The Bones Of Odin (Matt Drake 1) (29 page)

“Any news from next door?” Frey asked immediately. “Has Hudson called?”

Next door was the CCTV control centre, currently being overseen by one of Frey’s more radical cohorts - Tim Hudson. Known about the chateau as ‘memory man’ for his extensive computer expertise, Hudson had been one of Frey’s earliest disciples, a man willing to go to any extremes for his fanatical boss. They were chiefly monitoring progress of the installation of Odin’s Tomb, with Hudson at the helm – swearing, sweating and nervously gulping Yaegers down as if they were milk. Frey was eager to see the Tomb set in its rightful place, and fully prepared for his first notable visit. Also being surveyed were his captives, Karin’s quarters, and the cells of his new inmates.

And the party of course. Hudson had arranged a system that put every inch of the club under some kind of scrutiny, be it infra-red or standard feed, and every action of Frey’s elite guests was being recorded and examined for its weight in leverage.

He had come to realise that power was not knowledge after all. Power was
hard proof
. The discreet photograph. The HD video. Entrapment might be illegal, but that didn’t get in the way if its victim was sufficiently terrified.

Abel Frey could engineer a ‘date-night’ with a starlet or a rock-chick any time he chose. He could acquire a painting or a sculpture, obtain front row seats to the hottest show in the glitziest town, attain the unattainable, whenever the whim took him.

“Nothing yet. Hudson’s probably passed out on the couch again,” Alicia said, lounging with her head propped on her hands and her legs draped over the edge of his sofa. When Frey glanced at her she parted her knees subtly.

Of course. Frey sighed inside, naturally. He watched Milo groaning and holding his ribs. He felt a jolt of electricity raise his heart-rate as the thought of sex and danger mingled. He raised an eyebrow in Alicia’s direction, gave her the universal ‘money’ sign.

Alicia swung her legs down. “On second thoughts, Milo, why don’t you go check again. And get a full report from that idiot Hudson, hmm? Boss,” she nodded towards a silver platter of nibbles. “Fancy something?”

Frey studied the plate as Milo, as oblivious to what was happening as a politician is to his foolishness, sent a pretend glare towards his girlfriend then groaned and limped out of the room.

Frey said: “Biscotti looks good.”

No sooner had the door clicked into place than Alicia handed the plate of biscotti biscuits to Frey and climbed up on his desk. On all fours she turned her head towards him.

“Want some fine English ass with that biscuit?”

Frey flicked the secret button under his desk. Immediately a fake painting slid aside to reveal a bank of video screens. He said: “Six,” and one of the screens flashed into life.

He tasted the biscuit as he watched, absent-mindedly stroking Alicia’s rounded buttock.

“My battle arena,” he breathed. “It’s already prepared. Yes?”

Alicia wriggled seductively. “Yes.”

Frey began to stroke the groove between her legs. “Then I have about ten minutes. You’ll have to make do with a quick one for now.”

“Story of my life.”

Frey turned his attention to her, always aware of Milo only twenty feet away behind an unlocked door, but even with that, and the sensual presence of Alicia Myles, he still couldn’t tear his eyes away from the lavish cell of one of his newly acquired captives.

The serial killer - Thomas Kaleb.

The ultimate face-off was imminent.

Part 3

Battleground . . .

FORTY-THREE

LA VEREIN, GERMANY

Kennedy ran to the bars when Abel Frey and his guards appeared outside their cell. She screamed at them to remove the Professor’s body or let them go free, then felt a rush of trepidation when they did just that.

She paused outside the cell, unsure what to do. One of the guards gestured with his gun. They walked deeper into the prison complex, past several more cells, all unoccupied. But the scope of it all chilled her to the bone. She wondered what depraved iniquities this guy was capable of perpetrating.

It was then she understood he might be worse than Kaleb. Worse than all of them. She hoped Drake, Dahl and a back-up army were closing in, but she had to face and overcome this dilemma believing that they were on their own. How could she hope to protect Ben as Drake had? The young lad trailed along at her side. He’d barely spoken since Parnevik died. In fact, Kennedy thought, the boy had said only a few words since their capture back at the Tomb.

Was he seeing his chance of saving Karin slip away? She knew he still had his mobile safely in his pocket, switched to vibrate, and also that he’d received half-a-dozen calls from his parents that he hadn’t answered.

“We’re in the right place,” Kennedy whispered out of the side of her mouth. “Keep your wits about you.”

“Shut up, American!” Frey spat the last word as if it were a curse. To him, she fancied it most likely was. “You should worry about your own fate.”

Kennedy sent a fleeting look behind. “What’s that supposed to mean? You gonna make me wear one of your little dresses you made?” She imitated cutting and stitching.

The German raised an eyebrow. “Cute. We’ll see how long you stay feisty.”

Beyond the cell complex they entered another, far dingier section of the house. They were angling sharply downward now, the rooms and corridors around her in disrepair. Knowing Frey though, this was all a misdirection to throw snoopers off.

They travelled along a final corridor that led to an arched wooden door with big metal straps across the hinges. One of the guards keyed in an eight-figure number on a wireless numerical keypad and the heavy doors began to creak open.

Instantaneously she saw a chest-high metal rail that encircled the new room. About thirty to forty people stood around it, drinks in hand, laughing. Playboys and drug barons, high-class male and female prostitutes, royalty and Fortune 500 Chairmen. Widows with vast inheritance money, oil-rich sheiks and millionaires’ daughters.

All stood around the barrier, sipping Bollinger and
Romanee Conti
, nibbling their delicacies and exuding their culture and class.

When Kennedy walked in, they all stopped and took a moment to stare at her. Her chilling thought was
to
evaluate her.
Whispers ran around the dusty walls and prickled her ears.

That’s her? The cop?

He’s going to annihilate her in, oh, four minutes, tops.

I’ll take that. Raise you another ten, Pierre. What do you say?

Seven. I wager she’s stronger than she looks. And, well, she’ll be a mite pissed don’t you think?

What the hell were they talking about?

Kennedy felt a rude kick to her buttocks and stumbled into the room. The assemblage laughed. Frey trotted quickly after her.

“People!”
He laughed. “
My friends!
This is one fine offering, don’t you think? And she’s going to give us one
fine night!”

Kennedy stared around, intimidated despite herself. What the hell were they talking about?
Stay prickly,
she remembered Captain Lipkind’s favourite saying. Stay on your game. She tried to focus, but the shock and the surreal surroundings threatened to undo her.

“I won’t
perform
for you,” she muttered at Frey’s back. “In any way you expect.”

Frey turned towards her and his knowing smile was startling. “Won’t you? For something
precious?
I think you overestimate yourself, and your kind. But that’s okay. You can think not, but I think you will, dear Kennedy. I
really
think you will. Come.” He gestured her forward.

Kennedy stepped to the circular rail. About twelve feet below her was a circular pit, dug unevenly out of the earth, its floor dotted with rocks, its walls clad in dirt and stone.

An old-fashioned gladiator arena. A fighting pit.

Metal ladders were hauled beside her and lifted over the rail into the pit. Frey indicated that she should climb down.

“Not a chance,” Kennedy whispered. Three guns were levelled at her and Ben.

Frey shrugged. “I need you, but I seriously don’t need the boy. We could start with a bullet to the knee, then an elbow. Work around and see how long it takes for you to do my bidding.” His hellfire smile persuaded her that he’d be glad to prove his words.

She gritted her teeth, spent a second smoothing her pantsuit down. The affluent mob inspected her with interest, as they might a caged animal. Glasses were emptied and nibbles nibbled. Waiters and waitresses flitted among them, unseen by them, refilling and refreshing.

“What’s with the pit?” she bartered for time, seeing no way out of this and trying to give Drake every precious extra second.

“This is my Battle Arena,” Frey said obligingly. “You live in glorious memory or you die in shame. The choice, my dear Kennedy,
is in your hands.
”

Stay prickly.

One of the guards nudged her with the barrel of his pistol. Somehow she managed to muster up a positive look for Ben, and reached out for the ladder.

“Wait,” Frey’s evil eyes glinted. “Take her shoes off. That’ll fuel his bloodlust a little more.”

Kennedy stood there, humiliated and enraged, and a bit bemused as one of the guards knelt before her and removed her shoes. She swung onto the ladder, feeling unreal and detached, as if this bizarre encounter was happening to a different Kennedy in a far-flung corner of the world. She wondered who this
he
person everyone kept referring to actually was.

It didn’t sound good. It sounded like she would have to fight for her life.

As she descended the ladder, whistles went up from the crowd and a potent wave of bloodlust curdled the air.

They shouted all manner of obscenities. Bets were staked: some that she would die in less than a minute, others that she would lose her thong in under thirty seconds. One or two even offered her encouragement. But more gambled that
he
would desecrate her dead body after he had pulverised her.

The richest of the rich, the most powerful scum on Earth. If this was what wealth and power got you then the world was indeed broken.

All too quickly, her bare feet touched the hard earth. She dismounted, feeling cold and exposed, and looked around. Opposite her a hole had been cut in the wall. Currently it was covered by a set of thick bars.

A figure trapped on the other side of those bars suddenly came rushing forward, smashing into them with a bloodcurdling shriek of fury. He shook them so hard they bounced, his face little more than a twisted snarl.

But despite that, and despite her bizarre surroundings, Kennedy recognised him in less time than it took to think his name.

Thomas Kaleb, serial killer. Here, in Germany, with her. Two mortal enemies placed in the Battle Arena.

Abel Frey’s plan, hatched back in New York, come to fruition.

Kennedy’s heart leapt, and a sheer rush of hatred arrowed from her toes to her brain and back again.

“You
bastard!”
She cried, seething.
“You absolute bastard!”

Then the bars shot up, and Kaleb leapt towards her.

*****

Drake exited the helicopter before it touched down, still a step behind Torsten Dahl, and ran towards a lively hotel that had been commandeered by a joint coalition of International forces. A mixed army to be sure, but a determined and capable one.

They were 1.2 miles North of La Verein.

Army and civilian vehicles were convoyed up outside, engines burbling, at the ready.

The foyer was a mass of activity: commandos and Special Forces, intelligence agents and soldiers all grubbing up, cleaning up, and gearing up.

Dahl made his presence known by jumping on to the hotel’s front desk and hollering so loudly everyone turned. A respectful silence fell.

They already knew him, and Drake, and the rest, and were well aware of what they had achieved in Iceland. Each and every man here had been briefed by a Video-link beamed between the hotel and the chopper.

“We ready?” Dahl shouted. “To take this bastard down?”

“Vehicles prepped,” a Commander shouted. They were all deferring to Dahl for this operation. “Snipers in place. We’re so hot we could restart that volcano, sir!”

Dahl nodded. “Then what are we waiting for?”

The noise level climbed a hundred notches. Troops filed out of the doors, slapping each others’ backs and agreeing to meet for beers after the battle to bolster bravado. Engines started to roar as the assembled vehicles drove away.

Drake joined Dahl in the third moving vehicle, a military Hummer. Through the last few hours of briefings he knew they had about 500 men, enough to deluge Frey’s small army of 200, but the German held the higher ground and was expected to have plenty of tricks.

But the one thing he didn’t have was the element of surprise.

Drake bounced along in the front seat, gripping his rifle, his thoughts focusing on Ben and Kennedy. Hayden was in the seat behind them, tooled up and kitted out for war. Wells, with his serious stomach wound, had been left at the hotel.

The convoy rounded a sharp bend and there was La Verein, lit up like a Christmas tree against the darkness that surrounded it and before the black cliff face of the mountain that towered above it. Its gates were wide open, demonstrating the insolent audacity of the man they had come to dethrone.

Dahl keyed the mic. “Last call. We’re going in hot. Speed will save lives here, men. You know the targets and you know our best guesstimate of where Odin’s coffin will be. Let’s stick it to that PIG, soldiers.”

The reference stood for Polite Intelligent Gentleman. Heavy on the irony. Drake held on with white knuckles as the Hummer shot through Frey’s gatehouse with barely an inch to spare on either side. The German guards started raising the alarm from their high towers.