

“I reckon I’d like to see that for myself.”

“Stick your head ’round the door and have a look.”

Hoyt did not reply at once, instead whispering to somebody. When he spoke again, Eddie was instantly on alert: There was anticipation in the American’s voice, even though he was trying to hide it. The mercenaries were about to make their move. “I think I’ll pass on that, Chase. But how about you—”

He broke off as someone kicked open one of the doors. Eddie snapped the Wildey around, but the man had already jerked back behind the wall.

A hand whipped into view, lobbing an object into the room. Eddie caught the briefest glimpse of something small and pale with a metal tube sticking from it as it flew overhead.

A glimpse was all he needed. It was a chunk of plastic explosive, the tube a detonator. It weighed little more than thirty grams—but an ounce of explosive was more than enough.

“Down, get
down
!” he screamed, throwing himself flat as the bomb arced down—

The detonation blasted a table apart and scattered discarded weapons and chain mail in all directions. Even prepared and protecting his senses as best he could, Eddie was still dazed.

Kagan had been slightly slower to dive for cover. He paid the price, a sharp chunk of pulverized wood stabbing through his coat into his shoulder like a dagger. Farther away, Berkeley howled as the blast slammed the bench against him. Even at the far end of the room, Nina and Tova were knocked down and left stunned. The sun compass skittered across the dais.

Eddie forced his way through the pain and disorientation to open his eyes. He couldn’t see much—his torch had been sent spinning away, only dim outlines of the room’s furniture visible. The Wildey was still firmly in his right hand, however. He raised it and lifted his head—

Men were rushing into the room, weapons up and ready.

He swung his gun toward the pack, searching for Hoyt, but knew he was already too late. Bright lights
pinned him. “Drop it, motherfucker!” someone bellowed.

Defeated, Eddie turned the gun upward. But before he could release the Wildey, someone pulled it from his hand. Blinking in the glare, he looked up to see Hoyt smirking at him. “Nice gun,” said the mercenary leader. “Get up. Move over there.” He gestured toward the far end of the room.

The injured Kagan was dragged to his feet, other mercenaries advancing through the chamber with their lights and guns aimed at Nina, Tova—and to Eddie’s surprise, Berkeley. The group was soon surrounded on the dais.

“Search ’em,” ordered Hoyt. As his men patted down the prisoners, the American pulled out the Wildey’s magazine and tossed it into the shadows, then racked the slide to eject the chambered round. It clinked on the stone floor. “They armed?” he asked as he threw the gun away. The responses from the mercenaries were all in the negative.

“What about the runes?” said another man, also American. Eddie felt a sudden twinge of recognition. He knew the voice, even after eight years.

Hoyt shone a light over the wall. “Looks like they tried to smash ’em.”

“Let’s hope for their sakes that they didn’t destroy anything crucial.” The mercenaries stepped apart to let the speaker onto the dais.

Ivor Lock pulled down his hood, surveying the runes before turning to the prisoners. “Hello again, Chase.”

Eddie stared disdainfully at the new arrival. The passage of almost a decade had not changed Lock much; his hair and the goatee beard had grayed, and his face was fuller, but otherwise he was the same as in their last encounter. “Ivor Lock. Should’ve known. Hoyt doesn’t have the brains to do anything without your hand up his arse like a glove puppet.”

Hoyt smirked—then punched the Englishman hard in the stomach. Even with the padding of his cold-weather clothing, the blow still made him double over. “Funny fucker.”

Edie saw a glint of brass on the floor—the cartridge Hoyt had ejected from the Wildey. But he was pulled back upright before he could reach for it. Lock, meanwhile, had moved on to Kagan. “And you, working with him. The situation’s reversed from the last time we met, though. I’ve got
you
outnumbered. Mind you, from what I’ve heard you’re pretty much the last man standing at Unit 201.”

Kagan gave him an icy glare. “You have heard wrong.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. You think Slavin was our only source? Money talks, my friend. We may not have
been able to get anyone into your inner circle, but we still know what’s going on. Shame about old Eisenhov, huh?”

Kagan tried to rush him, but was yanked back by two mercenaries, one of whom twisted the wooden shard stuck in his shoulder. He gasped in agony.

“Thought you’d have been fired after the enormous fuckup you made of Vietnam,” said Eddie, trying to draw attention back to himself. If they were to have any chance of escaping alive, he would need the Russian’s help.

Lock’s mocking expression became harder as he turned back to Eddie. “I’ll admit, things were a little tough when I got back to Washington. But one failure doesn’t end a career; in fact, I’m doing better than ever. The BSA was spun off into the private sector at the end of the Bush presidency and became Xeniteq. I was appointed chief operations officer, and after a few years ended up as CEO. Turned out that once I was freed from the shackles of the public sector I had a talent for business. Who knew?” A smug smirk. “Same work, same client—Uncle Sam—but a lot more money. And I never forgot about the potential of the eitr, so when the Valhalla Runestone was found”—he glanced at Tova—“I realized we had a chance to pick up where we left off.” He went to Berkeley. “Logan, you’re still in one piece.”

“It was a close thing,” said Berkeley, relieved. “I’m glad your men’s aim was good, though. When they threw that bomb into the room—well, if it had landed any closer, I could have been killed!”

“You think they even knew where you were?” said Nina. The thought had clearly not occurred to her former colleague.

“Ignore her,” said Lock. He shone his flashlight over the carved text on the wall. “Did you find anything out from the runes?”

“I’d started a translation on my tablet. Unfortunately, this guy objected, rather strongly.” Berkeley indicated the broken device on the floor, then glowered at Kagan.