Tova lived in a small but comfortable apartment in southern Stockholm. As she had said, there was a police car stationed in the street outside, the two officers within watching the visitors suspiciously as they entered the building.
The Swede’s greeting was warmer. “Nina, Eddie! Hello again, I am so happy to see you both.”
“Thanks,” Nina replied. “How are you? Are you okay?”
“Still shaken, I am afraid,” Tova said as she took the couple’s coats. “Being kidnapped, it is …” She tried to suppress a shiver. “I am just a historian. This is crazy. I never imagined that my work would cause this.”
“I don’t think they’ll be coming back,” Eddie told her. “You shouldn’t have to worry about ’em.”
“I hope so! But thank you again for saving me, both of you.”
“All part of the job,” said the Englishman with a small smile.
Nina opened her bag. “I brought my laptop, so if the IHA database has anything that can help you, we’ll be able to access it.”
Tova nodded. “I will show you what I have found out so far.”
She led them through the apartment to a small room lined with bookshelves heavily laden with volumes on Scandinavian history and mythology. On a desk was a map of Norway, along with numerous printed notes. Tova sat and gathered together several pages. “This is the English translation of the section of the runes from the Valhalla Runestone that describes the journey to Ragnarök,” she said, placing one of the pages on the desktop. It was the same text that she had shown them at the museum. Nina read it again, Eddie this time taking considerably more of an interest.
O great Norse warriors!
When Ragnarök is upon you
You must travel to Valhalla
To prepare for the final battle
The serpent and the wolf have risen before
From their lairs in the lands of ice
The serpent’s venom lies thick deep below
Black eitr that can kill even a god
This dark stone is but one of two
That reveal the true way to Valhalla
On this, the path that leads to its doors
The other, the river to follow
Up this river you must travel
Until great Bifröst is reached
Across, follow the stream to the falls
At their summit is Odin’s hall, now of the slain
Before you is the guide-stone
One half of the whole that leads to battle
At the fellowship hall the other part awaits
A place known to all true warriors
The two parts together brought
Shall alone open the death-gate of Valhalla
Within its halls are found the paths
That lead to Ragnarök
At the final battle, wolf and serpent shall fall
Slain at last by our mightiest heroes
Though the price to be paid shall be great
Those who fight shall be honored for all time
Nina was first to finish. “There’s nothing more on the other runes that were on the stone?” she asked.
Tova shook her head. “Not that seemed relevant. Most of the other text is a list of those present when the stone was made.”
Eddie straightened. “Okay, so if I’m reading this right: You use the clues on the two runestones to find out how to reach Valhalla; then when you get there, you use the two halves of the dark stone to open the gate; and inside Valhalla there are two maps telling you where to find the eitr pits. That it?” The blond historian nodded.
“Two maps?” Nina asked, looking back at the text.
“It says ‘are found the paths,’ plural.” He pointed out the relevant line.
“That might just mean the route to Ragnarök involves going across the sea as well as overland.”
“No, Eddie is right,” said Tova. “As I told you yesterday, this English translation does not have the nuance of the original. The Old Norse text definitely refers to two different locations for the final conflict. Ragnarök is an event, not a place.”
Nina was slightly irked at herself for not having considered that, and at her husband for his smug smirk. “So does that mean they didn’t know exactly where the battle of Ragnarök would take place?”
“Looks like it,” said Eddie. “They’ve got a choice of two locations—these lairs of the serpent and of the wolf. They must both be way up north somewhere if they’re in the ‘lands of ice.’ So presumably once they’re at Valhalla and have the maps, one lot of Vikings toddles off to find the first eitr pit while their mates head for the other. Whichever one’s got monsters coming out of it, that’s your battle of Ragnarök.”
“That is … a new way of putting it,” said Tova, amused, “but yes.”
“But before you can find them, you’ve got to find Valhalla,” Nina noted. “And to do that, you need the other runestone.”
Tova moved the translation aside to show them the map. “I shall show you where I think it is.” Her fingertip moved to a long lake in western Norway. “This is Tinnvatnet—it is a valley that was flooded in the 1930s when a dam was built. But an archaeological site was also found there. Unfortunately, it was not fully cataloged before the water rose over it.”
“They didn’t delay the dam work until it was done?” Nina asked, faintly outraged.
“It was a different time; archaeology was placed second to progress, sadly. But the man in charge of the dig, Tollak Enberg, made as many notes as he could.” She picked up another sheaf of papers. “The site was called Félagthing—which literally means ‘the fellowship assembly’—by the Vikings, and like Iarlsta, it was a meeting place where differences between various tribes were discussed and settled. A kind of high court, somewhere of great importance.”
“Important enough to be known about by tribes a couple of hundred miles away in Sweden?” suggested Nina. She indicated one section of the translation. “ ‘A place known to all true warriors,’ in other words?”
“I believe so, yes,” said Tova. “A meeting of the tribes there would only be called on rare occasions, and it would be for something very important.”
“Like Ragnarök,” Eddie said thoughtfully.
“Yes. Which is why I first thought it might be the place mentioned on the Valhalla Runestone—the fellowship hall. When I read Enberg’s notes, that made me more certain that I was right. They said there was a runestone at the site with a black circle set into it.” Among Tova’s papers was a photograph of the stolen runestone. “Like the sun compass,” said Nina, indicating it. “But I’m assuming that Enberg didn’t translate the runestone or take any photos of it—otherwise we wouldn’t be having this discussion.”
“I am afraid not. He dismissed the text on the runestone as mere myth, and instead concentrated on the historical finds. And he did not have long to work there—even though the site had been discovered a few years before, it was only when the dam was almost completed that Enberg was able to arrange a dig. He and his people were working right up until the waters reached them.”
“Nothing like a deadline to spur you on.” Nina looked back at the map. “But that means the runestone’s still there under the lake, somewhere. Do you know where the site is?”
“Only the general area,” admitted Tova. “The lake is very long, almost thirty kilometers. Many of the landmarks Enberg described are now underwater also, and do not appear on modern maps. That is why I wanted to check in the archives, to see if older maps show them. With those, I can find the location more accurately.”
Nina took out her laptop. “I think I can help with that. Just give me your WiFi password, and I’ll see what the IHA database can turn up.”
“Not that it’s going to make any difference,” said Eddie, almost forcefully dismissive. “It’s still at the bottom of a lake. The chances of digging the thing up have got to be pretty much zero.”
“Almost zero isn’t the same as zero,” said Nina. “And the peop
le who stole the Valhalla Runestone and tried to kidnap Tova are obviously determined to get hold of the other stone so they can find Valhalla. If they’re willing to go that far, a bit of water isn’t going to stop them. I think it’s the IHA’s job to make sure that doesn’t happen. Don’t you?” She deliberately added a faint tone of challenge to her words, curious to see his reaction.
He merely shrugged. “Like I said, it’s at the bottom of a bloody lake. Even if you figure out where it is, we’ll still have a hell of a job finding it.”
Nina smiled. “Not necessarily. I know just the man to call …”
10
Vietnam
Pain and discomfort forced Chase back to groggy consciousness. He tried to move. The rippling burn of bruised muscles made him groan, but while his ribs and hip had taken a heavy impact, nothing was broken as far as he could tell.
He opened his eyes—and immediately squeezed them shut as raindrops smacked down on them. “Ow, fuck!” he muttered, annoyance followed by an odd amusement. If water in the eyes was his biggest complaint, he couldn’t be that badly hurt.
Turning his head, he opened his eyes again to see … nothing. A flash of panic: Was he blind? No, there was a very low light, the moon’s glow diffusing faintly through the heavy clouds above. Bushes and trees slowly took on ghostly form through the rain. Where was he? A forest? No, a jungle …
He snapped back to full wakefulness. Vietnam—he had been carrying Natalia, but one of the Russians had caught up. Then the mudslide sent them all over the cliff—
“Natalia!” Chase sat up, more pain coursing through his ribs. No answer. He looked around. A pale shape lay nearby: the young blonde in her white medical gown. He called her name again. No response. He was about to check if she was still alive when he remembered they were not alone.
The Russian—
Another figure was sprawled on the muddy ground about ten feet from him. Even in the darkness, though, he could tell she was no longer a threat. A rock glinted wetly beneath the Russian woman’s neck, her head twisted at an unnatural angle.
Chase crawled through the sludgy dirt to Natalia. He found a pulse, slow but steady. She was still out cold, either from the drugs or as a result of the fall. Her landing had been softer than his; a dull throb across his chest told him he had unwittingly acted as her cushion when they hit the ground.
He looked up, trying to judge how far they had fallen. The slope was not quite vertical; he had bounced off several earthy steps as the rushing mud swept him down. The jungle at the top was hard to make out—thirty feet above? Forty? Not an easy climb, up or down, in the dark, slippery conditions.
But that did not mean he and Natalia were safe. Over the storm, he heard shouts from on high. Russian or Vietnamese, he couldn’t tell, but one thing was clear—they were getting closer. A shaft of torchlight stabbed out over the edge like a lighthouse’s beam.
Chase went to the dead woman. Where was her gun? He scoured the ground for telltale glints of metal, but saw only mud and stones.
No time to widen the search. He hurried back to Natalia and raised her to a sitting position, patting her cheek. “Natalia! Are you awake, can you hear me?”
For the first time, she responded, whispering something. Chase leaned closer, trying to catch it, but his knowledge of her language was too basic to understand what she said. “My name’s Eddie—your father sent me to rescue you,” he told her, hoping her English was better than his German. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
She spoke again, her voice barely audible. “Mein Vater … my father?” Her eyelids flickered as she tried to look at the man holding her.
“Yeah. Can you walk?”
Natalia wriggled, but there was no strength behind it. “Nein, no, I …” There was more, but it trailed away below the threshold of audibility.
“Guess not.” Straining as more aches and bruises made themselves known, he picked her up. Her head lolled against the radio headset, which had been partially dislodged by the fall. He nudged it back into place. “Hal, Hugo—can anyone read me?”
There was no response—not even static. He looked down at his belt to find the walkie-talkie missing, its headset wire dangling loose. “Shit!” He turned, searching for any faint glow of LEDs on the ground, but saw none. The Motorola was either broken by the fall or buried in the mud.
They were on their own.
He still had his backpack, which meant he also had a map, but getting away from their pursuers was his highest priority.
The vegetation along the foot of the cliff was sparse. There were thicker trees off to his right—to the east, he worked out, remembering what the map had shown him earlier. Going that way would take him away from the extraction point, but they needed cover. Natalia’s white robe, even rain-soaked and dirty, would stand out clearly from above. Raising her higher, he started for the denser jungle.
More lights shimmered through the trees above the top of the cliff. The shouts were clearer, closer. There had been no more gunfire, which he took to mean that Sullivan’s team had gotten the other hostages clear.
What about Hoyt? The thought of the American set an ember of anger burning in his stomach. If he saw him again …
He put ideas of revenge aside. They were unprofessional, and he had more important concerns—like survival.
The boundary of the overhanging jungle canopy was about forty feet away. He lumbered toward it, feet sticking in the thick mud as if walking through a nightmare. Someone shouted urgently. Fear surged—had he been spotted? A glance back revealed the lights converging where the mudslide had rushed downhill. It would only be seconds before they realized what had happened and made their way to the edge of the ridge to look down …
Mud tugged at his boot. He pulled it free, almost losing his balance. Natalia gasped as she jerked back to wakefulness. He recovered and pressed on. Almost at the trees, wet bushes swatting at them as he pushed through. Another look back. The lights were picking their way down the slope toward the drop.
The rain’s pounding eased as Chase reached the shelter of the foliage overhead. But he still needed to keep moving until he and Natalia were blocked from view—
The beams lanced down into the valley as the searchers reached the edge. They swept across the undergrowth—then one flashed over him as a hunter’s sharp eyes caught movement. A shout. More lights locked on to the fugitives.
Gunfire—
Chase dived behind a tree, Natalia crying out as he landed on top of her. Bullets thunked against the bark. One of the Russians yelled furiously and the shooting stopped.
But now they knew where their prey had gone. And they would soon climb down to track it.
He risked a peek around the tree. The overhanging branches meant that the men from the camp no longer had a clear line of sight on him. That gave him a short window in which to move out and force them to search for his trail.
He picked Natalia up again. The thought of abandoning her did not even cross his mind. His job was to get her to safety, and he would do just that—or go down fighting.
The ground was muddy, but not as bad as it had been nearer the ridge. If he stayed close to the trees, he could use roots and stones to keep his footprints to a minimum. Which way? He tried to recall the map. The cliff ran roughly north–south, parallel to a nearby river …
“Okay, hold on to me,” Chase told Natalia as he headed in what he hoped was the right direction. She managed to raise one arm and cling weakly to his shoulder.
He made his way as quickly as he could through the jungle. His feet sought out the unyielding firmness of rocks and roots, but sometimes he had no choice but to cross soft, wet ground. With Natalia’s weight added to his own, his boot prints would not be hard to spot. All he could do was keep changing direction in the hope of forcing their pursuers to waste time reacquiring his tracks.
Minutes passed. His progress was as good as it could be given the conditions, but Chase was all too aware that Natalia was slowing him
considerably. And a look back revealed torchlight in the distance—on the ground, not above. They had descended the cliff and were on his trail.
A new sound rose above the storm’s din. Running water. They had reached the river.
Chase emerged from the jungle onto its edge. The river was swollen by the downpour, white froth gushing around the bases of the trees where it had burst its banks. More pale splashes on the far side told him it was about fifty feet wide, but it was impossible to know how deep it was.
No choice. The sure knowledge that the Vietnamese and Russians were getting closer every moment forced him to commit to his plan. If he didn’t cross the river, not only would he be hemmed in, but there would be no break in his trail. They would quickly catch up.
“Natalia?” he said. She turned her head toward him. “The men who kidnapped you are coming after us. We’ve got to cross this river to get away from them. We’re both going to get wet. You understand?”
“I am wet already,” she said with a sigh.
Chase gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Okay. Just keep hold of me. Here we go.”
He stepped into the torrent.
Even with only a few inches of water covering his boots, he could still feel the relentless pressure behind it. He continued onward. The river deepened with each step. No time to play games of bluff and double bluff with his pursuers to make them unsure if he was heading up or down the river; he needed to get across as quickly as possible, following a direct line to the far bank.
The rushing water was now up to his waist, every step a strain against the current. Cold spray splashed Natalia’s back. She gasped and tensed in his arms, the thin material of her robe providing no warmth. “Hang on,” he said. “This is where it gets really bad …”
Another couple of steps—and the riverbed dropped away underfoot, plunging them both into open water.
It was much deeper than Chase had feared. Natalia screamed, then the sound was cut off as her head went under the surface. The coldness of the water squeezed his chest like a giant’s hand. He raised his arms and pushed her back up, kicking furiously to hold position.
The Valhalla Prophecy Page 12
