The Bones Of Odin (Matt Drake 1) (14 page)

“We need to go,” Drake looked for Kennedy, but failed to spot her.

“
Into
the line of fire?” the SWAT guy said. “Who the hell
are you?”

“It’s not the company or the bullets that bother me,” Drake said. “It’s the rocket-propelled grenade that might soon follow.”

Prudency dictated evacuation. Drake exited in time to see black-and-whites screaming off in the direction the bullets had come from.

He looked around for Kennedy again, but she seemed to have vanished.

Then, a new face was suddenly amongst them. A Bureau Chief, judging by his three-star insignia and, as if that wasn’t enough, pushing in behind him was a man sporting the rare five stars of Police Commissioner. Drake knew immediately that this was the guy they should be talking to. Police Commissioners handled counter-terrorism.

The SWAT commander’s walkie squawked: “All clear. Got a weapon on the roof here, controlled by remote. It’s diversionary.”

“Bastards!” Drake thought about the Canadians and the Germans getting further away with their captives.

Torsten Dahl addressed the newcomer. “You really should speak to my
Statsminister
.”

“It’s done,” The Commissioner said. “You’re outta here.”

“No, wait,” Drake began, physically restraining Ben from rushing forward. “You don’t understand . . ..”

“No, no,” the Commissioner said through gritted teeth. “I don’t. And what I mean is you’re outta here,
on your way to Washington DC.
Capitol Hill wants a piece of you guys, and I hope they take it in big
slices.
”

*****

The flight lasted ninety minutes. Drake worried about Kennedy’s mysterious disappearance right up until the time she reappeared, which was when the jet was about to set off.

She came running up the aisle, breathless.

“Thought we’d lost you,” said Drake. He felt enormous relief, but tried to keep it light-hearted.

Kennedy didn’t answer. Instead she threw herself down in a window seat, out of chatting distance. Drake got up to investigate, but stopped when she flinched away from him, her face as white as alabaster.

Where had she been, and what had happened there?

No calls or e-mail communications were allowed during the flight. No television. They flew in silence; a few guards watched them without interfering.

Drake could have let it flow over him. SAS training called for hours, days, and months of waiting. Of prepping. Of surveilling. For him, an hour could pass in a millisecond. At one point they were offered alcohol in those little plastic bottles, and Drake hesitated for more than a moment.

The whisky gleamed, the amber charm of disaster, his weapon of choice the last time things got hard - when Alyson left. He remembered the pain, the desperation, and still his eyes lingered.

“Not here, thanks.” Ben was alert enough to motion the hostess away. “We’re Mountain Dew boys. Bring that.”

Ben even tried to snap Drake out of it by doing the geek thing. He leaned into the aisle, watching the hostess sway back to her station. “In the lingo of our American brethren -
I’d hit that!”

His face reddened when the hostess stared back at him in surprise. After a second she said: “This ain’t
Hooters Air,
kid.”

Ben shrank back into his seat. “Damn.”

Drake shook his head. “Cheers, mate. Your constant humiliation serves as a happy reminder that I was never your age.”

“Bollocks.”

“Seriously - thanks.”

“No worries.”

“And Karin - she will be okay. I promise.”

“How can you promise that, Matt?”

Drake paused. His inbuilt obligation to help the needy had spoken out, not the clear-cut judgement of the soldier.

“They won’t hurt her yet,” he said. “And very soon, we’re going to have more help than you can imagine.”

“How do you
know
they won’t hurt her?”

Drake sighed. “Okay, okay, it’s an educated guess. If they wanted her dead they’d have killed her straight away, right? No messing. But they didn’t. So . . .”

“Yes?”

“The Germans want her for something. They’ll keep her alive.” Drake knew they could have taken her for isolated interrogation, or something even more common - to a dictator-like boss who liked to exert dominance over every event. Through the years Drake had come to love that particular type of tyrant. Their authoritarianism always gave the good guys a second chance.

Ben managed a strained smile. Drake felt the plane begin its descent, and started to review the facts in his head. With his little team falling apart, he had to step up and protect them even more now.

*****

Within two minutes of disembarking the plane, Drake, Ben, Kennedy and Dahl were ushered through several sets of doors, up a quiet escalator, along a plush corridor lined with thick blue panelling, and finally through a heavy door which, Drake observed, was discreetly locked behind them.

They found themselves in a premier first-class lounge, empty except for themselves and eight other people: five armed guards and three suits - two women and an older man.

The man stepped forward. “Jonathan Gates,” he said softly. “Secretary of Defence.”

Drake felt a sudden rush of panic. Christ, this guy was mega-powerful, maybe fifth or sixth in line for the Presidency. He took a breath and stepped forward, noting the offensive movements from the guards, then spread his hands.

“All friends here,” he said. “At least . . . I think so.”

“I believe you are right.” The Secretary of Defence came forward and offered his hand. “To save time, I have already been apprised of events. The United States is willing, and able, to help. I’m here to . . .
facilitate . . .
that help.”

One of the women offered drinks all round. She had black hair, sharp eyes, and was mid-fifties, with worry-lines thick enough to conceal state secrets, and a manner of ignoring the guards that spoke of her discomfort with them.

The drinks broke the ice a little. Drake and Ben stayed near Gates, sipping diet Dew. Kennedy went over to the window, swirling her wine and staring out at the taxiing planes, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. Torsten Dahl sank into a comfy seat with an Evian, body language tailored to pose no threat.

“My sister,” Ben spoke up. “Can you help her?”

“The CIA has contacted Interpol, but we have no leads on the Germans yet.” After a moment, noting Ben’s distress and what effort it took to address a member of Congress, the Secretary added: “We
are
trying, son. We
will
find them.”

“My parents don’t know yet.” Ben glanced involuntarily down at his mobile. “But it won’t be long - ”

Now the other woman stepped forward – a vivacious, self-assured, much younger specimen with the look of the future ex-Mrs Secretary all over her, a true carnivore or, as Drake said to himself, a
political
version of Alicia Myles.

“My country is nothing if not realistic, Mr Dahl, Mr Drake. We know we are a long way behind in this, and we know the stakes. Your SAS team has been cleared to operate. SGG also. We have a Delta team standing ready to assist. Just add numbers . . .” she waggled her fingers. “Coordinates.”

“And Professor Parnevik?” Dahl spoke for the first time. “What news on the Canadians?”

“Warrants are being issued,” the Secretary said a little stiffly. “It’s a diplomatic situa -”

“No!” Drake shouted, then exhaled to calm himself. “No, sir. That’s the wrong approach. This thing kicked off . . . what? . . . three days ago?
Time
is everything here, especially now. This next few days,” he said, “is where we win or lose.”

Secretary Gates gave him an amused look. “I heard you still had some
soldier
in you, Drake. But not by that reaction.”

“I’m switching between solider and civilian when it suits,” Drake shrugged. “Benefits of being
ex-
army.”

“Uh, huh. Well, if it makes you feel any better, the warrants won’t help. Colby Taylor has disappeared from his Canadian mansion, along with the majority of his staff
.
My guess is he’s been planning this for a long time and has switched to some pre-arranged contingency. Essentially - he’s off the grid.”

Drake closed his eyes. “Any
good
news?”

The younger woman spoke up. “Well, we
are
offering you the full resources of the Library of Congress to help your research.” Her eyes twinkled. “The
largest
Library in the world. Thirty-two
million
books. Rare prints. And a World Digital Library.”

Ben looked at her as if she’d just agreed to enter a Princess Leia cosplay contest. “Full resources? So – theoretically - you could find out which
German
person is obsessed by Norse mythology? You could find texts on Odin and this Tomb of the Gods. Stuff that’s not on the internet?”

“You could, and at the touch of a button,” the woman said. “And, failing that, we have some
very
old Librarians.”

Ben’s eyes lit with hope as he glanced at Matt. “Take us there.”

*****

The Library of Congress was unlocked for them in the very early hours of Sunday morning. Lights on, staff attentive, the world’s largest Library was certainly impressive. At first the architecture and feel of the place reminded Drake of a museum, but when he got a look at the ranks and ranks of bookcases and the circular reading balconies, he soon sensed the respectful ambience of ancient learning, and his mood changed to match his environment.

Whilst Drake spent some time stalking the halls, Ben wasted no time getting into the research. He sidled into a balcony, booted up a laptop, and sent their Swedish Special Forces commander in search of coffee and cookies.

“Nice place,” Drake said when he’d completed a circuit. “I feel like Nicholas Cage might pop out at any minute.”

Ben gripped the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know where to start,” he confessed. “My head’s a shed, mate.”

Torsten Dahl tapped the rail that ran around the balcony. “Start with something you know,” he said in those learned Oxford tones. “Start with the legend.”

“Right. Well, we know the poem. It pretty much says that whoever desecrates the Tomb of the Gods will bring hellfire to Earth. And that’s
fire
, literally. Our planet will burn. We also know this legend has unique parallels throughout history to other corresponding legends written about other Gods.”

“What we
don’t
know,” Dahl said, “is why? Or how?”

“Fire,” Drake said sharply. “The kid just said it.”

Ben closed his eyes. Dahl turned to Drake with a tight smile. “This is called
brainstorming
,” he said. “Sifting through the facts often helps reveal the truth. I meant - how the disaster is triggered. Please either help, or go away.”

Drake sipped coffee and kept quiet. Both these guys had lost people and deserved space. He drifted to the railing and glanced over, running his eyes around the circular room, noting the positions of staff and American agents. Kennedy sat two floors below, tapping away furiously at a laptop, isolated by her own . . .
what?
Drake wondered.
Guilt? Fear? Depression?
He knew all about that, and he wasn’t about to start preaching.

“The legend,” Ben was saying, “indicates that it is the desecration of Odin’s tomb
alone
that will start the rivers of fire flowing. I’d say that’s as an important thing to know as anything else here.”

Drake frowned as his recent memory jump-started.
Rivers of fire?
He’d seen that.

But where?

“Why’d you say it that way?” he asked. “Rivers of fire?”

“Dunno. Maybe ‘cos I’m sick of saying ‘hellfire spews forth’ and ‘the end is nigh.’ I feel like a Hollywood movie trailer.”

“So you went for
rivers of fire?
” Dahl raised an eyebrow. “Like lava?”

“No wait,” Drake snapped his fingers. “Yes! The supervolcano! In . . . in Iceland, right?” He looked to the Swede for confirmation.

“Look, just because I’m Scandinavian doesn’t mean I -”

“Yes.” The Secretary of Defence’s younger assistant materialised at that moment from a nearby rack of books. “On the South-eastern side of Iceland. The entire world’s aware of it. From reading new governmental research, I think it’s the seventh Supervolcano in existence.”

“The most famous one being at Yellowstone Park,” Ben said.

“But is a Supervolcano such a threat?” Drake asked. “Or is that another Hollywood myth?”

Both Ben and the Secretary’s assistant nodded. “The term ‘extinction of the species’ is not overused in this context,” the assistant said. “Research tells us that two previous eruptions of supervolcanoes are coincident with the two largest mass extinction events that have ever occurred on our planet. The second, of course, being the dinosaurs.”

“How coincident?” Drake asked.

“So close that if it happened once, you’d wonder about it. But twice? Come on . . .”

“Damn.”

Ben held his hands in the air. “Look, we’re getting distracted here. What we need is loadsa crap on Odin.” He highlighted several titles on the screen. “That, that, and
woah¸
definitely that. The
Voluspa -
where Odin tells of his visits with the Seeress.”

“Visits?” Drake made a face. “Viking porn, eh?”

The assistant leaned over Ben and clicked a few buttons, entered a password, and typed a line. Her pantsuit was the opposite of Kennedy’s, designed to tastefully enhance her figure rather than conceal it. Ben’s eyes went wide, his troubles momentarily forgotten.

Drake mouthed: “
Wasted talent
.”

Ben gave him the finger just as the assistant stood up. Luckily she didn’t see him. “They will be brought to you within five minutes,” she said. 

“Thank you, Miss.” Drake hesitated. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Call me Hayden,” she said.