“Look, just because I’m Scandinavian doesn’t mean I — ”
“Yes.” The Secretary of Defence’s younger assistant materialised at that moment from a nearby rack of books. “On the South-eastern side of Iceland. The entire world’s aware of it. From reading new governmental research, I think it’s the seventh Supervolcano in existence.”
“The most famous one being at Yellowstone Park,” Ben said.
“But is a Supervolcano such a threat?” Drake asked. “Or is that another Hollywood myth?”
Both Ben and the Secretary’s assistant nodded. “The term ‘extinction of the species’ is not overused in this context,” the assistant said. “Research tells us that two previous eruptions of supervolcanoes are coincident with the two largest mass extinction events that have ever occurred on our planet. The second, of course, being the dinosaurs.”
“How coincident?” Drake asked.
“So close that if it happened once, you’d wonder about it. But twice? Come on…”
“Damn.”
Ben held his hands in the air. “Look, we’re getting distracted here. What we need is loadsa crap on Odin.” He highlighted several titles on the screen. “That, that, and woah¸ definitely that. The Voluspa — where Odin tells of his visits with the Seeress.”
“Visits?” Drake made a face. “Viking porn, eh?”
The assistant leaned over Ben and clicked a few buttons, entered a password, and typed a line. Her pantsuit was the opposite of Kennedy’s, designed to tastefully enhance her figure rather than conceal it. Ben’s eyes went wide, his troubles momentarily forgotten.
Drake mouthed: “Wasted talent.”
Ben gave him the finger just as the assistant stood up. Luckily she didn’t see him. “They will be brought to you within five minutes,” she said.
“Thank you, Miss.” Drake hesitated. “Sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Call me Hayden,” she said.
The books were deposited next to Ben a few minutes later, and he immediately chose the one titled Voluspa. He leafed through the pages like a man possessed; like an animal smelling blood. Dahl chose another volume, Drake a third. Hayden sat close to Ben, studying the text with him.
And then Ben cried out “Eureka! I’ve got it! The missing link. It’s Heidi! Bloody Heidi! This book follows — quote ‘the travels of Odin’s beloved Seeress — Heidi’.”
“Like the children’s book?” Dahl obviously remembered his school days.
Drake just looked blank. “Eh? I’m more of a Heidi Klum type of guy.”
“Yes, the children’s book! I suppose the legend of Heidi, and the story of her travels must have integrated itself from Norse Saga into Scandinavian myth through the years, and then a writer from Switzerland decided to use the fairy-tale as a base for a kid’s book.”
“Well, what does it say?” Drake felt his heart beat faster.
Ben read for a second. “Oh, it says a lot,” he rushed on. “It says damn well everything.”
TWENTY-TWO
Kennedy Moore sat staring at her PC screen, seeing nothing, and thought about how when you ground life down beneath your heel it was basically just a tennis ball, served by a master. A bit of backspin changed your destiny, some unexpected sidespin sent you into a spiral of self-destruction, then a few days of topspin propelled you right back into the game.
She’d been feeling upbeat on the drive into New York, even better after the museum madness. She’d been feeling good about herself, and maybe even a little bit good about Matt Drake.
How perverse, she’d told herself. But then, didn’t someone once say that out of great hardship comes great progress? Something like that.
Then the Professor was kidnapped. Ben Blake’s sister was abducted. And Kennedy had walked towards that mobile HQ with determination, head straight and fully in the game again, her thoughts focused on making sense of the turmoil.
Then, as she went to start climbing the steps, Lipkind materialised from the crowd and stopped her short.
“Captain?”
“Hey, Moore. We need to talk.”
“Come inside,” Kennedy motioned towards the HQ, “we could do with the help.”
“Uh, uh. No. This is not about the museum, Moore. Cruiser’s this way.”
He moved off through the crowd, stiff back now facing her like a silent accusation. Kennedy had to hurry to catch up.
“What… what’s happened, Captain?”
“Get in.”
The cruiser was empty except for the two of them. The street-noise was dulled, the world-shattering events outside now locked further away than a party-hopping socialite’s virtue.
Kennedy half-turned in her seat to face Lipkind. “Don’t tell me… please don’t tell me…” the catch in her throat made Lipkind’s stern expression slip, telling her everything before the words had fallen out of his mouth.
But fall they did, and each word was a drop of venom in her already blackened soul.
“Kaleb struck again. We had a month’s grace — then yesterday afternoon we got the call. Girl… ahh… girl from Nevada,” his voice thickened. “New to the city. Student.”
“No. Please…”
“I wanted you to know now, before you heard some rat-fuck kinda way.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, Moore.”
“I want back in. Let me come back, Lipkind. Let me in.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I can help you. It’s my job. My life.”
Lipkind was chewing his bottom lip, a sure sign of stress. “Not yet. Even if I wanted to, the Brass wouldn’t approve. You know that.”
“Do I? Since when would I know the thoughts of politicians? Everyone in politics is a bastard, Lipkind, and since when did they do the right thing?”
“Ya got me,” Lipkind’s growl betrayed his heart. “But orders, as they say, is orders. And mine ain’t been changed.”
“Lipkind, this is… ruining me.”
He swallowed drily. “Give it time. You’ll be back.”
“It’s not me I care about, dammit! It’s his fucking victims! Their families!”
“So do I, Moore. Believe me.”
After a moment she said: “Where?” It was all she could do, all she could ask, all she could think about.
“Moore. You ain’t gotta pay no penance here. Ain’t your fault this psycho’s a fuckin’ psycho.”
“Where?”
Lipkind knew what she needed and told her the place.
Open building site. Three blocks south of Ground Zero. Developer by the name of Silke Holdings.
Kennedy found the site in twenty minutes, noted the fluttering crime-scene tape on the fourth floor of the open shell, and sent the cab away. She stood before the building, staring up with spiritless eyes. The place was deserted — still an active crime-scene — but it was getting late on Saturday, and the incident was over twenty-four hours old.
Kennedy kicked at the rubble, then let herself onto the construction site. She followed an open flight of concrete stairs up the side of the building to the fourth floor, and walked out on to the concrete slab.
A strong breeze tugged at her loose blouse. If her hair hadn’t been scraped back with a heavy-duty band it would have thrashed around as if possessed. Three views of New York opened up before her, rattling her vertigo, a condition she’d had all her life but had strangely only just remembered.