Ben ploughed through as if he’d never been interrupted. Drake sneaked a glance at Kennedy, and saw her smile. He looked away, shocked on two counts. First, by Dahl’s reference to his reputation, and second, by Kennedy’s heartfelt endorsement.
Ben finished. Dahl said: “The Germans are a new entity in all this who had not engaged our attentions before that business in York.”
“New?” Drake said. “They’re good. And very well organised; controlled by fear and iron discipline. And they have a major asset in a guy called Milo — American Special Forces at a guess. Check the name.”
“We will. The good news is that we do have intel on the Canadians.”
“Eyes on?”
“Yes, but partial, inexperienced, and alone,” Dahl cast a surreptitious glance towards Kennedy. “The Swedish government’s relationship with your new Obama regime isn’t what I’d call first-rate.”
“Sorry about that,” Kennedy faked a smile, then made a show of looking around. “Look, dude, if we’re gonna be here a while do ya think we might get a little food?”
“Already being prepared by our sous-chef,” Dahl batted her false smile right back. “Seriously though, there’s burgers and chips on the way.”
Drake’s mouth started to water. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.
“I’ll tell you what I can. The Canadians began life as a secret cult, devoted to the Viking — Eric the Red. Don’t laugh, these things do exist. These people, through cosplay, act out events and battles, and even sea voyages on a regular basis.”
“No real harm there,” Ben sounded a little defensive. Drake stored that wonderful nugget away for later.
“Not at all, Mr Blake. Cosplay is common, enjoyed by many people at conventions everywhere, and becoming more common as the years go by. But the real damage begins when a billionaire businessman becomes the modern-day leader of that cult, and then throws millions of dollars into the ring.”
“So light-hearted fun becomes — “
“Obsession.” Dahl finished as the door opened. Drake moaned as a standard meal of burger and chips was placed before him. The smell of onions was divine to his ravenous belly.
Dahl continued as they tucked in: “A Canadian businessman called Colby Taylor devoted his life to the well-known Viking, Eric the Red, who, as I’m sure you know, landed in Canada shortly after discovering Greenland. From out of this study was born a manic fascination for Nordic mythology. Explorations, digs, discoveries. Endless searching. The man purchased his own library, and tried to buy up every Nordic text in existence.”
“Nut job,” Kennedy said.
“Agreed. But a ‘nut job’ who funds his own ‘security force’- read that as army. And he stays reclusive enough to stay below most people’s radar. His name has come up time and again over the years with regard to the Nine Pieces of Odin so, naturally, Swedish intelligence has always tagged him as a ‘person of interest’.”
“He stole the Horse,” Drake said. “You know that don’t you?”
Dahl’s wide eyes indicated he hadn’t. “We do now.”
“Can’t you get him arrested?” Kennedy asked. “On suspicion of theft or something?”
“Envision him as one of your… gangsters. Your mafia or Triad leaders. He is untouchable — the man at the top — for now.”
Drake liked the implied sentiment. He told Dahl about Alicia Myles’ involvement, and gave Dahl as much background as he was allowed to disclose.
“So,” he said when he’d finished. “Are we helpful, or what?”
“Not bad,” Dahl admitted, as the door opened again, and an older man with a surprisingly thick mane of long hair and a lush beard walked in. To Drake he looked like a modern, aging Viking.
Dahl nodded. “Ahh, I’ve been waiting for you, Prof. May I present Professor Roland Parnevik,” he smiled. “Our expert in Nordic mythology.”
Drake nodded, then saw Ben sizing the new man up like he would a love rival. He understood now why Ben was secretly loving this mission. He patted his young friend on the shoulder.
“Well, our family guy here might not be a Professor, but he sure knows his way around the Web — a kind of modern medicine versus old remedies, eh?”
“Or the best of both worlds,” Kennedy pointed her fork at both parties in question.
The cynical side of Drake calculated that Kennedy Moore might be angling this mission in a way that might save her career. A surprising, softer side enjoyed watching the way the edges of her mouth turned up when she smiled.
Parnevik stumbled into the room clutching an armful of scrolls and balancing several notebooks on top of the pile. He looked around, stared at Dahl as if he couldn’t remember the soldier’s name, then dumped his load on the table.
“It’s in there,” he said, jabbing a finger at one of the scrolls. “That one. The legend is real… like I told you months ago.”
Dahl plucked out the indicated scroll with a flourish. “You’ve been with us a week, Professor. Just a week.”
“Are… are you sure?”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Dahl’s tone conveyed a prodigious amount of patience.
Another soldier walked in the door. “Sir. This one’s mobile,” he nodded towards Ben, “has been ringing incessantly. Hela tiden… umm… non-stop.” The smirk came next. “It’s his mother.”
Ben was up in a second and hitting a speed-dial button. Drake smiled with affection, and Kennedy looked mischievous. “Jeez, I can think of so many ways to corrupt that boy.”
Dahl began to read from the scrolclass="underline"
“I heard he died at Ragnarok, swallowed whole by his doom. By the man-wolf-Fenrir — once turned by the moon.
And later, Thor and Loki lay cold by his side. Great Gods among countless Gods, our rocks against the tide.
Nine Pieces scattered to the wind along the One true Volva’s ways. Bring not these parts to Ragnarok or risk the end of days.
Forever shall thou fear this, hear me sons of men, for to defile the Tomb of Gods is to start the Day of Reckoning.”
Dahl shrugged. “And so on. And on. And on. I already got the gist of this from momma’s boy over there, Prof. Seems the Web is indeed mightier than the scroll. And faster.”
“You have? Well, like I said… months, Torsten, months. And I’ve been ignored for years. Institutionalised, even. The Tomb has always existed you know, it didn’t just materialise in the last month. Agnetha gave me that scroll thirty years ago, and where are we now? Hmm? Are we anywhere?”
Dahl was struggling to stay calm. Drake stepped in. “You talk of Ragnarok, Professor Parnevik. A place that doesn’t exist.”
“Not anymore, sir. But once — yes. Once it certainly existed. Otherwise — where did Odin and Thor and all the other Gods die?”
“You believe they existed then?”
“Of course!” Parnevik practically screamed.
Dahl’s voice was lower. “For now,” he said, “we’re suspending disbelief.”
Ben was back at the table, pocketing his mobile. “So you know about the Valkyries then?” he asked cryptically, with a sly look at Drake and Kennedy. “You know why they’re the jewel in Odin’s crown?”
Dahl just looked exasperated. Parnevik blinked and stammered. “Th… the… jewel in… the… what?”
FOURTEEN
Ben smiled as the room grew quiet. “This is our admittance ticket,” he said. “And my guarantee of respect. It is written time and again throughout Norse mythology that the Valkyries ‘ride to the realms of the Gods.’ Look it up — it’s there.”