Weirdly enough, Ice God’s elusive behavior added to their dark appeal; in their fans’ minds, they had become icy specters that haunted the slopes and only sought out civilization when it was time to spread their gloomy message. In an extremely jaded age, they’d managed to build an effective, even captivating mythology.
Talon’s attention suddenly shifted to the television. Video showed police officers combing a ski trail. He snatched the remote and raised the volume. As soon as the news-anchor’s words filled the hotel room, Talon realized he might have to push up his timetable. Despite the language barrier, he surmised that another woman had gone missing. The authorities were organizing search parties for a London-based marketing executive who had returned to Norway for an extended weekend. The image of an attractive brunette flickered over the screen and stirred dark memories in Talon. For a surreal split-second, he thought he was looking at Michelle.
What was happening to him?
He’d better pull himself together. His fiancée was gone, had been for four months. The latest missing woman in this case had nothing to do with his past tragedy.
On-screen, a news-anchor requested that anyone with information on Kristin’s whereabouts call in. Talon’s gut told him the hotline wouldn’t be ringing tonight. He suspected that the other women were already dead, but maybe this most recent victim still had a chance…. If he moved fast enough.
Energized by this new development, Talon stepped up to the suitcase on the bed and dialed in the combination Casca had given him before he left New York. He popped the clasps and the case snapped open. He peered down at a pistol, knife and silencer. When he first arrived the equipment had already been waiting for him in this hotel room, the perfect present for a killer. The arsenal served as a persuasive reminder of the power of wealth. No matter how strict the gun laws of the countries he traveled to, Simon’s contacts always managed to procure what he needed.
Talon snapped on a pair of gloves and retrieved a 9mm Glock from the foam cutout. He inspected the slide, chamber, firing pin and finally the trigger. The gun appeared to be in perfect working order. He removed a magazine, chambered a round and scanned the GPS tracking app on his phone. A map of Bergen filled the screen, dominated by a moving blue dot.
Ice God was on the move.
5
TALON HAD EARLIER rented a Nissan Versa and now steered the vehicle down a road slick with black ice. It was only a little past nine a.m., and daylight was chasing away the shadows. Snow enveloped the air and the windshield wipers worked overtime.
Talon kept checking the screen of his GPS tracker. He’d been driving for three hours now and it looked like Ice God was headed for Geilo. The target had opted to take RV 5O, which cut through the mountains from west to east. A shimmering lake framed the road to his left while a dense copse of trees lined his right. The undeniable, raw beauty of the landscape almost made Talon forget the grim reason for his visit.
The GPS signal turned off the main road and climbed a winding mountain trail. The trees grew denser and snow seemed to be everywhere.
Fifteen minutes later, the blip stopped and Talon slowed his vehicle. He pulled to the side of the road and parked next to the dense tree-line. A heavy mist clung to the forest like a shroud. With Geilo still a few miles away, Talon wasn’t sure why Ice God had stopped. He decided his safest bet was to proceed on foot. Decked out in a white snowsuit, he would be practically indistinguishable from the wintry terrain.
Talon braced himself, opened the car door and let out a sharp curse. The air outside cut like an icy blade — quick and without mercy. Talon wasn’t a stranger to extreme climates. He had fought in the merciless heat of the Arabian desert, completed missions in the harsh humidity of Indonesian jungles, and attended grueling classes at the Northern Warfare Training Center in Alaska, a school for arctic operations. But such unrelenting low temperatures could chip away at even the toughest individual.
He turned toward the darkened tree-line on the right side of the snow-covered road, withdrew his Glock 9mm from the shoulder holster, and entered the woods. His boots crunched over the hard-packed snow as he passed ice-encrusted thickets and trees. Despite the burgeoning sunlight, the forest remained swathed in shadows.
As he closed in on the transmitter, Talon couldn’t shake the uneasy sensation that he was utterly alone in the wilderness. He felt like the last man on earth trudging across a frozen, primordial landscape.
One of the hardest parts of his new war was the solitude. Back in his Delta days, he’d been part of a team. A tight-knit unit. Nowadays he was a lone knight on a dangerous crusade. Casca always remained in contact, but the billionaire could not directly follow Talon into the dark places his missions led him to.
Talon slowed his approach. According to his pulsing GPS tracker, he had almost reached the van. Guard up, he peered through a cluster of pine trees at a small parking area used by hikers and cross-country skiers. There was no sign of the black van in the snowy lot.
Talon double-checked his GPS tracker. According to the readings, the signal was emanating from the deserted rest area. Talon’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a white shape at the center of the lot. Someone had built a snowman. The playful, usually innocent image filled him with dread. They had made the transmitter, he realized. The snowman was a message.
He waited for a beat, senses processing his surroundings. Were Rezok and his crew hiding nearby?
Instead of entering the parking area and exposing himself to a possible ambush, he moved through the woods, circling the desolate space while using the trees as cover. After clearing the whole area without detecting anything suspicious, Talon relaxed slightly.
Gun firmly in hand, he entered the parking lot. Strange. He saw no footprints or tire tracks. Had the fresh snowfall erased all traces of Ice God’s presence?
Talon approached the snowman. As he closed in, details of the barbaric sight before him became apparent. A knife thrust from the snowman’s head and splashes of a red liquid ran down its side. Blood. Worst of all were the eyes. They had once belonged to a living creature. Not human, thank God, but a deer or a cow.
The transmitter formed the snowman’s mouth. A warning.
Game on, Talon thought.
The sound of rustling branches made him whirl. His gaze fastened on the source of the noise — a raven. The bird regarded Talon with beady, lifeless eyes and let out a guttural, malevolent caw before taking flight.
Talon tracked the bird as it vanished among the trees. A pensive expression crept into his face. Ravens played a major role in the black metal scene. They were the messengers of Odin and the harbingers of doom. Many bands used the carrion birds’ feathers to complete their Nordic noir look. Was the raven’s appearance a coincidence or could there be more to it?
Talon’s gaze shifted back to the blood-soaked snowman.
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.
6
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.
7
“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. On 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.
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