The Bones Of Odin (Matt Drake 1) (6 page)

“If it’s ever desecrated the world will drown in fire . . . etc . . . etc.”

“I see. And the Nine Pieces?”

“Well, once assembled at Ragnarok, they point the way to the tomb.”

“Where’s Ragnarok?”

Drake kicked at the carpet. “Another red-herring. It’s not a place. It’s actually a series of events, a great battle, the world cleansed by a flood of fire. Natural disasters. Pretty much - Armageddon.”

Kennedy frowned. “So even the hard-assed Vikings feared the apocalypse.”

Looking down, Drake noticed on the floor a recent but very creased copy of USA Today. It had been folded around the headline - ‘FREED SERIAL KILLER CLAIMS TWO MORE.’

Nasty, but not unusual for the front page of a newspaper. The thing that made him snatch a further look, as if his eyes had been burned, was the picture of Kennedy, in her cop’s uniform, within the body of the text. And the smaller headline beside her photo - Cop Can’t Take It - Goes AWOL.

He linked the headlines to the almost empty bottle of vodka on the dresser, the painkillers on the bedside table, the absence of luggage and tourist maps and souvenirs and an itinerary.

Shit.

Kennedy was saying: “So these Germans and Canadians want to find this non-existent tomb for the glory maybe? For the riches it might bring? And to do this they have to assemble Odin’s Nine Pieces in a place that’s not a place. That right?”

Ben pulled a face. “Well, a song’s not a song ‘til it’s been pressed into vinyl’ - as my dad used to say. In English - we still have a lot of work to do.”

“It’s a
stretch.
”

“This is more like it.” Ben turned the laptop screen around. “Odin’s Nine Pieces are - Eyes, Wolves, Valkyries, Horse, Shield and Spear.”

Drake counted. “That’s only six, kiddo.”

“
Two
Eyes.
Two
Wolves.
Two
Valkyries. Duh.”

“Which one’s in Upsalla?” Drake winked at Kennedy.

Ben scrolled for a while, then said: “It says here that a Spear was thrust through Odin’s side while he hung fasting on the World Tree, revealing all his many secrets to his
Volva -
his Seeress. Listen to another quote – ‘
near the Temple at Upsalla is a very large tree with widespread branches that are always green both in winter and summer. What kind of tree it is nobody knows, for no others like it have ever been found.’
That’s hundreds of years old. The World Tree is - or
was -
in Upsalla and is central to Norse mythology. It says nine worlds exist around the World Tree. Yada . . . yada. Oh, another reference – ‘the sacred tree at Upsalla. Odin used to sojourn there a lot, near an immense ash called
Ygdrassil
, considered holy by the locals. It’s gone now though.’

He read on: ‘Scandinavian chroniclers have long held Gamla Upsalla to be one of the oldest and most important locations in Nordic history.’

“And this is all out there,” Kennedy said. “Where anyone could find it.”

“Well,” Ben said, “it all needs linking together. Don’t underestimate my powers, Miss, I’m good at what I do.”

Drake nodded in appreciation. “He is, believe me. He’s helped me blag my way through a photographic career for the last six months.”

“You have to piece together lots of different poems and historical Sagas. A Saga is a Viking poem of high adventure. There’s also something called the
Poetic Edda
, written by descendants of people who knew people, who knew the chroniclers of that time. There’s a lot of information.”

“And we know nothing about the Germans. Not to mention the Canadians. Or why Alicia Myles is - ” Drake’s mobile started to ring. “Sorry . . . yes?”

“Me.”

“Hello, Wells.”

“Sit down for this, Drake.” Wells had taken a breath. “The SGG - the Swedish Special Forces,
and
elements of the Swedish army have been recalled from all over the world.”

Drake was momentarily speechless. “You’re kidding?”

“I don’t joke about work, Drake. Only women.”

“Has that ever
happened
before?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Do they give a reason?”

“Usual bollocks, I’m afraid. Nothing definitive.”

“Anything else?”

There was a sigh. “Drake, you really owe me some Mai-time stories here, pal. Is Ben still there?”

“Yes, and do you remember Alicia Myles?”

“Jesus. Who wouldn’t? She with you?”

“As a matter of fact, no. I just came across her in the Louvre, about an hour ago.”

Ten seconds of silence, then: “She was part of
that?
Impossible. She would never betray her own.”

“We were
never
‘her own’, or so it seems.”

“Listen, Drake, are you saying she helped rob the museum?”

“That I am, sir. That I am.” Drake walked to the window and stared at the car-lights whipping by below. “Hard to digest isn’t it? Maybe she has made money her new vocation.”

Behind him he could hear Ben and Kennedy making notes about well-known and unknown locations of the Nine Pieces of Odin.

Wells was breathing heavily. “Alicia fucking Myles! Riding with the enemy? No way. No way, Drake.”

“I saw her face, sir. It was her.”

“Jesus on a sidecar. What’s your plan?”

Drake closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’m not part of the team anymore,
Wells.
I don’t have a plan, dammit. I shouldn’t need to have a plan.”

“I know. I’ll assemble a team, pal, and start looking into it from this end. The way things are progressing, we might want to make some big strategies. Keep in touch.”

The line went dead. Drake turned. Both Ben and Kennedy were staring at him. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not cracking up. What have you got?”

Kennedy used a spoon to whack a few sheets of paper she’d covered in cop shorthand. “Spear - Upsalla. Wolves - New York. After that, not a spiffing clue.”

“We don’t all talk like we were born with silver spoons up our arses,” Drake snapped before he could stop himself. “Okay, okay. We can only deal with what we know.”

Kennedy gave him an odd smile. “I like your style.”

“What we know - ” Ben repeated, “is that Upsalla’s next.”

“The question is - ” Drake muttered, “can my Gold Card handle it?”

EIGHT

UPSALLA, SWEDEN

During the flight to Stockholm, Drake decided to take advantage of Kennedy.

Following a series of furious hand-signals between Drake and Ben, the New York cop ended up sitting by the window, with Drake next to her. Less chance of escape that way.

“So,” he said as the plane finally levelled off and Ben flipped open Kennedy’s laptop. “I’m picking up a vibe. I’m not being nosey, Kennedy, I just have a rule. I need to know about the people I work with.”

“I should’ve known . . . always a price to pay for the window seat, eh? Tell me first, how’d that vibe work with Alicia Myles?”

“Reasonably well,” Drake admitted.

“Can it. Whaddya wanna know?”

“If it’s a personal problem - not a damn thing. If it’s work - a short synopsis.”

“And if it’s both?”

“Shit. I don’t want to pry, I really don’t, but I have to put Ben first. I promised him we’d survive this, and I’d say the same to you. We have a
kill
order against us. One thing you’re
not
is stupid, Kennedy, so you know I need to be able to trust you to work with me on this.”

A flight attendant leaned over, offering a paper cup that read ‘We proudly brew Starbucks Coffee’.

“Caffeine.” Kennedy accepted it with apparent glee. She reached out, brushing Drake’s cheek in the process. He noticed she was wearing the third nondescript pant-suit since he’d met her. It told him she was a woman who received attention for the wrong reasons; a woman dressing down to fit in where she seriously wanted to belong.

Drake snagged one for himself. Kennedy drank for a minute, then slipped a strand of hair behind her ear with a gentle gesture that Drake found himself drawn to. Then she turned to him.

“None of your damn business really, but I . . . I bagged a dirty cop. A forensic scientist. Caught him pocketing a fistful of dollars at a crime scene, and told I.A. about it. Ended up he got a stretch. A few years.”

“Nothing wrong with that. His colleagues giving you shit?”

“Man, shit, I can take. I’ve been taking it since I was five. What isn’t right, what fucks with my brain like a fucking power drill, is the reality you
don’t
think about - that
every single one
of this thieving bastard’s previous cases is then brought into question. Every. Single. One.”

“Officially? By who?”

“By shit-eating lawyers. By shit-eating politicians. By future Mayors. By fame-seeking publicity nuts, too blinded by their own ignorance to tell right from wrong. By
bureaucrats.”

“Not your fault.”

“Oh, yeah! Tell that to the families of the worst serial killer New York State has ever known. Tell that to thirteen mothers and thirteen fathers, all knowing every terrible detail of how Thomas Kaleb killed their little girls, because they sat through his entire trial at court.”

Drake clenched his fists in anger. “They’re going to
release
this guy?”

Kennedy’s eyes were dead pits. “
They
released him two months ago. He’s killed again since, and has now disappeared.”

“No.”

“All on me.”

“No it’s not. It’s on the system.”

“I
am
the system. I work for the system. It is my life.”

“So they sent you on holiday?”

Kennedy wiped her eyes. “Forced leave. My mind isn’t . . . what it was. The job requires clarity every minute of every day. A clarity I just can’t achieve anymore.”

She turned her abrasive attitude up full. “So? You happy now? Can you
work
with me now?”

But Drake didn’t respond. He knew her pain.

They heard the captain’s voice explain that they were thirty minutes from their destination.

Ben said: “Crazy. I just read that Odin’s
Valkyries
are part of a private collection, whereabouts unknown.” He broke out a notebook. “I’m gonna start writing all this shit down.”

Drake barely heard any of it. Kennedy’s story was tragic, and not what he needed to hear. He buried his reservations, and didn’t hesitate to cover her shaking hand with his own.

“We need your help on this,” he whispered so Ben wouldn’t hear and quiz him later. “
I
do. A good back-up is essential in any operation.”

Kennedy couldn’t speak, but her brief smile spoke volumes.

*****

A plane change and a fast train later, and they were nearing Upsalla. Drake attempted to shrug off the travel weariness fogging his brain.

Outside, a late afternoon chill brought him around. They waved down a taxi and climbed in. Ben broke the fog of fatigue by saying:

“
Gamla Upsalla .
That’s
old
Upsalla. This place - ” he indicated Upsalla in general, “was built after a cathedral burned down in Gamla Upsalla a long time ago. This is, essentially - new Upsalla, though it’s hundreds of years old.”

“Wow,” Kennedy drawled. “How old does that make
old
Upsalla?”

“Exactly.”

The taxi hadn’t moved. The driver now turned half around. “Mounds?”

“’S’cuse me?” Kennedy sounded aggrieved.

“See the mounds? The Royal mounds?” The halting English didn’t help.

“Yes.” Ben nodded. “The Royal burial mounds. It’s in the right area.”

They ended up taking a mini tour of Upsalla. Playing tourist, Drake couldn’t really contend with the circuitous route. And on the bright side, the Saab was comfy, and the city impressive. Upsalla was a university city these days, and the roads were crammed with bikes. At one point their chatty, but hard to decipher, driver explained that a bicycle wouldn’t stop for you on the road. It would plough you down without thought.

“Accidents.” He waved his hands at flowers adorning the pavements. “Many accidents.”

Old buildings passed by on either side. Eventually the city relented, and some countryside started to creep into the landscape.

“Okay, so Gamla Upsalla is now a small village, but was a big thing back in the early ADs,” Ben said from memory. “Important Kings were buried there. And Odin lived there for a time.”

“It’s where he hung himself,” Drake recalled the legend.

“Yes. He sacrificed himself on the World Tree whilst his Seeress looked on, and listened to every secret he’d ever kept. She must have meant a lot to him.” He frowned, thinking: “They must have been incredibly close.”

“It all sounds like a Christian confessional,” Drake ventured.

“But Odin didn’t
die
here?” Kennedy asked.

“No. He died at Ragnarok, along with his sons - Thor and Freyr.”

The taxi swung around a wide parking area before stopping. To the right, a well-worn dirt path led off through sparse trees. “To the mounds,” their driver said.

They thanked him, and exited the Saab into bright sunlight and a crisp breeze. Drake’s idea was to reconnoitre the immediate area and the village itself to see if anything jumped out of the woodwork. After all, with so many international arseholes applying their well-stroked egos to what could only be described as a global free-for-all, something should stand out.

Beyond the trees the landscape became an expanse of open field, interrupted only by dozens of small hillocks and three large mounds that lay dead ahead. Beyond this, in the distance, they spied a pale-coloured roof and another building to its right, which marked the start of the village.

Kennedy paused. “No trees anywhere, guys.”

Ben was engrossed in his notebook. “They’re not gonna hang a sign out now are they?”

“You have an idea?” Drake watched the wide open fields for any signs of activity.

“I remember reading there were up to three thousand burial mounds here once. Today, there’s a few hundred. Do you know what that means?”