It sent a pretty clear message: Don’t fuck with us.
He had underestimated Ice God, and the first round went to them. Rezok probably thought he was dealing with a journalist or some other media watchdog who would scare easily.
He was in for a deadly surprise.
Chapter Six
KRISTIN’S EYES FLUTTERED open and for a disoriented moment she had no clue where she was or how she’d gotten there. The dark room seemed cluttered and alien. Milky light seeped through a small, dirt-encrusted window and revealed an assortment of skis and snowboards stacked against the walls. Dust and cobwebs covered everything. She had to be inside a storage shed of some kind.
She tried to move, only to realize that her hands and feet were tied to a heavy oak chair. Thick strands of rope bit into her skin, cutting off her circulation while keeping her immobilized. She opened her mouth to scream for help but only a croak escaped her lips. Blood stung the back of her parched throat. God, what she wouldn’t give for a glass of water at this point.
As the initial burst of adrenaline wore off, Kristin started noticing how cold it was. She might be indoors but no one had bothered to switch on the heat. The room had become a freezer and each time she exhaled, white puffs of air clouded her face. Her teeth chattered as questions ripped through her mind. What had happened? Where was she? How had she gotten here? And why was she tied up?
Searching her memory, she remembered skiing down the slopes and running into the spooky strangers with the skull-masks. One of the men had driven his gloved fist into her face and afterwards there was only darkness. She had no clue what time or day it was or how long she’d been out for. All she knew was that she had to get out of here before the skull-men returned.
Terror threatened to seize hold of her and it required all her self-control to calm her nerves. Her advertising career was highly stressful and many days felt like barely contained chaos. As a coping strategy she had started to listen to a ton of personal empowerment podcasts designed to master stress. All her self-help shows shared a key philosophy – learn to control your thoughts instead of letting them control you. Thoughts triggered emotions and the wrong emotion could impact performance and behavior.
Tapping into some of these techniques, Kristin blocked out the grim details of her predicament and focused on filling her lungs with oxygen. She wouldn’t let panic get the best of her.
After a few minutes of controlled breathing, her heartbeat slowed and her thoughts began to clear. She might be a prisoner but for the moment, her captors had left her alone. If she found a way to loosen her restraints, she could make a go for the nearby window.
Unfortunately, the skull-gang appeared to be professionals – no matter how hard she strained against the ropes, they wouldn’t budge. Nevertheless, she couldn’t allow herself to give up. The beam of light lancing the storage room was a ray of hope egging her on.
Freedom within her grasp, she concentrated and began to rock the chair back and forth. At first the heavy oak chair would barely budge. Kristin refused to be discouraged. She had clawed her way to the top in a competitive, male-dominated field. Obstacles weren’t setbacks but a call to try harder.
With a shout of defiance, she brought all her weight to bear and the chair toppled over. It crashed to the floor with a loud bang and the impact rattled her body.
For a moment she remained still, adjusting to the new angle of the dark room. She had hoped the maneuver would break the arm of the chair and allow her to bring her tied hands to the front. Hey, it worked in the movies but real life refused to cooperate. The chair remained intact and her hands stayed tied behind her back.
Shit!
Kristin was still contemplating her next move when a shadow fell over her. She wasn’t alone any longer. A snow white German Shepherd loomed before her, more wolf than dog. His snarling teeth were exposed and the pink of his ears clearly visible.
For a split second, Kristin fought back a chilling visual – those terrible jaws snapping out and closing around her throat, spectral-white fur turning crimson as the beast shredded her neck and tore off her face. Oh God. If the wolf-dog chose to attack, she’d be done for.
Before her terrifying vision could become reality, an equally pale hand gripped the animal’s collar and restrained him. Rezok had arrived. Gently, he began to stroke the dog’s head, calming the salivating beast.
Her kidnapper wasn’t wearing the skull mask any longer. The dead white of his features made him appear barely human in the dull light of the storage room. Judging from the pallor of his skin, her abductor shared a key trait with the dog – they were both albinos. This insight birthed another thought. The man’s genetic condition would seriously narrow down the pool of suspects in a police lineup. His willingness to reveal himself like this could only mean he had no intention of ever letting Kristin leave this place alive.
“Please,” she said, her voice a glassy whisper. Her terror had returned with a vengeance.
Rezok grabbed the head of the chair and almost effortlessly righted it. Tears welled in Kristin’s eyes but she fought them back. She would not allow this bastard to see her break down in front of him.
“What do you want from me?”
Rezok turned toward the nearby table and snatched a cup of water. Without saying a word, he brought the cup to her lips. The liquid made her think of burnt rubber and she concluded that it must be melted snow. She didn’t care and greedily sipped the water.
Her captor had barely whetted her mouth when he withdrew the water. What cruel game was this?
“Please, let me drink, I’m so thirsty…”
For a beat Rezok’s eyes remained locked on her and she only recognized contempt in them. He held out his other hand to her — a small object about the size of a quarter rested in his ivory palm. At first Kristin didn’t know what she was looking at. As Rezok’s long fingers moved closer, she realized the item was a stone, its rough surface etched with a runic symbol.
Rezok shot her an expectant look and said, “Swallow.”
Kristin understood. If she wanted more water, she would have to oblige.
“Nooo…”
Rezok brought the stone up to her face and pressed its cool, mineral surface against her closed lips.
Kristin vehemently shook her head. No way in hell would she swallow that fucking stone.
Rezok waved his hand at the shadows. Two figures stepped out of the darkness behind Kristin. One grabbed her forehead and pulled her head back while the other squeezed her nostrils shut, making it impossible for her to breathe through her nose. For the moment, her thirst was forgotten. She held her breath as long as possible but ultimately she had to gasp for air. The second her lips parted, Rezok pushed the stone into her open mouth. Kristin bit down on the artifact and spat it right into the albino’s face.
The rune stone hit the floor.
Rezok’s eyes lit up with a white-hot fury and he backhanded her. The vicious blow whipped her head back and almost knocked her unconscious.
Oh my God, please, someone help me…
Rezok scooped up the stone and regarded Kristin. She immediately spotted the combat knife in his hand. Rezok pressed its tip into her chin, drawing a point of blood. Features bereft of emotion, he brought the bloody blade to his mouth and licked it clean. Kristin almost let out a scream but the gloved hand of one of her other captors clamped down on her mouth, preventing any sound from escaping.
“Swallow, or I cut your face off.”
The coldness of the eyes boring into Kristin did not suggest that was an idle threat.
Rezok held out the rune stone and this time she gave in to his demand. As the melted snow washed the stone down her throat, Kristin knew all hope was lost.
Chapter Seven
“THEY MADE ME,” Talon said. He was back inside his rental car and Skyping with Casca.
The billionaire didn’t appear surprised. “Between their troubles with the authorities and over-eager fans, they must be pretty paranoid. O
n the plus side, they probably think you’re merely another reporter looking for a story.”
Talon hoped Casca was right.
“I’m afraid I have some more bad news,” Talon said. “There’s been another kidnapping. A woman was reported missing while skiing in the Geilo area.”
“They found their eighth sacrifice,” Casca said.
“Do you think she’s still alive?” Talon asked.
“I’m pretty sure we’d know if Rezok had completed the ritual. You must stop this final sacrifice.”
“I intend to. You dig up anything else on their whereabouts?”
“You know who Pete Best is?”
Talon shook his head. “Should I?”
“He’s only part of rock ‘n’ roll history.”
Talon narrowed his eyes. Casca must have sensed his growing impatience as he quickly added, ”The Beatles fired Pete Best in 1962 and replaced him with Ringo Starr.”
“And how does any of this relate to what’s happening here in Norway?”
“Ice God has their own Pete Best.”
Talon considered this for a moment. “You’re saying they booted out one of their original members?”
“Exactly. Two years ago, Ice God officially kicked Jonas Enberg out of the band.”
”You think he has the lowdown on where Rezok is holed up?”
“Can’t hurt to ask him.”
“I assume you have an address?”
“Let’s just say I made a handsome donation to the Cursed Coven, a black metal blog, and they were kind enough to steer me towards Mr. Enberg’s current whereabouts.”
Money talks, and fortunately Casca had deep pockets. Talon had seen the effectiveness of bribes firsthand, back when he was greasing Afghan warlords’ palms with greenbacks during the war with the Taliban.
Casca continued. “Enberg owns a bar in Geilo and apparently he and Rezok didn’t part on the best of terms.”
“In other words, he might be open to cooperating.”
“Hopefully he can point you in the right direction.”
“Sounds like it’s time I paid Jonas a visit.”
One way or another, Talon would get the man to talk.
It was a little past ten o’clock when Talon pulled up to the snowed-in watering hole operated by Jonas Enberg. The icy downpour had stopped and the sun was even poking out from dense cloud cover. Talon expected the reprieve to be momentary. Who knew what might happen to the weather if Rezok succeeded in sacrificing the last girl?
Talon stepped up to the bar’s entrance and was surprised to find it open at this early hour. He gave the door a shove and entered the establishment. The joint made him think of an oversized snow cabin, all wood and stone. He appeared to be the only patron. Alert, Talon moved deeper into the bar, his boots leaving a watery trail on the floor.
He’d taken a few steps when Jonas emerged from the back, his rough-hewn features framed by a long mane of messy blonde hair. He carried a large steel keg without great effort. Jonas was about five inches taller than Talon and probably outweighed him by sixty pounds — some flab, but also a lot of muscle. Thor gone to seed. He walked with a noticeable limp.
With a loud grunt, Jonas lowered the heavy keg. The impact of metal hitting the floor shook the bar. Jonas wiped the sweat off his thick brow and regarded Talon with a mixture of suspicion and irritation.
“According to Google, this is the best place in town to grab a beer,” Talon said, immediately establishing that he was an American.
“We don’t open until four o’clock…” Jonas said in lightly accented English. It was the second language for most Norwegians.
“I could use a drink.” Talon waved a five hundred-krone banknote at Jonas.
The man shrugged, turned toward a tap and without asking Talon what he wanted, drew him a pint of the local brew. He placed it on the wooden bar and snatched the cash.
“Keep the change.”
Jonas shot him a surprised look and his scowl softened just a tad. Five hundred krone came out to about a hundred dollars.
Talon took his first swig of beer. The alcohol felt good and warmed his insides after being out in the cold all day.
“You own this place?”
“It’s a family business. I inherited the bar when my father passed.”
“Was that before or after you were kicked out of Ice God?”
Renewed suspicion etched into Jonas’ gaze. “Who the hell are you?”
“A concerned citizen looking for your old friend Rezok. Think you might be able to point me in the right direction?”
Jonas’ face grew blank. Talon had just hit his shit list.
“Leave now.”
“You’re not going to let me finish my drink?”
“Now!”
The massive barkeeper took a step closer, moving with surprising speed despite both his bulk and limp.
Most people would have backed off at this point. Talon wasn’t most people.
“You know Rezok is bad news. If I don’t find him, people are going to get hurt.”
“What the fuck you’re talking about? This conversation is over. Now get your ass out of here…”
Jonas threw the money in Talon’s face and made a move to reach for him with one massive paw. Talon whipped out his Glock.
He didn’t point it at Jonas.
He didn’t have to.
The giant froze. “Who are you?”
“That’s none of your concern. Tell me where Rezok is hiding out and I’ll be on my way.”
Jonas cast a cautious glance around before he spoke, his voice a whisper.
“I can’t help you. Two years ago Rezok almost killed me.”
“I thought you injured your leg in a skiing accident.”
Jonas grew quiet.
“You’re scared of him.”
“You should be too.”
“Why did you quit the band?”
“We started out wanting to make angry, beautiful music that would wake people up. We dreamt of holding up a mirror to Norwegian society, expose the hypocrisy.”
“So what happened?”
“Rezok became more interested in burning down churches and restoring Norway’s old beliefs. Dabbling in ancient rituals and superstition. He hates this country. Hates all of its middle-class Christian values. They’d preach tolerance and forgiveness on Sundays and the rest of the week they’d pick on him for being different.”
Talon could empathize, to an extent. As the son of a diplomat, he’d grown up in a dozen countries and each new place had forced him to reinvent himself. New languages, new customs, new bullies. By the time he was twelve, he’d become a chameleon, a quality that worked to his advantage both during his years as an operator and in his newly chosen crusade. Life wasn’t always fair and Rezok had clearly received a raw deal, but it didn’t excuse murder. Or give him the right to dabble in powers man was not meant to wield.
Rezok had crossed the line.
“You were his friend.”
“I’ve said enough.”
“Where do I find him?”
“The mountains.“
Jonas paused for a beat before he continued. “The old ski lodge. Now get out of here before I call the cops.”
“How can I be sure you’re not going to warn him?”
Jonas pulled the right leg of his pants back, revealing the steel prosthesis where flesh and bone should be.
“Rezok shattered every bone in my leg and left me on the mountain to die. I was lucky that someone found me in time, but they couldn’t save my leg.”
“You told them you wiped out.”
“I wanted Rezok to leave me alone.”
“Has he?”
“I think he enjoys seeing me living in fear more than he would putting me out of my misery. Rezok doesn’t forgive, nor does he forget.”
Talon took a step closer and said, “Neither do I.”
With these words, Talon slipped the Glock back in his shoulder holster and left the bar.
Chapter Eight
THE FEIGO SKI resort had closed down ten years earlier when newer, glitzier hotels started stealing business from it. The owner had struggled to keep the operation afloat but ultimately succumbed to economic pressures. On February 14, 2002, the ski lift made its last ascent up the mountain and had stood abandoned ever since.
At first Talon kept consulting his GPS as he trudged up a woodsy trail, using it as his guide. After about thirty minutes he noticed the cable-line of the old ski-lift winding its way toward the lodge, one thousand feet above. Rust-covered chairs spaced at regular intervals dangled and swayed forlornly under the gray, hazy sky.
Talon wondered how different this mountain had been when the lift was still in operation — how full of life. The area seemed forsaken and haunted by the past, just a faint memory of its former glory.
Talon didn’t know what sort of security precautions awaited him up at the lodge and decided to approach from the forest side instead of using the main road. Unlike many places he’d infiltrated over the years, this time he wasn’t afforded the luxury of doing recon on the property ahead of the mission. He would have to wing it.
Talon climbed in a haunted winter landscape. The minutes stretched and the march started to lull him into a nearly hypnotic state. Wind bit at the exposed portion of his face and the relentless cold seemed to find its way in everywhere. The swirling clouds of snow fell hard and thick now and the flakes left a bitter, metallic aftertaste on his lips. His hands had grown numb and fatigue was weighing him down. His jet lag was suddenly catching up with him – talk about perfect timing.
A mechanical groan filled the eerie forest and jolted Talon back to full alertness. He shook off his lethargy, his gaze struggling to penetrate the flurry of snowflakes ahead. When the curtain of whirling ice finally parted, the vague outline of the decaying ski lodge grew visible. Wedged into the frozen wilderness was a building that looked like the bastard child of the Overlook Hotel and the Winchester House. The large main structure was in severe disrepair — time and the elements had done their fair share of damage. A craggy, snow-covered mountain loomed above the poorly maintained building.
Occult Assassin: The Complete Series (Books 1-6) Page 31
