Kennedy tapped her fork against her plate. “Meaning?”
“They show the way,” Ben said. “You can assemble the Nine Pieces of Odin at Ragnarok all month long — but it’s the Valkyries that show the way to the Tomb of the Gods.”
Drake frowned. “And you’ve been keeping this to yourself, eh?”
“No one knows where the Valkyries are, Matt. They’re in a private collection, only God knows where. The Wolves in New York are the last Pieces we have a location for.”
Dahl smiled as Parnevik practically attacked his scrolls. White tubes flew everywhere amidst a storm of muttering. “Valkyries. Valkyries. Here — no. There — maybe. Ahh, here. Hmm.”
Drake caught Dahl’s eye. “And the Apocalypse theory? Hellfire on Earth and every living thing razed etc… etc.”
“I could recite you a similar legend for almost every God in the pantheon. Shiva. Zeus. Seth. But Drake, if the Canadians find that Tomb they will desecrate it, never mind the other consequences.”
Drake flashed back to the crazy Germans. “As would our new friends,” he nodded and gave Dahl a slight smile. “Out of choices…”
“Balls to the wall.” Dahl finished the little military mantra, and the two shared a look.
Ben leaned across the table to catch Dahl’s attention. “Excuse me, mate, but we’re wasting time here. Give me a laptop. Let me surf. Or better still, get us en route to the Big Apple and we’ll surf in the air.”
Kennedy nodded. “He’s right. I can help. The next logical target is the National History Museum and, let’s face it, the U.S. ain’t ready.”
“Familiar story,” Dahl said. “Mobilisation is already underway.” He looked hard at Ben. “Are you offering to help, young man?”
Ben opened his mouth, but then paused as if sensing the importance of his answer. “Well, we’re still on the Kill List, right? And the Wall of Sleep’s on hiatus this month.”
“Mum put a curfew on our young student?” Drake prodded.
“The Wall of — ?” Dahl frowned. “Is that a sleep deprivation study class?”
“Doesn’t matter. Look at what I uncovered already. And Matt’s SAS. Kennedy’s an NYC cop. We’re practically the perfect team!”
Dahl’s eyes narrowed, as if weighing his decision. Silently, he slid Drake’s mobile across the table and indicated the screen. “Where’d you photograph the runes in that picture?”
“In the Pit. Alongside the long-ships, there was a wall with hundreds of carvings. This woman,” he tapped the screen, “was knelt by Odin’s side as he suffered on the World Tree. Can you translate the inscription?”
“Roughly, yes. It says — Odin and the Volva — Heidi entrusted with the God’s secrets. The Professor is researching this now….” Dahl glanced at Parnevik as the man tried to collect all his scrolls at once.
“God’s secrets.” Parnevik swung around like a hellhound had landed on his back. “Or Gods’ secrets. Hear the nuance? Understand? Let me through.” He spoke to the empty doorway and disappeared.
“We will take you,” Dahl told them. “But know this. Talks with your government have not yet begun. Hopefully, this will be taken care of during our flight. But for now, we’re heading to New York with a dozen Special Forces soldiers and no clearance. We’re taking guns into the National History Museum.” He paused. “Still want to come?”
“The SAS will help,” Drake said. “They have a team standing by.”
“I guess I’ll try the precinct Captain, see if we can grease a few wheels.” Kennedy’s dark change of demeanour at the thought of going home was obvious. Drake promised himself there and then that he would help her if he could.
Trust me, he wanted to say. I’ll get you through this. But the words froze in his throat.
Ben flexed his fingers. “Just gimme an I-pad or something. Quick.”
FIFTEEN
Their aircraft was equipped with a device called a picocell, a mobile telephone tower which allows the use of all mobile phones on planes. Essential for Government military forces, but doubly essential for Ben Blake.
“Yo, sis, got a job for you. Don’t ask. Listen, Karin, listen! I need info on the National History Museum. Exhibits, Viking stuff. Blueprints. Staff. Particularly the bosses. And…” his voice lowered several octaves, “… phone numbers.”
Drake heard a few moments of silence, then: “Yes, the one in New York! How many are there?… Oh… really? Well, okay, sis. I’ll Paypal you some dosh over to cover it. Love you.”
As his friend broke the connection Drake said: “She still out of work?”
“Sits at home all day, mate. Works ‘lates’ in a dodgy bar. Prodigy of old Labour politics.”
Karin had struggled for seven years to get her degree in computer programming. When the Labour Government folded at the end of Blair’s reign, she left Nottingham Uni — a confident, highly-skilled worker — to find nobody wanted her. The recession had arrived.
Exit University Row — turn left for the scrapheap, turn right for pregnancy and State Aid. Continue straight ahead for the road of shattered dreams.
Karin lived in a flat near the centre of Nottingham. Drug addicts and alcoholics rented the properties around her. She rarely ventured out during the day, and took a trusted taxi to the bar where she worked an eight ‘til midnight shift. The most terrifying moments of her life were when she returned to her flat, darkness, stale sweat, and other nasty odours surrounding her, a walking felony just waiting to happen.
In the land of the damned and the ignored, the man who lives in shadow is King.
“Do you really need her for this?” Dahl, who was seated on the other side of the plane, asked. “Or…”
“Look, it’s not charity, mate. I have to concentrate on the Odin stuff. Karin can do the museum legwork. Makes total sense.”
Drake made his own speed-dial call. “Let him work, Dahl. Trust me. We’re here to help.”
Wells answered immediately. “Been catching zeds, Drake? What the hell’s going on?”
Drake filled him in.
“Well, here’s a solid gold nugget. We checked into Alicia Myles. You know the score, Matt. You’re never truly out of the SAS,” he paused. “Last known address — 111 Hildegarde Strasse, Munich.”
“Germany? But she was with the Canadians.”
“Uh huh. That’s not all. She lived in Munich with her boyfriend — one Milo Noxon — a rather nasty citizen of Las Vegas, USA. And he’s Ex-Marine Force Recon. The best the Yanks have to offer.”
Drake took a moment of evaluation. “That’s how he knew me then, through Myles. The question is — did she swap sides to spite him, or to help him?”
“Answer unknown. Maybe you could ask her.”
“I’ll try. Look, we’re swinging by our balls up here, Wells. Think you could contact your old mates in the States? Dahl’s already been in contact with the FBI, but they’re stalling. We’re seven hours out… and coming in blind.”
“You trust them? These turnips? You want our guys in to clean up the inevitable cluster-fuck?”
“They’re Swedes. And yes, I trust them. And yes, I want our guys in.”
“Understood.” Wells cut the connection.