A smartly dressed young man with a cleanly shaved face smiled at him from behind an ornate desk. “Good morning, sir, how may I help you?”
“My name is Professor James Acton. I need to speak with the Ambassador.”
The man’s eyes flared momentarily. “Do you have an appointment?”
Acton shook his head. “No, but my friend, Professor Viggo Karlsson did, at nine o’clock this morning. I’d like to meet with him to discuss his whereabouts.”
The man’s knuckles whitened as his fists clenched atop the desk for a moment. “I’m afraid the Ambassador is a very busy man, and all of his appointments are arranged through his Chargé D’affaires, Mr. Al-Jubeir.”
“Then I’d like to see him.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Al-Jubeir is a very busy man as well, and isn’t available.”
“Well, this is very perplexing. My friend hasn’t been seen since he entered here, and if he were meeting with the Ambassador, then that would suggest they are still meeting. If I could see my friend, then that would be sufficient.”
The man was clearly flummoxed, uncertain of what to do. “Ahh, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. The Ambassador left for business in the Kingdom earlier.”
“Then I’ll meet with Mr. Al-Jubeir.”
“I’m afraid he accompanied him.”
“Then that means any meeting with my friend has concluded, yet no one has seen him since. Where is he?”
“I’m not sure, though I’m certain he isn’t on the premises.” He pointed at a sign-in book. “According to this, he’s already left.”
Acton stepped closer. “May I?”
The man closed the book. “I’m afraid I can’t permit that.”
“Why not? Anyone signing in can see the names listed.”
“Only those who have legitimate business with the Kingdom. You do not.”
“So, you’re refusing to confirm—”
“Is there a problem here?”
The man leaped to his feet, bowing his head, but Acton cut off any reply.
“Yes. I’m looking for Professor Karlsson.”
The man’s eyebrows shot up, as if he recognized the name. “Yes, of course. I spoke to him last night.” He extended his hand. “I’m Abdullah Al-Jubeir, the Ambassador’s Chargé D’affaires.”
Acton smiled slightly at the receptionist, who quickly looked away, having been caught in a lie. “Interesting, I was led to believe you had just left for Saudi Arabia with the Ambassador.”
Al-Jubeir glanced at his underling, though didn’t miss a beat. “Change of plans. I was needed here.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “How may I help you?”
“I’m looking for my friend, Professor Karlsson.”
The man’s eyes narrowed as he tilted his head slightly. “Why would you be looking for him here?”
“Because you had a meeting with him, and he hasn’t been seen since.”
Al-Jubeir frowned. “The Ambassador and I met with him as scheduled at nine this morning, had a pleasant discussion, then he left about half an hour later.”
Acton regarded the man. He was smooth. Very smooth.
Too smooth.
“If that’s the case, then why has no one been able to reach him since?”
Al-Jubeir shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m sure there is some innocent explanation, however.”
Acton motioned toward a nearby security camera. “I’m sure you have footage of him leaving, and perhaps even footage outside. It might help us track him down.”
“Us?”
“His wife is concerned.”
Al-Jubeir paused, eying him for a moment. “Forgive me, but I didn’t get your name.”
“It’s immaterial.”
“Professor James Acton.”
Acton silently damned the receptionist’s exceptional memory.
Al-Jubeir extended an arm toward the bowels of the embassy. “Perhaps we should discuss this matter somewhere more private, Professor.”
Acton tensed, though attempted to remain calm on the exterior. “I don’t think so. I’ll be leaving now.”
Al-Jubeir held up a finger. “Professor, I think we really should continue our conversation.”
Acton held up his phone. “Say ‘hello,’ dear.”
Laura’s voice replied through the speaker. “Hello.”
“Are you still recording everything?”
“I am, and it’s all been streamed to the cloud, just in case.”
Al-Jubeir turned slightly red, glaring at the phone. “And what is the meaning of this?”
“A little insurance, if you will. Your country doesn’t exactly have a good track record of letting people leave, now does it?”
Al-Jubeir’s nostrils flared and his fists clenched. Acton decided it was best to beat a hasty retreat.
“I’ll be leaving now. If I’m not on the street in two minutes, call the police.”
Laura’s reply was immediate. “I will. Two minutes, starting now.”
Acton headed for the exit, finding it blocked by two men in suits that hadn’t been there when he arrived. They ignored him, instead staring at Al-Jubeir. Acton turned back to face the man.
“Questions are already being asked about Professor Karlsson. He’s not well known. With my connections, and the fact I’m an American citizen, born and bred, you’ll find my not showing up on the street in ninety seconds will prove most unfortunate for you.”
Al-Jubeir flicked his wrist and the doors were opened. Acton bowed his head.
“Thank you.” He turned and walked with purpose toward the doors, desperately controlling his urge to run. He held his breath as he approached the exit, the street and Swedish territory directly outside the door. He slowly exhaled as his feet cleared the threshold, saying a silent prayer of thanks. He held his phone to his lips. “I’m out.”
“On my way.”
Acton headed left, toward where Laura would be coming from, his heart hammering as he spotted their rental round the corner. She came to a halt and he yanked open the passenger side door, hopping in. Laura hammered on the accelerator, slamming him into the back of his seat as he reached for his seatbelt. He took one last look at the embassy and shuddered as he spotted Al-Jubeir standing on the sidewalk, staring at him, a phone to his ear.
That can’t be good.
12 |
Al Lixbuna, Islamic Iberia Caliphate of Córdoba 989 AD
Fatima screamed at the top of her lungs as she slid down the rope toward the boat floating below. As she picked up speed, nearing the deck of the Viking ship bobbing in the waters, she spotted the men on the deck below gripping what appeared to be a second rope. She followed it with her eyes and noticed it above her head, just out of reach, and she realized they must be keeping the rope she was on taut.
That meant it was all one rope, looped around a ring at the stern of the boat, and apparently another one positioned atop the cliff.
This calmed her, if only slightly. She hit the deck hard, two of the crew catching her, bringing her to an abrupt halt, but before she could say a word of thanks or even catch her breath, a dagger was drawn. Her eyes bulged as the man grabbed the harness Magnus had fit her with then hooked to the rope only minutes ago. He cut her loose then rushed her below deck, a dark robe held up behind her, blocking most of the light from above.
An order was shouted by someone above, and she could hear the men raise the sail. She inched forward, her curiosity too much, and watched as the men cut the rope she had slid down, securing one end to the ship as the other was let loose to drag behind it. Within moments it became taut, and she realized what was happening.
They were dragging one end of the entire rope, still looped at the top of the cliff, and once they had pulled it past the halfway point, it would slip out of the ring above, fall to the sea below, and these men would reel it in.
Leaving no evidence behind of what they had done.
What she and Magnus had done.
She took a step toward the deck, w
anting to confirm her suspicions were true, when she was grabbed by the shoulder. The man said something in Norse then jabbed a finger toward the floor, indicating she was to stay put. She nodded, stepping back into the shadows and out of sight.
A shout of triumph was heard on the deck and she caught a glimpse of the rope being hauled in by the crew, her guess confirmed.
Ingenious!
She again peered out from the robe still held by one of the men, and her heart ached at the site behind them. At least a dozen people were atop the cliff, and one of them, she was sure, was Rafiq, rushing to the edge, his flowing robes and familiar figure unmistakable to her.
And the fact he was there almost made her faint.
For there was no reason for it.
Unless he knew.
And if he did, there was no way they would escape with their lives.
13 |
Valhallavagen Street Stockholm, Sweden Present Day
“What do you think?”
Acton shook his head, frowning at the road as Laura expertly guided them away from the embassy and along a pre-planned route programmed into the car’s GPS—a route that took them past several important locations such as police stations, as well as the American and British embassies. “I think they have him.”
Laura cursed. “So do I. Do you think he’s dead?”
A pit formed in Acton’s stomach. “If past experience is any indication, then yes, but the question is why? Why would they kill a Swedish archaeology professor? It makes no sense!”
“Little makes sense with these people.”
Acton grunted. “True, though there’s usually at least a thread of logic. In this case, I can’t see any.”
“Maybe he’s not dead.”
Acton nodded. “Perhaps, but if he isn’t, why hold him?”
“They want something from him.”
It was a possibility, and the only plausible explanation so far that had his friend still alive. “If he’s alive, then I agree. Let’s operate under that assumption. He’s alive, and they want something from him. It must be the ring. That’s the only thing that he has that could possibly be linked to Saudi Arabia.”
“That’s not entirely correct.”
Acton’s eyes narrowed and he tore his eyes away from the road to look at his wife. “What?”
“The body the ring was found on, this Fatima. If we assume she’s Muslim, then maybe they want her as well. Or instead.”
Acton chewed his cheek for a moment as he grabbed onto the dash, Laura shuddering them to a halt for a red light that had bested her. “But do they know who she is?”
Laura shook her head. “I can’t see how. Perhaps with DNA testing they might be able to trace her lineage, but it’s been a thousand years, and there could be tens of thousands of relations by now.”
“But if there’s royal blood—”
Laura hammered on the gas again, reminding Acton of the first night they had met, and how her driving skills had saved their lives. Though they hadn’t, really. The man who had tried to kill them that night was now a friend, and had explained to him how he was toying with them the entire time, putting on a show for his corrupt taskmaster.
Though he did compliment her on her driving, her skills honed on the track with her late brother’s Porsche.
Acton pried his fingernails from the dash and instead worked his imaginary brake. “But if she has royal blood, how could they possibly know? I doubt they’ve done the DNA testing yet.”
Laura eased off the gas as they approached the first police station on their route. “Stay or go?”
Acton glanced behind them, finding no evidence of pursuit. “Go.”
She resumed their route, giving them more time to gather their thoughts. “There’s no way the DNA testing is back yet, and most likely hasn’t even been started. I think this has everything to do with the ring.”
Acton grunted. “Or fanaticism.”
Laura stole a quick glance at him. “No Christian scientist will possess any ancient Muslim artifact?”
Acton shrugged. “I wonder if they know Viggo is atheist.”
Laura chuckled. “If it’s fanatics, all they care about is that you’re different from them.” She eased off the gas slightly as they approached the British Embassy. “Stay or go?”
Acton crouched down to check his side mirror. “Go.” He gestured at the speedometer. “I think you can ease off now. I don’t think they’re following us.”
Laura lifted her lead foot off the accelerator.
Slightly.
“Do you think they’re going to try anything?”
Acton glanced at her. “With us?” He shook his head. “No, but we need to let the authorities know what we know.”
“There’s another police station coming up.”
Acton pursed his lips, debating what to do. “No, two crazy tourists spouting conspiracy theories won’t get us anywhere.”
“Then what?”
“I can only think of Mira. She can get the university involved, and anyone else we can think of. We can hopefully have a shit storm brewing before tonight’s newscasts.”
Laura frowned. “Could that just panic them?”
“I think they’re already panicked by me being there. If he’s already dead, then my guess is they began the process of disposing of his body before I even got there. But if he’s still alive, then this might just keep him that way until they figure out how to extricate themselves from this situation.” He sighed. “I have to think they don’t want a repeat of Istanbul.”
A burst of air erupted from Laura’s lips. “I doubt they learned anything except to have the fall guys lined up ahead of time.”
Acton’s phone, still gripped tightly in his hand, vibrated. He checked the call display to see it was a blocked number. He held it up for Laura. “I wonder who that could be?”
“Answer it.”
He swiped his thumb, putting it on speaker. “Hello?”
“Jim, is that you?”
Acton’s jaw dropped and his heart slammed as Laura eased off the gas, her attention now split between the road and Karlsson’s voice. “Yes, Viggo, it’s me! Are you okay?”
Another voice, an altered voice, replied. “Your friend is alive. How long he stays that way is entirely up to you.”
Acton’s body tensed. “What do you want?”
“We want the ring.”
Acton’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“That is none of your concern. Get us the ring, and your friend lives.”
Acton stared at the phone, his eyes wide. “How? I don’t even know where it is!”
“Instructions will be sent to your phone. Tell anyone of what has happened, and your friend dies.” There was a pause before the words that sent a chill down his spine. “And so do you and your wife.”
14 |
Al Lixbuna, Islamic Iberia Caliphate of Córdoba 989 AD
Rafiq ignored the curious looks of the guards that had failed in their duty to protect his sister from herself, instead shuffling past them, stunned, his cheeks stained with dried tears, still uncertain of what to say. He had to figure out some way to save his family, and at first, he was inclined to claim she had fallen off the cliff, rather than having thrown herself willingly into the sea below.
Though if the lie were discovered, yet more shame would be heaped upon the family, and the sheik’s anger might know no bounds, punishing them even more severely.
But he could claim ignorance as to the reason. No one could prove he heard any of what was exchanged. He could claim she had a fight with the Viking, about what, he didn’t know, then threw herself off the cliff in a fit of despair.
Because she didn’t want to leave her family!
He almost smiled at the thought. That was a totally plausible reason for what she had done. Though it could never be forgiven, it might be enough to ease the sheik’s anger. Rafiq wasn’t certain what had taken place. From the words spoken, it suggested his sister had it in her min
d there was some connection between herself and the Viking Magnus, and he had dismissed her advances outright. As far as Rafiq was concerned, it appeared Magnus had done everything within his power to act honorably, and his sister was to blame for everything that had happened.
You poor, silly girl.
His mother saw him first, the party still in full swing, and her smile quickly faded as she recognized his anguish. She leaped to her feet, reaching for him.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
He closed his eyes, his shoulders heaving as his chin dropped to his chest. “Fatima is dead.”
His mother screamed then collapsed, everyone suddenly on their feet as he was bombarded with questions. It was all he could do to sob out the same words repeatedly.
“Fatima is dead.”
His father and Sheik Al-Musawi pulled him from the throng of women and children, into the corner of the room.
“Everyone shut up!” ordered his father, his own tears welling. He turned to his son. “Tell me, son, what happened?”
“I’m not sure, exactly, but for some reason, she had a meeting with the Viking Prince Magnus. There was a brief argument, though I heard none of it, then she…”
His father shook him by the shoulder. “What, son, what?”
“She jumped off the cliff and into the ocean below.”
His mother cried out again, joined by the rest of the women and children in the room, and he found himself swaying as the reality of the situation came crushing down on him.
His sister was dead.
And it was his fault.
If he hadn’t stood by, more concerned about saving his family’s honor than rushing to his distraught sister’s side, she would be alive right now. Instead, he had stood, waiting for those who had witnessed the argument to disperse.
He stepped over to the window and sat on the ledge, struggling to regain control of his emotions as the sheik exploded in rage, exactly as he had feared, shouting at his father about the dishonor, about the shame of it all, about how he had wasted his time traveling all this distance.
The Viking Deception Page 5
