Viking Vengeance

by Maggie Foster

  When the others had gone, the Laird came over and sat down facing them.

  “Halifax ha’ agreed tae tak’ him.” He shook his head. “There’s nae been a man choose exile in o’er fifty years and there’s nane among us knows how tae manage it. Th’ council is o’ th’ opinion tha’ Monroe should disappear. Tha’ means no air or train or boat.” He looked straight at Jim. “Ye’ll ha’e tae drive him, lad, and I have it in my mind tha’ Ginny should accompany ye. The twa o’ ye can pass fer a young couple on vacation.” He looked from Jim to Ginny. They both nodded.

  “Ye’ll stay at th’ Homesteads on th’ way. Ginny. I’ll ask ye tae plan th’ trip. Ye’ve a good head fer details. Clothing, food, money. Whatever is wanted. Ask fer what ye will.

  “Jim. Having chosen exile, he should cooperate wi’ ye, but, ye’ll need tae be prepared fer trouble. If Monroe flees, ye ha’ the choice o’ tryin’ tae recapture him or let him go. ‘Tis winter and he may fall prey tae the weather or beasts. He’s no a stupid man. He’ll stay close as long as he’s able.”

  “How soon?” Jim asked.

  “Twill depend on how lang it takes tae prepare. We’ll talk agin when I know more.”

  As they walked out to the parking lot, Ginny looked over at Jim. “Will he cooperate, do you think?”

  “I know nothing about the man.”

  “Well, we’ll have plenty of time to get to know him. It’s over two thousand miles to Nova Scotia from here.”

  * * *

  Thursday Evening

  Forbes Residence

  Forty-eight hours later, Jim and Ginny were poring over the maps laid out on her mother’s dining room table.

  “How long is this trip going to take us?” Ginny asked.

  “Five ten-hour days on the road. Each way. Grandfather wants to know which of the Homesteads to contact. He needs to arrange payment.”

  “Here’s what I suggest.” She traced the path on the map. “Nashville, Pittsburgh, Albany, Bangor, cross into Canada at Calais, then drive on to Halifax.”

  Jim frowned. “The border runs right down the middle of the St. Croix River at that point and I don’t know what we’ll find. It could be frozen solid, or broken ice, or open water. I think we need a land crossing.”

  “Couldn’t Charlie use a fake ID and cross with us?”

  “I don’t think we can take that chance. It’s too easy to transmit images electronically and the Dallas police are not stupid.”

  “He could wear a disguise.”

  “Facial recognition software can see past anything we could come up with. What’s more, they’ve got a new procedure. It started with bomb-sniffing dogs and ended with mechanical sniffers that can collect samples of DNA from the skin cells our bodies slough off.”

  Ginny sighed. “Okay. Your turn to suggest something.”

  It took them an hour, but eventually Jim was satisfied. He pointed to a spot just south of Houlton, Maine.

  “We can drop Monroe here and he can walk to this point.” He put his finger on the end of a long dirt road on the Canadian side. “You and I will cross lawfully at Houlton, then pick him up on the other side.” He stood up and stretched. “I’ll show this to Himself and see what he has to say. Now, what about those clothes you said you wanted me to try on?”

  Ginny and her mother had searched the area thrift stores for heavy winter clothing and Ginny spent the next thirty minutes giggling at the sight of Jim struggling into turtlenecks that turned out to be too small and a white camouflage parka that hung on him like a badly formed polar bear costume.

  “Very useful.” He smiled at her. “Lots of room for extra sweaters.”

  “What about the pants? Can you wear them?”

  “The length’s good and the waistband draws up so I think it will be fine.”

  Ginny picked up the rejected turtlenecks. “I think these will fit Charlie. We’ll take them over tomorrow and find out. You’ll need to supply gloves, shoes, boots, turtlenecks that fit, and at least one heavy sweater. Let me know if any of your things need washing or mending.”

  Jim caught her as she turned and drew her into his arms, smiling down at her. “No one has offered to do that for me since my mother died.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Am I being too bossy?”

  “No. I like the thought of you taking care of me. Are you worried, Ginny, about being alone on this trip with two men, neither of whom is your husband and one of whom is a murderer?”

  Ginny felt a chill go down her spine. “Should I be?”

  “No. I will protect you.”

  She closed the front door on him feeling more than a little apprehensive. She hadn’t even considered what it might mean to be alone with two big, strong, potentially lethal men. She had better consider what type of protection she should take.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  Friday Morning

  Jim’s Apartment

  Jim was packing. They were scheduled to leave on Tuesday and he would have preferred sooner, but there had been problems getting coverage at the hospital, so he had to work. Which left only two days to finish getting ready.

  He pulled out his duffle bag and began throwing items into it. He’d been taken aback when he saw the list of things Ginny was planning to bring, but he’d looked over her choices and found them both reasonable and efficient.

  He and Ginny would both need their passports to prove citizenship on re-entry, and their U.S. driver’s licenses would be honored in Canada, as long as the insurance was in place. He tucked photocopies of his documents into his duffle, then glanced at the time. The rest would have to wait.

  Himself had arranged a conference with one of the more unusual members of the clan. A transplant from upstate New York who’d grown tired of bitterly cold winters, he brought a different skill set and some novel attitudes to the Loch Lonach Homestead. Jim was looking forward to meeting him.

  * * *

  Friday Morning

  Brochaber

  “Reggie, ye’ll no have met my grandson, I think?”

  Reginald MacDonald held out his hand. “Hi!”

  Reggie turned out to be neither old nor young, incorrigibly cheerful, and permanently in top gear. Jim listened in growing amazement as Reggie told Himself where they were on the preparations.

  “He’ll need to have an accident, of course, and in this part of the world that means a boating accident. Actually, I think fishing, night fishing, would work best. He can go overboard and not be found and we can find his wallet and phone in the boat and he can either rent the boat or use a friend’s, which might work better, actually, since then we can control access. Can he swim? Let’s hope so. He can flounder a bit, in case anyone is watching, then go under and swim to shore or just quietly slip away, depending on the phase of the moon and where he is on the lake and the actual weather conditions and whether he can actually swim. We’ll cross that bridge when I get my hands on him. Then once ashore, he’ll go underground until departure.” Reggie paused for a moment to grab a breath and Himself seized the opportunity to insert a comment.

  “He can swim and fish.”

  “Oh, good. That makes it easier. Has anyone told him he has to walk out of the house just as if he’s coming back in a few hours, take nothing, leave everything? Because if he takes anything with him, the experts will spot it. We’ve had people found because they couldn’t leave a favorite record album. No clothes he wouldn’t wear to go fishing in, no mementoes. Actually, it might be a good idea to stage a break-in. That way, if anything is missing, it can be attributed to the thieves. That makes it more complicated, of course, and more suspicious, but it might be worth the risk. I’ll have to think about that. Actually, I think I’d rather he went over with a splash. That way it will look more like he tripped and maybe hit his head on something. Can we put some of his blood on the side of the boat, I wonder? That sort of thing gets investigated. On the other hand, if it’s his blood, that lends credibility to an accident. How about blood and hair? W
e could smear it on the boards, or something of the sort. Then he went over and maybe he couldn’t swim, oh, no, wait. He can swim. Got to factor that in. The cold water will make it harder to breathe, shock when he hits the water, you know, but it also prolongs life, so a cold water drowning will have them searching for longer than usual. Not that it’s cold in Texas. Not like New York. We’ll need to tear his jacket, I think, as well as smear the hair and blood. The divers will have wet suits, so I don’t think it will require a special crew, just the usual suspects. How about we find a nice witness that can see him go into the water? I might be able to use that, as long as it’s not anyone who knows him because we don’t want them connecting the drunk driver to him, much less the Up-Helly-Aa. Anyway, you leave that part of it to me. I’ll pick him up on the shore and take him underground until time to leave. You can pick him up on the other end.”

  And on that note Reggie seemed to have finished. He closed his mouth with a snap and turned to Jim, his face glowing with enthusiasm.

  Jim glanced uncertainly over at Himself, then nodded to Reggie. “Yes, we can pick him up wherever you say.”

  “You understand you may need to go off-the-grid if the police figure out what we’re up to, which will mean no GPS and no Internet access, which is going to feel weird since we’re all born with a silver phone in our mouths these days. You’ll need paper maps, just like the olden days. I can supply those. Can you read one? Of course, you can. I’ll get you a full set once you’ve decided on a route. We can get topos, too, but I don’t think you’ll need that. You’ll want to stay on the highways, not set off cross-country. Do you know how to turn off the GPS in your phone? It isn’t enough to just turn the phone off, you know. Not if someone really wants to find you. For that, you’ll have to take the battery out. I’ll show you how and give you some suggestions for how to avoid the satellites and I think it would be a good thing to take some burner phones with you. I’ll set those up as well.”

  “Ye’ll need a car, Jim. Have ye an idea what sort?”

  Jim nodded. “An all-wheel drive with snow tires and chains, to make sure we can keep going on ice and snow and over poorly maintained roads. Ginny wants to take camping gear so it will need to be big enough to handle that and the luggage.”

  “She kens ye’ll be staying at the Homesteads?”

  “She does. She said she wanted to be prepared for the worst so it wouldn’t happen.”

  Himself chuckled. “Aye. She’ll make a good job o’ it, too. Have ye’ a route picked oot?”

  Jim opened the map he’d brought with him and laid it on the table in front of the other two.

  “I’d like to get as far as possible as quickly as possible so the first stop should be here.” He pointed to the Nashville area.

  The Laird nodded. “Cumberland, aye, and then?”

  “Pittsburgh, Albany, and Bangor, in that order. That’s assuming they can and will take us in.”

  Himself nodded. “Ye’ve no need tae worry about tha’. I’ll mak’ some calls. What about th’ crossing?”

  “The last leg takes us through Houlton, Maine, into New Brunswick, then down to Halifax. Ginny and I will cross at the official border. I plan to drop Monroe here.” Jim put his finger down on the map. “There’s dense forest at that point, on both sides of the Slash. If he can avoid the camera traps and intruder alarms, we can pick him up here.”

  Himself nodded. “We’ll see wha’ we can do tae help wi’ that.” He turned to Reggie. “If ‘tis nae trouble, I’d like Jim tae see the caverns afore he leaves us. They’ll expect him tae know what’s here.”

  Reggie nodded. “I’ve got time now.” The two of them turned to look at Jim.

  “What?” he asked.

  “We’ve no talked much about the Homestead, Jim. I think it’s time ye had a look at it.”

  “You mean the living history exhibits?”

  “Nae, lad. There’s a great deal more tae th’ Homestead than that.” Himself pulled on his Inverness cape, then led the way out to where Reggie’s car was waiting.

  “Is it all right if I go through the drive-through on the way over?” Reggie asked. “It’s likely to be a while before we surface again and it’s lunch time.”

  “Aye. ‘Tis a guid thought.”

  Jim sat in the back of the car, mystified. Likely to be a while before they surfaced again? They needed to eat first? Just what was he getting into?

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  Friday Afternoon

  Homestead Grounds

  They left Reggie’s car in the parking lot and walked across the grounds toward the central compound. It lay at the heart of the site, surrounded by a privacy fence, and screened by bushes.

  Jim had been inside the compound before. Ginny had taken him in and shown him how the clan arranged the living history exhibits for the paying public.

  The trio walked past the numerous storerooms and staging areas, and what felt like a mile of bulletin and display boards before they reached the security room. It was manned by a pair of peace officers, both members of the clan.

  All three of them were biometrically identified before being issued ID badges and allowed access to the inner office areas. Jim noted with interest that Reggie was wearing a shoulder holster, gun in place, and neither of the guards seemed the slightest bit disturbed by it.

  “This way.” Himself gestured down a short hall. He stopped in front of an elevator, pushed a button, then caught Jim’s eye.

  “Ye may ha’ noticed th’ Loch Lonach Homestead has its ain distillery.”

  Jim grinned. “Yes. I bought a bottle the first time I came out here. Not bad. It needs aging, but not bad otherwise.”

  The doors opened and the three men entered the elevator. Reggie reached over and pushed the single button on the panel. It was labeled, ‘Entrance.’

  Jim left his stomach topside, but it caught up with him before they reached their destination. When the elevator doors opened, Reggie led the way out. As soon as Jim was clear, Reggie closed a metal gate across the elevator entrance, the latch snapping into place with a well-oiled click.

  Jim stepped forward into a semigloom broken by warehouse style lamps strung along a roof that seemed too far away to be feasible. It took him a minute to realize that the ceiling was actually the roof of an underground cavern.

  “Wow!” Jim turned slowly, taking in the size of the cavern.

  “Aye. It’s that all right.”

  “I’ll go get a cart,” Reggie said.

  Himself moved off down one of the paths, angling to the right and following the gentle decline around a stalagmite as big as a hundred-year oak. He turned to face Jim.

  “Th’ public disnae get tae come doon here.”

  Jim’s head was still swiveling from side to side, trying to take in what he was seeing. “Why not? Lots of people would pay to come see this.”

  Himself nodded. “Tis no a tourist trap. ‘Tis a refuge.”

  Jim focused suddenly on the old man’s face. “A refuge?”

  “Aye. Fer the clan.” He gestured toward a bench set along the edge of the path. “Sit, lad.”

  His grandfather stood in front of him, eyeing the vast space.

  “Th’ first settlers found th’ caves and used them tae store food and cattle. The temperature is a constant sixty Fahrenheit, gi’e or take a degree or twa. O’er time they explored deeper and found this place. The laird and council realized what could be done here. They surveyed th’ land above and filed claims, then built farms and ranches, all wi’oot revealing th’ secret. O’er the years, successive lairds ha’e added tae th’ design. They constructed the community above and secured th’ access tae the caverns below.” Himself paused, then turned to face Jim.

  “When th’ fightin’ breaks oot, the clan will come doon here. We’ve space fer fifty thousand souls.”

  Jim stared at his grandfather. There was no hint of a smile. Jim swallowed. “What fighting?”

  “Th’ world changes, la
d, and trouble’s comin’. We mean tae be ready.” He fixed Jim with a hard eye. “There are nae sae many as know o’ this place. Ye hold th' fate o’ fifty thousand o’ yer people in yer hand. Will ye keep th’ secret?”

  Jim nodded, feeling foolish, and a little afraid. What had he gotten himself into?

  * * *

  By this time, Reggie had returned with a golf cart.

  “We’ll spend some time doon here, lad, you an’ I, but no today.” Himself climbed aboard and indicated that Jim should do the same. “There’s nowt tae do this day but show ye th’ way oot. Ye’ll need tae know where tae pick up Monroe.”

  Jim nodded, then grabbed one of the bars as the vehicle moved off. He was having trouble wrapping his head around the implications of what he was seeing.

  “Am I allowed to ask questions?”

  “Ask away.”

  “How big is this place?”

  “Nobody kens fer sure. ‘Tis aboot twenty miles tae th’ exit we’ll be using, but we’ve mapped upwards o’ two hundred miles o’ trails and passages.”

  Jim whistled silently. “How tall, inside, I mean?”

  “Th’ equivalent o’ a ten-story building straight up here and in th’ other large rooms, wi’ two hundred feet above that tae ground level. Did ye no wonder at th’ length o’ th’ ride down?”

  Jim nodded. “I did, but I had no idea what it meant.” They were passing a wide variety of—he didn’t know what to call them. Stations? Compartments? Sections? “I assume there’s fresh water somewhere.”

  “Aye, and a sanitation system in place. Also air shafts and ventilation.”

  They rounded a corner and Jim suddenly recognized the shapes they had been passing in the deep shadows. “Casks!”

  Himself chuckled. “Aye! Whisky in sherry casks. Just as ye suggested.”

  The corner of Jim’s mouth twitched. Not actually a smile. He hadn’t smiled since setting foot down here, but he was starting to recover from the shock.

  As they rode on, he began to notice signage indicating there were other areas of the complex. One caught his eye.

  “You have a hospital down here?”