The Bones Of Odin (Matt Drake 1) (20 page)

The line disconnected. Frey put the mobile down, content for now. “Ok, Hudson,” he said. “Get the machine rolling. Send everyone to Ostergotland now.” The final Piece was within his grasp, as were all the other Pieces, if they played the end games right. “Milo knows what to do.”

He studied the row of TV monitors.

“Which one is captive 6 - Karin Blake?”

Hudson scratched at his untidy beard before waving a hand. Frey leaned forward to study the blonde girl in the middle of her bed sitting with legs tucked up to her chin,.

Or more accurately - sitting on a bed that belonged to Frey. And eating Frey’s food, inside a locked and guarded hut that Frey had commissioned. Using electricity that Frey paid for.

Wearing an ankle chain
he
had designed.

She belonged to him now.

“Send the video feed to my room immediately - the big screen. Then tell Chef to send dinner there. Ten minutes after that I want my martial arts expert.” He paused, thinking.

“Ken?”

“Yes, that one. I want him to go in there and take her shoes away. Nothing else for now. I want the psychological torture to be deliciously long until this one is crushed. I’ll wait a day, and then I’ll take something more important to her.”

“And captive 7?”

“Good God, Hudson, treat him well, as you would treat yourself. The best of everything. His time to impress us is coming . . ..”

THIRTY-ONE

AIRSPACE OVER SWEDEN

The plane lurched. Kennedy Moore started awake, relieved to have been jolted to consciousness by the turbulence, the new day chasing away her very own Haunter of the Dark.

Kaleb existed in her dreams as he existed in the real world, but at night he killed her repeatedly, forcing live roaches down her throat until she choked and had to chew and swallow, the single betrayal of her torment the horror on her eyes, constant until the last spark died.

Suddenly awake and snatched from the underbelly of hell, she stared around the cabin with wild eyes. It was quiet; civilians and soldiers were napping or talking quietly. Even Ben Blake had fallen asleep, clutching his laptop, the worry lines not smoothed out by sleep, and tragically out of place on his boyish face.

Then she saw Drake, and he was gazing at her. Now
his
worry lines simply improved an already striking face. His honesty and selflessness shone plainly, impossible to hide, but the hurt concealed behind the composure made her want to comfort him . . . all night long.

She smiled inwardly. More Dino-rock references. Drake’s pastime was a great diversion. It was a moment before she realised that her inner smile might have touched her eyes, because he smiled back at her.

And then, for the first time in all the years since she’d started at the Academy, she regretted that her vocation required her to de-sexualise her personality. She wished she knew how to flip her hair in
that
way. She wished she had a bit more Selma Blair in her and a bit less Sandra Bullock.

Having said all that, it was quite apparent that Drake liked her.

She returned his smile, but at that moment the plane lurched again and everyone came awake. The pilot announced that they were an hour out from their destination. Ben came awake, and walked zombie-like to grab some of the remaining Kona coffee. Torsten Dahl stood up and looked around.

“Time to break out the GPR,” he said with half a smile.

They were routed to fly over Ostergotland, targeting the areas where both Professor Parnevik and Ben agreed Heidi’s village would have stood. The poor Prof was clearly in pain from a severed finger-tip, and deeply shocked at how callous his torturer had been, but gleeful as a puppy in the way he told them about the map engraved into Odin’s Shield.

The way to Ragnarok.

Supposedly.

So far, no one had been able to translate it. Was it more misdirection from Alicia Myles and her misguided crew?

Once the plane broke through Dahl’s rough perimeter, he pointed out an image that came up on the plane’s TV. The Ground Penetrating Radar sent short pulses of radio-waves into the ground. When it hit a buried object or boundary or void it reflected the image in its return signal. Difficult to pick out at first, but simple with experience.

Kennedy shook her head at Dahl. “Does the Swedish army have everything?”

“This sort of thing is essential,” Dahl told her seriously. “We have a hybrid version of this machine that detects landmines and hidden pipes. Very high-tech.”

The dawn had broken over the horizon and then been chased away by tattered grey clouds, when Parnevik gave a shout. “There! That image looks like an old Viking settlement. You see the circular outer rim – that’s the protective walls – and the rectangular objects within? They’re small dwellings.”

“So let’s pinpoint the largest house . . .” Ben began hurriedly.

“No,” Parnevik said. “That would be the community Longhouse - the
meeting place
or feasting place. Heidi, if she
was
indeed here, would have the second largest house.”

Clearer images were coming through as the plane descended slowly. The settlement was soon mapped plainly, several feet below ground, and the second largest home was soon evident.

“You see that,” Dahl pointed to a deeper colour, so faint that it might have been overlooked if someone wasn’t searching for it. “That means there’s a
void
, and it’s right under Heidi’s house. Damn,” he said turning around. “She built her home right over Mimir’s Well!”

THIRTY-TWO

OSTERGOTLAND, SWEDEN

Once they were on the ground and had trekked across several miles of damp grassland, Dahl called for a halt. Drake cast around at what he could only describe as – in the new spirit of Dino-rock Kennedy and he were sharing – a motley crew. The Swedes and SGG were represented by Torsten Dahl and three of his men, the SAS by Wells and ten soldiers. One had been left in Hawaii, wounded. The Delta team was down to six; then there were Ben, Parnevik, Kennedy and himself. Hayden had stayed with the plane.

Not a person among them appeared untroubled by the difficulties of their task. The fact that the plane was waiting, fully-fuelled and armed and with the Pieces on board, ready to fly them anywhere in the world, only brought the graveness of the situation into bolder relief.

“If it helps,” Dahl said when everyone looked expectantly at him, “I don’t see how they can find us this time,” he pointed. “Start by using the light explosives to clear a few feet down, then it’s shovel time.”

“Be careful,” Parnevik was wringing his hands. “We don’t want a cave-in.”

“Don’t worry,” Dahl said with good cheer. “Between the various forces here I think we’ve got an experienced crew, Prof.”

There was grumpy laughter. Drake scanned their surroundings. They’d set up a wide perimeter, leaving men atop several hills that ringed the place where the GPR system told them old Guardhouses once stood. If it was good enough for the Vikings and all that. . .

The flatlands were grassy and calm, the slight breeze barely ruffling a stand of trees that stood to the east of their position. A slight drizzle began and then gave up before trying again.

Ben’s mobile rang. His eyes took on a haunted appearance. “Dad? Just busy. I’ll ring you back this aft.” He closed the device with a look at Drake. “I’m out of time,” he mumbled. “They already know something’s up, just not what.”

Drake nodded, and watched the first explosion without flinching. Grass sod and dirt plumed into the air. It was immediately followed by another slightly deeper
thump,
and a second cloud rose out of the ground.

Several men clattered forward, holding shovels the way they held weapons. A surreal scene.

“Be careful,” Parnevik wittered. “We wouldn’t want anyone to get their feet wet.” He cackled as if it were the greatest joke in history.

A clearer survey picture had shown a hole beneath Heidi’s longhouse that led to an extensive cavern. Obviously, something more than a mere well lay down there and the team were erring on the side of caution. It took another hour of careful digging and several pauses whilst Parnevik crowed and studied unearthed artefacts before they struck thin air.

Drake used the time to organise his thoughts. To date, it felt like he’d been on a roller-coaster ride without any brakes. Even after all these years he was still more used to following orders than carrying out a course of action, so he needed longer to think than, say, Ben Blake. Two things he knew for certain - they were always on the back foot, and they had been forced by their enemies to
react
to situations, rather than create them; a result of entering this race behind their opponents, no doubt.

It was now time to start winning this race. Especially as they seemed to be the only faction dedicated to
saving
the world, rather than risking it.

So you believe in ghost stories?
An old voice whispered in his brain.

No, he answered as he had back then. But I do believe in horror stories . . .

During his last mission as a member of the secretive SRT, a Special Branch of the SAS, he and three other members of his team – including Alicia Myles – had stumbled across a remote village in Northern Iraq, its inhabitants tortured, massacred. Assuming the obvious they had investigated . . . to find British and French soldiers, still in the throes of
conducting
their interrogation.

What followed would blight the rest of Matt Drake’s days on Earth. Blind with rage, he and two other team members had stopped the torture.

One more ‘friendly-fire’ incident among many.

Alicia Myles had stood and watched, not tarring herself with any brush one way or the other. She couldn’t stop the torture and she couldn’t stop the demise of the torturers. But she did follow the orders of her commanding officer.

Matt Drake.

After that, the soldier’s life was over for him, any romance it had held torn to pieces. But leaving the service didn’t mean the memories dimmed. His wife used to shake him awake night after night, and then slipped out of a sweat-soaked bed, crying to herself downstairs when he refused to confide.

Now he noticed Kennedy standing across from him, smiling as she had on the plane. Her hair hung free, her face turned lively and mischievous by the grin. Centrefold eyes and a Victoria’s Secret body, mixed with schoolteacher propriety and businesslike reserve. Quite a blend.

He grinned back. Torsten Dahl shouted: “Take a depth reading! We need a guide for the Descenders.”

When Ben asked him what a Descender was, he just grinned. “Straight out of Hollywood legend, my friend. Remember seeing a thief take a dive off a building and have his jump regulated down to the exact
millimetre
, at which point his fall is arrested? Well, a Blue-Diamond Descender is the device they use.”

“Cool.”

Drake noticed his old Commander inching his way around, and took a proffered flask of coffee. This chat had been coming awhile. Drake wanted it over with.

“Mai?” He asked, lips firmly pointed at the ground so that no one knew his question.

“Hmm?”

“Just tell me.”

“Good God, man, after the marked lack of information
you
hand out in regards to your
old flame,
I can hardly expect to be handing out freebies now, can I?”

Drake resisted the smile, despite himself. “You are one dirty old man, you know that?”

“It’s what keeps me at the top of my game. Now, tell me a story from one of her undercover missions - any of them.”

“Well . . . I could waste your chance here and give you something tame,” Drake said. “Or you could wait until this is all over, and I’ll give you the gold . . . you know the one.”

“Tokyo Cos-con?”

“Tokyo Cos-con. When Mai went undercover at Japan’s biggest Cosplay convention to infiltrate and detain the Fuchu triads who ran the porn industry at the time.”

Wells looked like he was about to have a seizure. “Jesus, Drake. You twat. Alright then, but believe me,
you owe me now,”
he took a breath. “The Japs have just pulled her out of Hong Kong,
straight out
of an assumed identity, without warning, totally blowing the cover she’s been crafting for
two years.”

Drake gave him a look of open-mouthed incredulity. “
No way.”

“My words too.”

“Why?”

“Also my next question. But, Drake, isn’t it obvious?”

Drake thought about it. “Only that she’s the best they’ve got. The best they’ve ever had. And they must need her desperately.”

“We’ve been fielding calls from their Justice and Prime Ministers for about fifteen hours now, as have the Yanks. They’re coming clean with
us
- they’ve sent her to scout out La Verein because it’s the only connection they’ve found to this mess, which has already escalated to the biggest thing happening on the planet right now. It’s only a matter of hours before we’re forced to come clean with them.”

Drake frowned. “Is there a reason not to come clean right now? Mai would be a fantastic asset.”

“Agreed mate, but, governments are governments, and, world in peril or not, they love to play their little games, don’t they?”

Drake indicated the hole in the ground. “Looks like they’re ready.”

*****

Drake’s Descender was set to 126 feet. A device called a ‘quick-release muzzle’ was thrust into his hand, and a backpack was handed to him. He crammed a fireman’s helmet with a torch strapped to it onto his head, and rummaged through the pack. A big flashlight, an oxygen tank, weapons, food, water, radio, first-aid - all of his spelunking needs. He tugged on a heavy-duty pair of gloves and walked to the rim of the hole.

“Geronimo?” he asked Kennedy, who was staying topside with Ben and the Professor to help watch their perimeter.