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.