The Bones Of Odin (Matt Drake 1) (10 page)

Kennedy said, “Dahl, I’m a cop. I didn’t know these two until a couple of days ago, but they have good hearts. Trust them.”

Dahl nodded. “Your reputation precedes you, Drake. The good
and
the bad of it. We will help you, but first - ” he nodded at Ben. “Continue.”

Ben ploughed through as if he’d never been interrupted. Drake sneaked a glance at Kennedy, and saw her smile. He looked away, shocked on two counts. First, by Dahl’s reference to his reputation, and second, by Kennedy’s heartfelt endorsement.

Ben finished. Dahl said: “The Germans are a new entity in all this who had not engaged our attentions before that business in York.”

“New?” Drake said. “They’re good. And very well organised; controlled by fear and iron discipline. And they have a major asset in a guy called Milo - American Special Forces at a guess. Check the name.”

“We will. The good news is that we
do
have intel on the Canadians.”

“Eyes on?”

“Yes, but partial, inexperienced, and alone,” Dahl cast a surreptitious glance towards Kennedy. “The Swedish government’s relationship with your new Obama regime isn’t what I’d call
first-rate.
”

“Sorry about that,” Kennedy faked a smile, then made a show of looking around. “Look, dude, if we’re gonna be here a while do ya think we might get a little food?”

“Already being prepared by our
sous-chef,”
Dahl batted her false smile right back. “Seriously though, there’s burgers and chips on the way.”

Drake’s mouth started to water. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.

“I’ll tell you what I can. The Canadians began life as a secret cult, devoted to the Viking - Eric the Red. Don’t laugh, these things do exist. These people, through
cosplay,
act out events and battles, and even sea voyages on a regular basis.”

“No real harm there,” Ben sounded a little defensive. Drake stored that wonderful nugget away for later.

“Not at all, Mr Blake. Cosplay is common, enjoyed by many people at conventions everywhere, and becoming more common as the years go by. But the real damage begins when a billionaire businessman becomes the modern-day leader of that cult, and then throws millions of dollars into the ring.”

“So light-hearted fun becomes - “

“Obsession.” Dahl finished as the door opened. Drake moaned as a standard meal of burger and chips was placed before him. The smell of onions was divine to his ravenous belly.

Dahl continued as they tucked in: “A Canadian businessman called Colby Taylor devoted his life to the well-known Viking, Eric the Red, who, as I’m
sure
you know, landed in Canada shortly after discovering Greenland. From out of this study was born a manic fascination for Nordic mythology. Explorations, digs, discoveries. Endless searching. The man purchased his own library, and tried to buy up every Nordic text in existence.”

“Nut job,” Kennedy said.

“Agreed. But a ‘nut job’ who funds his own ‘security force’- read that as
army.
And he stays reclusive enough to stay below most people’s radar. His name has come up time and again over the years with regard to the Nine Pieces of Odin so, naturally, Swedish intelligence has always tagged him as a ‘person of interest’.”

“He stole the Horse,” Drake said. “You know that don’t you?”

Dahl’s wide eyes indicated he hadn’t. “We do now.”

“Can’t you get him arrested?” Kennedy asked. “On suspicion of theft or something?”

“Envision him as one of your . . . gangsters. Your mafia or Triad leaders. He is untouchable - the man at the top - for now.”

Drake liked the implied sentiment. He told Dahl about Alicia Myles’ involvement, and gave Dahl as much background as he was allowed to disclose.

“So,” he said when he’d finished. “Are we helpful, or what?”

“Not bad,” Dahl admitted, as the door opened again, and an older man with a surprisingly thick mane of long hair and a lush beard walked in. To Drake he looked like a modern, aging Viking.

Dahl nodded. “Ahh, I’ve been waiting for you, Prof. May I present Professor Roland Parnevik,” he smiled.
“Our
expert in Nordic mythology.”

Drake nodded, then saw Ben sizing the new man up like he would a love rival. He understood now why Ben was secretly loving this mission. He patted his young friend on the shoulder.

“Well, our family guy here might not be a Professor, but he sure knows his way around the Web - a kind of modern medicine versus old remedies, eh?”

“Or the best of both worlds,” Kennedy pointed her fork at both parties in question.

The cynical side of Drake calculated that Kennedy Moore might be angling this mission in a way that might save her career. A surprising, softer side enjoyed watching the way the edges of her mouth turned up when she smiled.

Parnevik stumbled into the room clutching an armful of scrolls and balancing several notebooks on top of the pile. He looked around, stared at Dahl as if he couldn’t remember the soldier’s name, then dumped his load on the table.

“It’s in there,” he said, jabbing a finger at one of the scrolls. “That one. The legend is real . . . like I told you months ago.”

Dahl plucked out the indicated scroll with a flourish. “You’ve been with us a week, Professor. Just a week.”

“Are . . . are you sure?”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Dahl’s tone conveyed a prodigious amount of patience.

Another soldier walked in the door. “Sir. This one’s mobile,” he nodded towards Ben, “has been ringing incessantly.
Hela tiden . . .
umm . . . non-stop.” The smirk came next. “It’s his mother.”

Ben was up in a second and hitting a speed-dial button. Drake smiled with affection, and Kennedy looked mischievous. “Jeez, I can think of so many ways to corrupt that boy.”

Dahl began to read from the scroll:

 “I heard he died at Ragnarok, swallowed whole by his doom. By the man-wolf-Fenrir - once turned by the moon.

And later, Thor and Loki lay cold by his side. Great Gods among countless Gods, our rocks against the tide.

Nine Pieces scattered to the wind along the One true Volva’s ways. Bring not these parts to Ragnarok or risk the end of days.

Forever shall thou fear this, hear me sons of men, for to defile the Tomb of Gods is to start the Day of Reckoning.”

Dahl shrugged. “And so on. And on. And on. I already got the gist of this from momma’s boy over there, Prof. Seems the Web is indeed mightier than the scroll. And faster.”

“You have? Well, like I said . . . months, Torsten, months. And I’ve been ignored for years.
Institutionalised,
even. The Tomb has
always
existed you know, it didn’t just materialise in the last month. Agnetha gave me that scroll thirty years ago, and where are we now? Hmm? Are we anywhere?”

Dahl was struggling to stay calm. Drake stepped in. “You talk of Ragnarok, Professor Parnevik. A place that doesn’t exist.”

“Not anymore, sir. But once - yes. Once it
certainly
existed. Otherwise - where did Odin and Thor and all the other Gods die?”

“You believe they existed then?”

“
Of course!”
Parnevik practically screamed.

Dahl’s voice was lower. “For now,” he said, “we’re suspending disbelief.”

Ben was back at the table, pocketing his mobile. “So you know about the Valkyries then?” he asked cryptically, with a sly look at Drake and Kennedy. “You know why they’re the jewel in Odin’s crown?”

Dahl just looked exasperated. Parnevik blinked and stammered. “Th . . . the . . . jewel in . . . the . . . what?”

FOURTEEN

MILITARY BASE, SWEDEN

Ben smiled as the room grew quiet. “This is our admittance ticket,” he said. “And my guarantee of respect. It is written time and again throughout Norse mythology that the Valkyries
‘ride to the realms of the Gods
.’ Look it up - it’s there.”

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

AIRSPACE

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.”