“I’ve grown some real brain since I quit.” Drake watched Wells flinch a bit. “Best move of my life.”
Torsten Dahl rose to his feet. “To Sweden then, for the final Piece.” He looked pleased to be heading back to his homeland. “Umm… where was Heidi’s home?”
“Ostergotland,” Ben said, without checking. “Also home to Beowulf and Grendel — the place where they still talk of monsters roaming the lands at night.”
THIRTY
La Verein, the Party Chateau, was located south of Munich, near the Bavarian border.
Like a fortress, it hunched halfway up a gentle mountain, its walls crenulated and even pocked with arrow-loops in various places. Round-topped towers perched at either side of the arched gate, and a wide sweeping drive allowed expensive motor cars to arrive in style and discard their latest sensations, just as hand-picked Paparazzi knelt down to snap their photos.
Abel Frey took a turn through the party, glad-handing several of the more important guests and ensuring his models behaved how they were supposed to. A pinch here, a murmur there, even a rare joke, kept them all performing to his expectations.
Inside the private alcoves he pretended not to notice the white trails laid out on knee-high glass tables, executives bending with straws up their nostrils. Models and well-known young actresses wearing baby-dolls made of satin, silk and lace. Pink flesh, moaning, and the heady scent of lust. Fifty-inch plasmas showing MTV and hardcore porn.
Live music pumped through the Chateau, Slash and Fergie — singing ‘Beautiful Dangerous’ on stage far away from these decadent rooms — the upbeat rock music sparking even more life into Frey’s already dynamic party.
The fashion designer left without being noticed, and headed up a grand staircase towards a quiet wing of the Chateau. Another flight and his guards closed a secure door behind him, accessible only through key-combination and voice-recognition. He entered a room bristling with communications equipment and a bank of High-Def TV screens.
One of his most trusted geeks said: “Good timing, sir. Alicia Myles is on Sat-phone.”
“Excellent, Hudson. Is she encrypted?”
“Of course, sir.”
Frey accepted the proffered device, curling his lip at being forced to put his mouth so close to where his lackey had already sprayed spittle.
“Myles, this better be good. I have a house full of guests to attend to.” The lie of convenience didn’t register as a fabrication to him. It was simply what these low-lives needed to hear.
“Worth a bonus I’d say,” the well-bred English tones said ironically. “I have the web-address and password to Parnevik’s locator.”
“All part of the deal, Myles. And you already know there’s only one way you’re getting a bonus.”
“Milo not around?” The tone had changed now. Throatier. Naughtier…
“Just me and my top geek.”
“Mmm… invite him too if you like,” her voice changed. “But sadly I have to be quick. Log on to www.locatethepro.co.uk, and type the lowercase password: bonusmyles007,” a laugh. “Thought you’d appreciate that one, Frey. A standard tracker format should come up. Parnevik is programmed as number four. You should be able to track him anywhere.”
Abel Frey saluted in silence. Alicia Myles was the best operative he’d ever used. “Good enough, Myles. When the Eyes are secured, you’re off the leash. Come back to us then, and bring us the Canadians’ Pieces. Then we’ll… talk.”
The line disconnected. Frey put the mobile down, content for now. “Ok, Hudson,” he said. “Get the machine rolling. Send everyone to Ostergotland now.” The final Piece was within his grasp, as were all the other Pieces, if they played the end games right. “Milo knows what to do.”
He studied the row of TV monitors.
“Which one is captive 6 — Karin Blake?”
Hudson scratched at his untidy beard before waving a hand. Frey leaned forward to study the blonde girl in the middle of her bed sitting with legs tucked up to her chin,
Or more accurately — sitting on a bed that belonged to Frey. And eating Frey’s food, inside a locked and guarded hut that Frey had commissioned. Using electricity that Frey paid for.
Wearing an ankle chain he had designed.
She belonged to him now.
“Send the video feed to my room immediately — the big screen. Then tell Chef to send dinner there. Ten minutes after that I want my martial arts expert.” He paused, thinking.
“Ken?”
“Yes, that one. I want him to go in there and take her shoes away. Nothing else for now. I want the psychological torture to be deliciously long until this one is crushed. I’ll wait a day, and then I’ll take something more important to her.”
“And captive 7?”
“Good God, Hudson, treat him well, as you would treat yourself. The best of everything. His time to impress us is coming….”
THIRTY-ONE
The plane lurched. Kennedy Moore started awake, relieved to have been jolted to consciousness by the turbulence, the new day chasing away her very own Haunter of the Dark.
Kaleb existed in her dreams as he existed in the real world, but at night he killed her repeatedly, forcing live roaches down her throat until she choked and had to chew and swallow, the single betrayal of her torment the horror on her eyes, constant until the last spark died.
Suddenly awake and snatched from the underbelly of hell, she stared around the cabin with wild eyes. It was quiet; civilians and soldiers were napping or talking quietly. Even Ben Blake had fallen asleep, clutching his laptop, the worry lines not smoothed out by sleep, and tragically out of place on his boyish face.
Then she saw Drake, and he was gazing at her. Now his worry lines simply improved an already striking face. His honesty and selflessness shone plainly, impossible to hide, but the hurt concealed behind the composure made her want to comfort him… all night long.
She smiled inwardly. More Dino-rock references. Drake’s pastime was a great diversion. It was a moment before she realised that her inner smile might have touched her eyes, because he smiled back at her.
And then, for the first time in all the years since she’d started at the Academy, she regretted that her vocation required her to de-sexualise her personality. She wished she knew how to flip her hair in that way. She wished she had a bit more Selma Blair in her and a bit less Sandra Bullock.
Having said all that, it was quite apparent that Drake liked her.
She returned his smile, but at that moment the plane lurched again and everyone came awake. The pilot announced that they were an hour out from their destination. Ben came awake, and walked zombie-like to grab some of the remaining Kona coffee. Torsten Dahl stood up and looked around.
“Time to break out the GPR,” he said with half a smile.
They were routed to fly over Ostergotland, targeting the areas where both Professor Parnevik and Ben agreed Heidi’s village would have stood. The poor Prof was clearly in pain from a severed finger-tip, and deeply shocked at how callous his torturer had been, but gleeful as a puppy in the way he told them about the map engraved into Odin’s Shield.
The way to Ragnarok.
Supposedly.
So far, no one had been able to translate it. Was it more misdirection from Alicia Myles and her misguided crew?
Once the plane broke through Dahl’s rough perimeter, he pointed out an image that came up on the plane’s TV. The Ground Penetrating Radar sent short pulses of radio-waves into the ground. When it hit a buried object or boundary or void it reflected the image in its return signal. Difficult to pick out at first, but simple with experience.