“Good job we brought along a cop.” Drake was making an attempt to boost Kennedy’s self-esteem, still unsure where her head was at after New York.
Kennedy began to tie her hair back, then hesitated. After a moment she jammed her hands in her pockets, as if trying to trap them. Drake tapped her on the shoulder. “So, how about you go get that painting and bring it here. There might be something we can’t see from a photo. My old mate Dahl and me’s gonna check out the shady side of art collecting. Shake a few trees.” He paused, grinning. “More trees.”
Kennedy groaned before walking away.
Dahl fixed him with narrowed eyes. “So. Where do we start?”
“We start with the Valkyries,” Drake said. “Once our friendly munchkin here tells us where and when they were discovered, we can try tracking them.”
“Detective work?” Dahl asked. “But you just sent our best detective away.”
“She needs physical distraction right now, not mental. She’s frayed enough.”
Ben spoke up. “Good guess, Matt. The Valkyries were discovered amongst other great riches in the grave of a Viking Seeress, a Volva, in 1945, in Sweden.”
“Heidi’s grave?” Drake ventured.
“Had to have been. Damn good way to hide one of the Pieces. Get your minions to bury it with you after you’re dead.”
“Fire that article across to the other PC.” Drake and Dahl sat down next to each other with an air of uneasiness.
The clock was still ticking, Drake knew. For Karin. For Parnevik. For their enemies, and for the entire world. He pecked furiously at the machine, running through the museum’s archives and trying to find out when the Valkyries disappeared from the inventory.
“You suspect an inside job?” Dahl immediately saw where he was going.
“Best guess — lowly-paid museum guard or entrapped curator… something like that. They’d have waited until the Valkyries were demoted to the vault perhaps, and then quietly shipped them out. No one realises for years, if at all.”
“Or a robbery,” Dahl shrugged. “Christ, man, we’ve got over sixty years to trawl through.” He fingered the wedding band he’d slipped back on since they entered the Library. Drake paused for a second. “Wife?”
“And kids.”
“Miss ‘em?”
“Every second.”
“Good. Maybe you’re not quite the prick I thought you were.”
“Fuck you, Drake.”
“More like it. No robberies that I can see. But look here — the Valkyries went on tour in 1991, as part of the Swedish Heritage Trust’s public relations campaign. By 1992 they were missing from the Museum’s catalogue. What does that tell you?”
Dahl pursed his lips. “That someone connected with the tour decided to steal them?”
“Or… someone who viewed them on tour decided to!”
“Okay, that’s more likely.” Dahl’s head was bobbing. “So where did the tour go?” His fingers tapped four times on the screen. “England. New York. Hawaii. Australia.”
“That really narrows it down,” Drake said sarcastically. “Damn.”
“No, wait,” Dahl exclaimed. “It does. The theft of the Valkyries had to be smooth, right? Well-planned, well-executed. Perfect. That still reeks of criminal involvement.”
“If you were any sharper you’d…”
“Listen! In the early ‘90’s the Serbian Mafia started to dig its claws into Sweden’s underbelly. In less than a decade extortion crimes doubled, and, as of now, there are dozens of organised gangs throughout the country. Some call themselves Bandidos. Others, like a chapter of the Hell’s Angels, are just biker gangs.”
“You’re saying the Serbian Mafia have the Valkyries?”
“No. I’m saying they engineered their theft and subsequent sale, for money. They’re the only ones with the connections to pull it off. These people are into everything, not just extortion. International smuggling wouldn’t be above them.”
“Okay. So how do we find out who they sold them to?”
Dahl unhooked his phone. “We don’t. But at least three of the older kingpins now sit behind bars near Oslo.” He moved off to make a call.
Drake rubbed his eyes and leaned back. He checked his watch and was shocked to see it was almost 6 A.M. When had they last slept? He looked around as Hayden returned.
The Defence Secretary’s pretty assistant looked downcast. “Sorry, you guys. No luck with the Germans.”
Ben’s head whipped around, the strain telling. “None?”
“Not yet. I’m sorry.”
“But how? This guy has to be somewhere.” Tears filled his eyes and he locked them on Drake. “Doesn’t he?”
“Yes, mate, he does. Trust me, we will find him.” He grabbed his friend in a bear hug, his eyes pleading with Hayden to make the breakthrough. “We need to take a breather and get a proper breakfast,” he said, his Yorkshire twang shining through.
Hayden shook her head at him as if he’d just spoken Japanese.
TWENTY-FIVE
Alicia Myles watched the multi-billionaire, Colby Taylor, as he sat on the expansive floor of one of the many apartments he owned, this particular one twenty-two flights above Las Vegas Boulevard. One entire wall was glass, giving a fantastic view of the Bellagio fountains and the golden lights of the Eiffel Tower.
Colby Taylor didn’t give it a second glance. He was enwrapped in his latest acquirement, Odin’s Wolves, which he’d spent two hours carefully piecing together. Alicia prowled over to him, stripped her clothes off one by one until she was naked, and then got down on all fours until her eyes were level with his, a foot off the ground.
Power and danger were the two things that got her off. The power of Colby Taylor — megalomaniac extraordinaire — and the danger from the delicious knowledge that her boyfriend, Milo, that big, powerful bruiser from Vegas, actually loved her.
“You going to take a break, boss?” she asked breathily. “Bareback me. No extra charge.”
Taylor looked her over. “Alicia,” he said, taking ten dollars out of his wallet. “We both know it’d turn you on more if I paid.” He forced the bill between her teeth before taking up position behind her.
Alicia flung her head high, almost slavering, taking in the glittering lights of the Strip as they spread out before her. “Take your time. If you can.”
“How’s it going with Parnevik?” Taylor enunciated his question with grunts.
“Soon as you are done,” Alicia answered in her clipped English tones. “I’m going to break him in two.”
“Information is power, Myles. We… need to know what they know. The… Spear. All the rest of it. We’re ahead, for now. But the Valkyries and the Eyes — they are the… real prizes.”
Alicia tuned it out. The droning. The grunting. The obsessing. She lived for two things — danger and money. She had the skills and the charm to take whatever she wanted, which she did every day, without thought or regret. Her days in the SAS had been mere preparation. Her missions in Afghanistan and Lebanon had been simple homework.
This was her play, her means to self-sufficiency. This time with Colby Taylor and his army was fun, but soon the Germans would offer the big pay day — Abel Frey represented real-world power, not Colby Taylor. Mix that with the heady danger of having the ever-loving Milo close-by, and she saw nothing but fabulous fireworks on her horizon.