"Cranberry juice?" Sydney held a small bottle in front of his face. "Coffee? Or are you more of a chai-tea latte kind of guy?" She grinned.
"Coffee," Zack said. "Black."
Sydney sat down in the seat across the aisle next to Zack. "Just push the red button on the machine back there," she said, jerking her head in the direction of the galley. "It does espresso and cappuccino too. There's a toaster, a microwave, and a fridge with yogurt and fruit. There are muffins and bagels and some breakfast burritos..." She popped open a container of yogurt and ate a spoonful. "I wonder why the museum spent so much money on a private plane when there's commercial service." Sydney regarded Zack expectantly while sucking on the spoon.
Zack didn't like to promote his wealth, so he avoided the question by getting up to get himself a cup of coffee. He caught just the faintest trace of her perfume as he passed her. It was spicy and subtle, and feminine. The kind of thing that would keep a guy's attention focused on her and her alone. But he had to remember that she was Father Giovanni's niece.
He soon found that she didn't need another person's input to carry on a conversation.
"I want to discuss strategy for our little exploration," she said, turning around and kneeling backward in her seat to look at him. "You know, since Greenland has more than eight hundred thousand square miles of land mass..."
He set the coffeemaker to regular and popped a bagel in the toaster. "Well, our exploration won't be quite that extensive. The ice sheet covers six hundred and some-odd thousand square miles. The coastal regions are the only sections that interest me. The ice sheet that has broken away in those areas, with this most recent melt had been in place for hundreds, even thousands of years. Long enough that anything that was under it has been long forgotten."
"You know the surface layer melted off before, back in the late 1800s, right?"
"Yeah, your uncle mentioned that," he said. "But it's never melted off so completely. Not like this."
Sydney stared at him intently. Her eyes bored into him, looking deeper than his surface. "So are we going to use magnetometers or subsurface imaging equipment? Or are we just going to walk around and hope that we stumble over something?"
The toaster was taking forever. "Of course not."
"Of course not which...?" she prompted.
"Look, I didn't want your uncle to send someone along. I'm used to working alone." Zack fished the bagel out with a fork, dropped it onto a plate and began to dress it with butter and jam. "So, if it seems like I'm ignoring you, don't take it personally."
"What's the point in working alone?" she said, ignoring his last comment. "You can't share anything with anyone. Where's the fun in that?"
"If you work alone you don't have to rely on anyone else. Or worry about them messing things up."
"That's all good and well," Sydney said, "but if you're alone there won't be anyone who can help you either if you mess things up yourself. Everyone needs someone."
"Not me," Zack said, knowing right away that he sounded like a child.
"Really?" Sydney said and took another spoonful of yogurt, her lips curling around the edges in an amused grin.
He returned to his seat just as the pilot turned around to say, "Fasten your seatbelts you two. We have clearance from the tower, and we're ready to roll. We have clear skies between here and the Nuuk Airport so we can expect a smooth flight. Our flight time today will be three hours and fifty-two minutes."
Sydney crossed herself and bowed her head. Her lips moved in a silent prayer.
Zack had no use for prayer. If it was his time to go, it was his time to go. He still believed in God, but he had lost his faith a long time ago. If God wanted to talk to him, God knew where to find him.
Thankful for the silence, Zack leaned his head back against the headrest. Maybe he'd be able to get a little sleep after all.
"You may as well tell me what the plan is," Sydney said, just as Zack started to nod off to the smooth rumble of the engines.
She had a directness that was almost charming.
Almost.
"Do you know what a moulin is?"
"I know what the Moulin Rouge is," she said.
He had to smile. "All right. Here's the short version of the history of the Greenland ice sheet."
"Oooh, a lecture from a real professor..." Sydney teased.
"Do you want to hear the story or not?"
She blinked, and then laughed, settling back in her chair. "I do, but how on earth did you convince Uncle Sal to fund this little trip of yours?"
"Your uncle trusts me. I have a trusting face."
"No, you don't. You have a face that could be on the cover of GQ, but I wouldn't call it trusting. I get more of a bad-boy vibe."
Zack thought he might be blushing, but Sydney wasn't flirting with him. Not exactly, anyway. She just said whatever popped into her head at the moment. "So, what? You're saying you wouldn't trust me?"
"I trust you about as far as I could throw you," she replied with a grin as the plane began to roll down the runway.
He went back to explaining his plans for when they reached Greenland. "Moulins are long, tubular tunnels that run down the inside of the ice sheet. They let melting water flow off the surface of the ice and down to the bedrock underneath. When the ice sheet melts every summer, the runoff flows down these passageways and disappears. No one is quite sure how the tubes formed or where they go."
"I've heard of those, they're like natural drainpipes, letting the water flow away under the ice. But don't they only run down the insides of the glaciers?"
He shook his head. "I have a theory that if a moulin exists in one spot long enough that the running water carves a tunnel down into the rock below the surface."
"And now that parts of the ice sheet have mysteriously melted away in a matter of days..."
"Exactly," Zack confirmed. "The moulin tunnels in the bedrock will be exposed, and we can easily explore them."
"Easily is a relative term," Sydney replied. "I thought this was going to be an above-ground expedition."
"What's the matter? I thought you were up for an adventure."
"I'm not a huge fan of caving."
"Don't like the idea of going deeper and deeper into an ever-narrowing tunnel with the weight of tons of rock over your head, and who knows what kind of creature lurking around the next curve that might be supremely upset when you shine a bright light in its eyes for the first time?"
Sydney glared at him. "Yeah, something like that."
"I can ask the pilot to turn around and call you a cab..."
"I'll deal with it."
"Suit yourself." Zack settled back more in his seat, closing his eyes once again. Maybe he'd managed to shut her up for a while. He was looking forward to a few hours of peaceful rest before the plane landed at Nuuk and the real work—
"So how did you get into this line of work?" Sydney asked, jolting him awake from the near recesses of sleep.
He opened one eye a crack to look at her. "I guess you could say it runs in the family."
"How so?"
"My grandfather was a biblical archaeologist and a good friend of your uncle's. He was studying the spread of Christianity throughout Europe and the Western world. When he passed away, I maintained his contacts and continued his research."
"So, how long have you been doing this?"
"Long enough," he replied. "My grandfather used to bring me on digs with him. When I was sixteen, I was helping him excavate a secret tunnel in the Great Pyramid, and I managed to stumble onto a secret door no one had found before."
"I remember hearing about that," she said, some excitement in her voice as she sat up straighter. "That was you?"
He shrugged. "Yes."
"And they still don't know what's behind it?"
"Nope," he said, closing his eyes again as he ran through the list of things they'd need to do once they reached Greenland. He had his contact lined up, and supplies were supposed to be waiting for—
<
br /> "What I meant to ask was, how many times have you been out in the field? And down in a cave?"
"Enough times to know what I'm doing. Enough times to not be freaked out by it. I'm not an amateur."
"I'm not freaked out, and I'm not an amateur. I've been out in the field a few times over the past two years myself. Didn't Uncle Sal tell you about Istanbul?"
"No," Zack said, not the least interested in Istanbul. "No, he didn't."
He could feel her eyes boring into him. She really wanted him to ask. He really didn't want to ask. He just wanted to get some rest while he could. Once they hit the ground, there was a lot they were going to have to—
"Well, first of all, we ran into problems with security before we even got out of the airport. They were suspicious of the night-vision equipment and the subsurface imaging systems and..."
He clenched his teeth tighter.
This was going to be a long, long flight.
Chapter Five
THE LANDING IN GREENLAND was a touchy affair. Mostly because the air traffic controllers in Nuuk were frazzled from the dramatic increase in the air traffic they had to route to their single runway.
With the worldwide interest in the dramatic loss of the ice sheet, every amateur treasure seeker, geologist, archaeologist, scientist, news media outlet, and looky-loo was coming to Greenland. As they made their way through the tiny, crowded airport, Zack recognized a fair number of them and tried to keep his head down to avoid being forced to go through fake pleasantries and the inevitable questioning of methodologies.
"Well, Professor Zachariah," Sydney said in a sarcastic tone, as she looked at the swarming mass of people milling about the small airport building. "It looks like everyone has the same idea as you."
"I don't think so."
Zack located the exit and began to move toward it. Sydney rushed to keep up with him.
"These folks are pretty geared up," Sydney said. "I don't think they're here for a scrapbooking conference."
"What I mean," he explained to her in a low voice as he began threading his way through the crowd, "is that I doubt any of these people are here to do what we're here to do. This idea is unique. Those moulin shafts are only thought to exist to funnel away melt-off from the ice sheet. Who would think to go exploring in them?"
"Crazy people!"
That familiar voice stopped Zack dead in his tracks.
"Zack Cole, you rat! I knew you'd be here. You can't return a phone call?"
Zack muttered a few words under his breath before turning around with an enormous fake smile. "Frank Waterson! I thought you'd still be in that Guatemalan jail."
The man he addressed was thin and lanky, with short brown hair and a face that always reminded Zack of a documentary he'd once seen about a chimpanzee-human hybrid. With him was a man Zack didn't recognize. He was taller and looked like he had seen some better days. He had shaggy blond hair, was missing his ring finger on his left hand, and had a four-inch scar that ran diagonally from the center of his forehead to just below his left eye.
"I got out, no thanks to you," Waterson said.
"It wasn't me who got you into that situation, Frank..." Zack reminded him.
"You could have done something."
"I did."
"Something besides running like a scared little girl."
Zack stood his ground. "It was your pre-occupation with a girl that got you into trouble if I recall..."
The men sized each other up.
Waterson grinned. "She was worth it." He looked Sydney up and down, whistling with approval. "Is this the reason you won't return my calls? Been holed up with her all this time? Not your usual type, is she?"
Sydney looked at Zack, then at the two men, and then back at Zack. He could see her forming an opinion about the company he kept. "She's my research assistant," Zack said.
"Research partner," Sydney corrected. "I'm Sydney Langtry. And you two gentlemen are...?"
Waterson took Sydney's hand and attempted to kiss it. "Frank Waterson." He was not successful.
Zack and Sydney looked expectantly at the other man. He said nothing.
"This is my partner, Walter Ives," Waterson told them.
"Silent partner?" Sydney quipped.
"Not always," said Ives.
"You're a hard guy to get a hold of," Waterson said, squinting at Zack ominously. "I've been trying for a week. I wanted to tell you about this new venture..."
Zack steered Sydney away from them. "Not interested, Frank. You've got your partner. I've got mine. We've got work to do." He began to walk away.
"George Dingo is here," Waterson called out.
"George Dingo?" Sydney asked.
"Nothing to worry about," Zack said, quickening his step.
"So you agree that we are partners in this?"
He declined to answer and concentrated on getting out of the airport before running into anyone else.
Outside of the terminal building Zack was looking for the transportation that was supposed to be waiting for them, when a jovial, smartly dressed man in his mid-sixties approached them. Jovial, except for his eyes. They were as cold and oily as black ice. "Zack Cole! What brings you to this part of the world?"
Zack cringed at the familiar voice. "I heard there was a scrapbooking convention in town, Dingo. Is that what brings you here?"
Zack spotted his ride—an older white Chevy Kodiak pulled up to the far end of the paved surface. They began to move quickly toward it.
"You know I've always loved scrapbooking," said the man, following them.
Sydney turned to speak to him, but Zack took her arm and pulled her along, whispering, "Don't talk to him. Just walk away. He's bad news." They reached the pickup, and Zack tossed their bags into the truck bed then opened the door, ushering Sydney inside and crowding her over on the bench seat. He slammed the door closed. "You know I'd love to stay and catch up Dingo..."
"I certainly would like that as well, Zack," Dingo said, smiling through the truck's passenger side window.
Wow, that man moved fast.
"Go!" Zack urged the driver, and they pulled out into a slow moving exit lane leaving the smiling Dingo on the curb.
The cab of the truck was cozy, to say the least. Sydney would have turned around to get a better look if there were room to do so. "He seemed nice," she said.
"That depends on your definition of nice."
Chapter Six
SYDNEY SQUIRMED IN THE middle of the bench seat, trying to find a comfortable place for her long legs.
"Sydney Langtry, meet Mikkel Pederson," Zack said.
The truck's driver was an older man with a shaved head. He had a thick mustache, though, as if all of his hair had migrated to the top of his lip when it was forbidden to grow on his scalp.
"We're familiar," Sydney quipped as Mikkel shifted into third gear.
"How was your flight?" Mikkel asked.
"Good. Did you pick up my shipment?"
"Yes. Everything is at the base in Tasiilaq. I can't believe you got all of that here in one day. You didn't say you would be bringing company."
"I'm not company," Sydney said. "I'm a research partner."
"I know what you are," Mikkel said. "I meant the other invaders to Greenland."
Zack shook his head. "Word got out. Blame the media, not me. Anyone looking where we discussed?"
"Not even close," Mikkel said. "All of them so far are looking at the western and southeastern settlements."
"Wait a minute," Sydney interrupted. "What do you mean you know what I am?"
"Mr. Cole's partner, of course."
"Research partner," Sydney emphasized.
"That's what I said."
Zack grinned. "Mikkel grew up in Tasiilaq, a small town on the eastern side of Greenland. He knows I'm looking for moulins, and he knows just the place to take us. Tell her about the local legend."
"We have many legends, my friend. Take your—"
"What do local legends have to do
with our expedition?" Sydney interrupted.
"Legends tell a lot about the history of the place. True or not, they could provide helpful clues to what we're looking for," Zack said. "Sorry Mikkel. Please, continue."
"Many local elders still believe the Norse mythology of the World Tree that connects everything," Mikkel began, in his best storytelling voice. "One of the tree roots goes down into the lowest level of the universe: a world of ice, darkness, and death called Niflheim. There it is watered by a hot spring called Roaring Kettle..." Mikkel paused as he turned onto a dirt road leading away from the capital city of Nuuk.
It was a good thing that Mikkel knew the way because Zack couldn't see any sign or landmark indicating this was the turn.
Mikkel continued his story. "From the waters of Roaring Kettle flows the freezing River of Knives. This separates the world of humans from Helheim—the world of death. On this level, you will find the Shore of Corpses. It's littered with bones and strips of skin, where an evil serpent survives by feasting on the living flesh of murderers, liars, and adulterers captured before completing their journey to Helheim. This serpent also gnaws endlessly at the root of the World Tree, hoping to one day break free so it can satiate its appetite on the whole of the human race. No one will be safe if that ever happens. The air will be full of the screams of the dying, and the earth littered with blood and bones."
"Well," Sydney commented, "that's a colorful story."
"It is," Zack said, "but it's not the one I meant. Mikkel, tell Sydney the legend that you told me—the one that brought me here."
Mikkel took his eyes off the road momentarily to look at Zack and hit a pothole that rattled the old truck. "It's not as scary as the murderer-munching monster."
"No, but it's the only one with a possible grain of truth to it."
"Fine..." Mikkel said, letting out an exaggerated breath. His voice dropped an octave as he began his story. "My ancestors tell of the great Dragon of the Sea that once was, but is no more. One of our forefathers, Hallormr the Hardened, was out to fish when the ocean turned red. The waters bubbled and frothed and out of the depths came a monster coated in hard scales which no weapon could penetrate, larger than any animal known to the sea or land. A fire-breathing creature of nightmares."
The Codex (An Armour of God Thriller Book 2) Page 2
