Blood Brothers (24 page)

“Yes, he mentioned that. It’s an interesting historical footnote. Once Karl finds out, I’ll bet he comes up with some way to use it in a marketing campaign.”

Ben stared at him for a moment with a look of surprise on his face. “Well, it’s more than an interesting footnote, isn’t it? It sounded like these berserkers turned into homicidal maniacs after eating the plant and doing whatever rituals they did. Is it a good idea for a company to sell a drug that might turn thousands of people into berserkers? And what about all the soldiers who will be taking the drug; what happens if someone goes berserk while they’re flying a bomber or commanding a tank?”

Gunnar digested the news slowly. “That’s . . . interesting, very interesting. Finn and I didn’t discuss the berserkers in depth, and I confess that I don’t know much about them beyond the fact that they were legendary warriors. But if the drug turns people into ‘homicidal maniacs,’ as you put it, I’m sure that will come out in the preclinical and clinical studies. The FDA will insist that they be designed to catch preliminary signs of behavioral problems long before the dosage levels are high enough for the subjects to become dangerous. That’s what clinical trials are for, after all.”

Six hours later, Gunnar sat in an armchair in his den reading a dusty volume of
Aschehougs Konversasjons Leksikon
, a Norwegian encyclopedia he had bought over forty years ago but rarely used. Its entry on berserkers was, like everything else he had found on the subject, short on useful data and long on speculation. It simply confirmed that the berserkers would work themselves into a rage during secret ceremonies, and that they were unstoppable in battle. The closest it got to hard facts on berserkers was the following: “In battle, they were enraged, biting their shields, howling like dogs. Weapons could not touch them; they ate coals and walked through fire. Some have tried to explain their rage,
‘berserkergang,’
as the result of eating psychoactive mushrooms, but this is unknown from ancient sources.”

That was hardly the level of certainty and detail he needed. Still, it was encouraging. XD-463 wasn’t made from mushrooms, and it didn’t appear to cause the kind of psychosis mentioned in
Aschehougs
. Both he and the company had invested a lot in XD-463. Much as he hated the idea of Karl running the company, he hated the idea of XD-463 failing even more. This drug was supposed to be their passage to greatness, to transforming Bjornsen Pharmaceuticals from a regional, middle-market player into a top-five company. It would also transform both of the Bjornsen brothers from millionaires into billionaires, based on their large holdings of the company’s stock.

His mind turned to the monkey incident Dr. Chatterton had told him about. He had remembered it during his conversation with Ben but hadn’t mentioned it; he wanted to think about it more before saying anything. It did sound uncomfortably like the berserker behavior
Aschehougs
described—and it was unlike anything he had ever heard about monkeys. He shut the book and put it back in its place on the shelf. Then he began to pace back and forth across the den.

Should he take this to the FDA? If so, he would need something better than “If people taking the drug are provoked, they might howl and bite things.” He needed to be able to point to hard evidence that XD-463 was dangerous and that human trials should be halted. Without that, he’d look like little more than a disgruntled former executive who was trying to embarrass his successor. He also risked humiliating and damaging his company over nothing.

Or should he simply pass his worries along to Karl? Gunnar doubted that his brother would intentionally sell a highly dangerous drug, even if billions of dollars were on the line. Instead, Karl would find a way to convince himself and his inner circle that the drug wasn’t actually dangerous. Then he would sell it. He was fond of saying that “a good salesman always sells himself first,” and he was a very good salesman.

Gunnar debated calling Finn Sørensen, but he glanced at the clock and realized it would be about two in the morning in Norway. He picked up his Rolodex and flipped through it idly.
Who do I know in the US who might know about berserkers?
Then he realized the answer and smiled. “Markus,” he said aloud.

When his sons were in college, Gunnar had required each of them to take at least one Scandinavian-oriented class, preferably one focused on international business. Tom had made the most of the opportunity, enrolling in an economics class during a month-long exchange program in Copenhagen. He had even managed to land a part-time job at the Copenhagen stock exchange. Markus, on the other hand, had sulkily chosen the least useful course he could think of—a poetry seminar deconstructing ancient Norwegian sagas. Maybe it hadn’t been so useless after all.

He picked up the phone and dialed Markus’s number. “Hi, Mom,” Markus said a moment later.

“It’s your father.”

“Oh. Hello, Dad. What can I do for you?”

“Do you remember that college course you took on the Norse sagas?”

“Yes,” said Markus slowly. “I actually took a couple of them. I have a minor in Scandinavian literature.”

“Did you ever learn anything about berserkers?”

“Well, yeah. They’re in a lot of the older sagas. Why do you ask?”

“Do you remember the drug I was developing when I left the company?”

“Not, uh, not really.”

“The one that came from an ancient Norwegian plant found in a cave? The one that was potentially a huge breakthrough for the company?”

“That rings a bell, but I don’t remember any of the details. Sorry.”

Typical.
Gunnar suppressed his irritation and said, “Well, a friend of mine in Norway found the cave, and he thinks the berserkers used it. He thinks they ate this plant to make themselves into super warriors. The company is testing a drug made from the plant, and I’d like to know more about berserkers so I can know how the drug is likely to affect people. I called you because I thought you might be able to help.”

“I guess I should have listened more closely when you talked about work over dinner.” Markus laughed nervously. “I saved some of my old textbooks. Should I, uh, go see if I can find something useful?”

“Please.”

“Okay, hold on.” The line was silent for several minutes. Then Gunnar heard the thump of books landing on a table and the rustling of pages. “All right, here we go. This is from Thorbjörn Hornklofi; it’s part of a conversation between a raven and a Valkyrie after a battle. The Valkyrie says, ‘Of the berserkers’ lot would I ask thee, thou who batten’st on corpses: how fare the fighters who rush forth to battle, and stout-hearted stand ’gainst the foe?’ Then the raven responds, ‘Wolf-coats are they called, the warriors unfleeing, who bear bloody shields in battle; the darts redden where they dash into battle and shoulder to shoulder stand. ’Tis men tried and true only, who can targes shatter, whom the wise warlord wants in battle.’”

“That sounds like a lot of what I found,” replied Gunnar. “Is there anything more specific about them? Anything that indicates whether they were mentally unstable?”

“Let’s see.” Gunnar could hear more pages flipping. “Well, they went into some sort of frenzy during battle and no army could stand against them,” Markus continued. “I’m not finding much about them during peacetime. There was a wise King Ivar who was a berserker, or he had been one, anyway—he was a paraplegic by the time he became king.” More flipping. “And some other kings kept berserkers in their courts, but it’s not clear whether they were advisors or bodyguards, or maybe both. These are really old sagas and they’re garbled in places. Plus, the berserkers were ancient history before any of these were written.”

“Really? I hadn’t realized that.”

“Yeah. The sagas were handed down orally for a long time. There’s not much written record from Scandinavia before about 1200, and the berserkers were outlawed about two hundred years before that.”

Gunnar chuckled drily. “I’d hate to have been the one who had to enforce that law.”

“No kidding. I remember one of my professors saying he wondered how the government pulled that one off. Maybe that was around the time this plant went extinct; I’ll bet the berserkers were a lot easier to deal with once they could no longer take their secret wonder drug.”

“Good point,” replied Gunnar. “I’ll bet you’re right about that. So, would these sagas have been written by the descendants of the people who outlawed the berserkers?”

“Probably. The sagas would have existed in oral form for a long time before that, though.”

“But would you agree that whoever wrote the sagas—and whoever decided which ones to write down—probably was no friend of the berserkers?” persisted Gunnar.

“That’s probably fair,” agreed Markus. “Any berserkers left would have been outlaws. They also would have been followers of Odin, and Scandinavia had been Christianized by that point. Most of the saga writers show a bias in favor of Christianity and against the old Norse gods.”

“So there are no firsthand accounts of berserkers from unbiased sources, right? All we have are stories written down centuries later by authors who probably didn’t like berserkers?”

“That’s pretty much right,” agreed Markus. “Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

“No, that’s fine. This was actually very helpful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And, uh, good luck with the drug and Uncle Karl and, you know, everything.”

Elena and Noelle were leaving in less than two days, and there was a lot left to do. For Noelle, it was mostly work: there were boxes of documents to copy and send back to America. As soon as Henrik called to say that the office was empty, Elena drove Noelle over. Henrik and Einar were there waiting to help, so Elena decided to go take care of a few last-minute things.

Her first stop was at the historic Nasjonaltheatret, where she picked up a ticket and English program notes for an abridged version of
Peer Gynt
that was playing there that evening. Then she hit the shopping district for one last visit.

This time she wasn’t shopping for herself—she had to buy gifts for her parents and several other relatives whom she would be seeing during a weekend stop in Russia before flying back to the States. She had already decided that her parents would get sweaters. The other relatives were harder to shop for; the men would be happy with anything that said “Norway” on it, but the women would require more thought. They couldn’t each get the same thing—that would mean that Elena didn’t care enough to shop for them individually. However, their gifts had to look like they had cost almost exactly the same, otherwise Elena would appear to be favoring one relative over another. Also, whatever she bought had to be stylish enough to hold up her reputation as the glamorous member of the family who had been an international athlete and now lived in America.

She briefly considered getting something for Sergei, but decided against it. Their dinner together on his first night in Norway had gone as well as she could have hoped, and he had seemed like he was still interested in her, but nothing ever came of it. He never made any effort to be alone with her, and whenever they were together, he was friendly, but nothing more—though every now and then he would say something or look at her in a way that made her suspect that he was holding himself back.

Part of her wanted to give him a signal that she was interested, just to see how he’d react, if nothing else. But the other, wiser part knew that it was better just to let him go. If he was still interested, he would take the initiative. If he wasn’t, there was no point in pursuing him. So she didn’t get him a gift.

She finished her shopping by six thirty, grabbed a quick dinner, and went to the theater. The play started at seven thirty and ran until nine thirty. The play itself was a little disappointing. It was the story of an amoral Norwegian peasant named Peer Gynt, who traveled around the world having cartoonish adventures and behaving badly toward a series of women who nonetheless loved him. The rest of the audience seemed to be enjoying themselves, however, so Elena suspected that she might have enjoyed the play more if she spoke Norwegian. But she did like the sets, and the dance scenes were fun to watch. Also, the musicians in the orchestra pit did a great job with Edvard Grieg’s incidental music—most of which Elena had heard before and liked, but hadn’t realized was part of the play.