Hammer of the Gods

by B. D. MacCallum

  * * *

  1:06 A.M. GMT: Tokyo

  A thin sliver of silver streaked across the western horizon of the dark sky, signaling the end of the torrent of rain would end soon. In a few hours, it was going to be warm and sunny, the smell of fresh, clean air floating on a steady breeze, but it was not going to be a good day.

  Interpol Agent Takuma Maruyama gritted his teeth as he swerved to keep from side-swiping a taxi with his Nissan Maxima, speeding through the crowded, slippery streets of Tokyo like a madman with a death wish. His partner, Itsuki Kikuchi, gripped the door handle, giving him glares as if he were truly insane. At least, the man had stopped stamping his foot down, like there was a brake pedal on his side.

  Cars with flashing lights and blaring sirens trailed behind, but Takuma widened the gap more and more with every passing second, oblivious to the tsunami he had unleashed onto several dozen pedestrians. Itsuki groaned, cursing under his breath and shaking his head.

  Two police units were already on the scene as he pulled in front of the Gustav Katz Hotel. Takuma was out of the car the second it was in park, rushing for the covered body lying on the pavement. He flashed his credentials, crossed the barricade, and knelt next to the body of his boss, Director Hinata Ogawa, cursing the flood of water washing away the evidence.

  Takumi gazed up at broken window on the top floor, wondering if she’d been alive before being thrown through it, praying it was not so.

  “What the hell was she doing here?” Itsuki asked.

  “I don’t know,” Takuma replied, mindlessly. He searched the crowd for the light-haired white man he spotted as they pulled up, but could not see him anywhere now. He gave a quick description to one of the officers, and ordered the man to be detained.

  Takuma gave up the search after ten frustrating minutes. Whomever that man was, he disappeared like a ghost, without a single person in the crowd recalling ever to have seen him.

  Takuma headed for the hotel’s entrance, vowing to find his friend’s killer.

  In just forty-two hours, he would not only be glad Hinata was alive on the way down, he deeply wished he had been the one to throw her from the window.

  * * *

  Lucia slipped through the crowd formed outside the hotel like smoke, believing somehow the officer in the silver Nissan had caught a glimpse of him. It wouldn’t be long before the police discovered Erin Hurttz’s body in the supply closet, and he intended to be on a plane before that happened. If I had been five minutes earlier, she’d still be alive!

  He knew, of course, he was not responsible for Erin’s death, the Japanese cunt hiding behind the badge was. It was just horrible circumstance his target was targeting Erin… for whatever reason. Not even the Interpol Director knew what made Erin so special, only that she was ordered to kill her.

  That was a riddle that would have to wait for another day, Lucia’s nose was pulling him in another direction.

  Someone would spirit Erin’s body out of the country for a proper burial. She deserved that much, and more; Erin was a fine soldier, and a good friend. The thought of her dying at the hand of such a cowardly enemy made Lucia’s blood boil.

  Lucia walked a few blocks before ditching the wig and jacket into his rented car. He slipped a silk tie over his head, snugging the knot squarely under the collar. With a suit jacket hooked over one arm, and carry-on in hand, he locked the car with the keys in the ignition. If Tokyo was like the rest of the big cities in the world, the car would be gone by noon, and nothing more than pieces shortly after.

  He hailed a taxi for the airport. Before Himata Ogawa went screaming to the street, she gave him the name of a man in Hong Kong, and Lucia felt obligated to introduce himself. Experience taught Lucia this was just another stop on a long journey, but it was an interesting side road filled with twists and turns, not even his vivid imagination could have predicted.

  Dylah had called earlier, ordering him to drop everything and disappear, knowing full-well that order would be ignored. He was The Lucia. Someone thought they could hide in the shadows after killing his friends, and trying to have him killed. They were wrong, dead wrong!

  Chapter 42

  Date with the Devil

  Mjölnir sailed away from Gallipoli, Italy early the next morning. Julia would keep her on the move and out of sight until the right time.

  Felix was halfway to Portland by now, on the pretense he would take care of everyone back home. Thor did not really believe any of them were in danger, but it was a great reason to get the big man out of his hair. There was no one else that Thor would want by his side during a street brawl or bar fight, but Felix would be in way over his head where Thor was headed. Hel, I’m going to be in over my head, but I have to go.

  Dylah gave the order to scramble the members of Thor’s private army, and had joined them on the run for their lives. To assume they had not been infiltrated by the Ahnenerbe was absurd, the attack on the base yesterday proved they had. The woman did not want to cut and run, but she did see the sense behind it, vowing to root out all of the traitors and deal with them, personally. No one that ever met the woman doubted she was more than capable fulfilling that promise. From what I’ve learned of Dylah Stigg, the Gods help the poor bastards she finds.

  Except for Thor’s small party, the piazza was deserted, and they would not be long; this spot was too open, too vulnerable, and it made the hairs on the back of Thor’s neck prickly. He had the feeling they were being watched closely, without the amulet affirming that suspicion. He was not alone, the way Else’s eyes darted from building to building, fingering the trigger on the joystick, said she felt eyes as well. Thankfully, the Blackhawk was unarmed for the moment, a situation Else would rectify after this flight.

  Sorina kissed Thor passionately, then squeezed the breath from him in an embrace. He breathed in her scent, trying to decide what he would miss most in her absence. Everything!

  “It’s not too late to back out,” Thor whispered in her ear. “Else could have you back onboard Mjölnir in the blink of an eye.”

  “No,” she replied, staring into his eyes. “I just needed to feel you once more before we go.”

  Thor kissed her again, wishing he did not have to let go.

  Bryndis cleared her throat, intentionally ruining the mood. “We’d better get a move on,” she said to Sorina. She embraced Thor, whispering in his ear; “Are you sure this will work?”

  “It has, already,” he whispered back. He kissed her cheek, then gave her a wink.

  Thor helped them into the Blackhawk, giving both women a lingering look before closing the door. He knew this separation was necessary, but that did not mean he had to like it. He could just add this to the list of things he only did out of necessity. Funny, he thought to separate himself from the others days ago for their own protection, now he was wishing it did not have to be.

  “Are you sure you can handle this?” Thor asked Else, giving her forearm a gently squeeze. “You’ve been stretching yourself pretty thin, lately.”

  The blonde woman slid her dark sunglasses down her nose, giving him a sharp look over the rims. This is where Mikki would have added “Bitch, please!” with an overly-exaggerated Cajun accent. Thor was glad when Else pushed the glasses back in place without a word, then started the turbines.

  Thor stepped away as the rotors began moving. A few seconds later, the helicopter was in the sky, headed for Paris. Thor shielded his eyes against the sunlight, keeping an eye on the Blackhawk until it flew out of sight. He hated the thought of his loved ones scattering like leaves in the wind, but it was the only way his plan would succeed.

  He stood, immersed in a lake of eerie calm, trying his best not to be smug, but it was difficult. This had been a long, difficult game, that had more ups and downs than Thor thought possible, but if was reaching its end. Hróðvitnir only had one move left, he just did not realize that fact, yet, and the Ahnanerbe were about to wish they had stayed out of this game, altogether.

  “And then the
re were two,” Martin LeMay said behind him.

  “And then there were two,” Thor whispered. He turned to face the man that pursued his incarceration with incredible zeal, wondering what the former F.B.I. agent would think if he knew what Thor had planned for his immediate future. “It’s not too late for you, either. You can back out, I won’t hold it against you. Hel, I’d think you were the same one.”

  “Are you positive the people you’re going after are the ones that tried to kill Tilde Heitman and me and fucked our careers over?”

  Thor nodded. “Yes.”

  Martin LeMay gave him a dark look that spoke of murderous intentions. “Then there’s nothing you could do to stop me from coming with you… But I have to ask.” Here it comes. “Why me?

  Everyone else had asked that question… repeatedly. Far too much explaining was involved in an honest answer; they would just have to settle with the story each had been told. Whether or not they believed that bit of fiction was up to them.

  Thor stared out at the dozens of sailboat masts jutting into the sky from the crowded pier. With the morning sun sparkling on the clear blue water, it would make a Hel of a postcard. Too bad no one sends postcards anymore.

  “Two reasons,” Thor replied with a smile. “You play the lottery like it’s a religion.”

  Confusion washed over LeMay’s face. “That’s one fucked up reason to pick someone to watch your back.”

  “Not really. It makes you a dreamer, and dreamers can be dangerous people.” He handed Martin the ticket he had been holding onto for the past few weeks. “Congratulations, you’re a millionaire.” He held up a hand. “It’s not a bribe for your services. The offer still stands. Feel free to walk away and disappear. This is just an apology for all the bullshit you’ve put up with the past nine years.”

  The former agent stared at the slip of paper with bulging eyes and open mouth. “A… Apology accepted.” He stuffed the ticket into his pants pocket. “But I’m still going with you.”

  Thor smiled. “I knew you would.”

  Martin’s head swiveled for the hundredth time since standing in the piazza. “You said two reasons… What’s the second?”

  “Mikki already told you that.”

  Martin shook his head. “Do you really think I’m destined to save your life?”

  Thor gave the man a grin. “No. But that’s not what Mikki said you would do, is it?”

  Martin appeared irritated. “What she said didn’t make sense.” He swallowed hard. “She told me I could save your soul… She made me promise I would try… The girl was dying, I would’ve promised her anything.” The man rubbed his hands together, staring at them, as if expecting to see them still covered with Mikki’s blood.

  Thor placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Then, that’s what you’ll do.”

  Martin frowned. “How could I possibly save your soul?”

  Thor repeated the words Chelsea said to him: “When the time comes, you’ll know.”

  Thor opened the trunk, and Martin placed a large duffle bag next to the spare tire. Dylah had said the man came to her with an interesting shopping list: she obviously fulfilled his requests.

  He eased behind Ann’s steering wheel, slipping his hands into well-worn leather gloves and a pair of dark sun glasses over bloodshot eyes, then fastened his seat belt. Martin strapped himself in, admiring the car’s interior. Thor smiled at the man’s reaction. It was no secret that Martin LeMay had coveted Ann for a very long time.

  “Never thought you’d get inside, did you?”

  Martin smiled back. “I knew I would, eventually. But I figured it would be after I bought her at a police auction. How ‘bout you sell her to me. I’m rich, you know.”

  Thor shook his head with a grin. “Not a chance in Hel.”

  The big V-8 engine roared to life like a mother grizzly protecting her young, drawing the attention of a young couple approaching in a white Fiat 500, the man nearly plowing the Fiat into the marble fountain, confusion covering his face when he saw Ann. Now, that’s interesting.

  Thor gave Martin a nudge. “Smile and wave.” He wrapped one hand around the steering wheel, flashed them a smile, and began driving north at a leisurely pace. They smiled and waved at the gawking couple as they passed, chuckling at their curious expressions; Thor singing with the song Teenagers, the thumping beat loud enough to be heard halfway down the block.

  “That’s gotta be the shittiest tail I’ve ever seen,” Martin said with a laugh.

  Thor turned off the music, bemused with Martin’s statement. “What makes you think they’re a tail?”

  “Small details,” the other man replied. “They weren’t dressed for sailing or the beach. It’s too late for breakfast, too early for lunch, so there’s no need to rush. They’re not a couple, or she would’ve been all over his ass for almost hitting the fountain, not staring at us like she’d just seen a ghost. And that’s the exact car I’d pick to tail someone in Italy, it blends perfectly anywhere.”

  Thor smiled, shifted gears, and sped away. He weaved through the light traffic, with Martin LeMay scrutinizing everyone and everything they passed, eagerly searching for more of the enemy.

  Martin nodded to the photograph attached to the visor. “How old were you?”

  “It was taken two days before my thirteenth birthday.” He freed the photo from the plastic cover, noting the discoloration. It was time to print another copy. He handed it to Martin. “Until I met Sorina, it was the best day of my life.”

  Martin studied the faces. “Please tell me that’s not who that looks like.”

  “Backstage, after the concert,” Thor said with pride. “These two security guards gave us the grand tour. One of them gave me his tour jacket, and the band signed it. The other one, a woman, gave Chelsea a guitar signed by Tom Dumont, and told her it was a gift from me – her birthday is just a few days after mine, you know. Chelsea said it was the coolest thing I ever did, but I didn’t do it; Dad must have not wanted Chelsea to feel left out.””

  “It does sound like it was a great time.” He handed back the photo, and Thor returned it to the visor. He glanced at the scenery. “Where are we headed, anyway?”

  “Milan.” A smirk crossed Thor’s lips. “I know this nice little restaurant that serves the best veal scaloppini.”

  “Uh huh,”

  After half-an-hour of nothing but road noise and the sound of the rumbling engine, Martin broke the silence. “You know there’s nothing I can do about it now,” he said watching Thor’s expression. “I gotta ask, for my own curiosity. Did you have those boys killed?”

  “No.” Thor gave the man a sideways glance. He pulled two cigars from his pocket, handing martin one, lit his, and passed the lighter to the other man. “I killed them myself.”

  Martin nodded, then sighed. “I figured as much.”

  “Why, just because the F.B.I. psychiatrists said I was a ‘Highly functional sociopath with delusions of superiority and profound mistrust of authorities’?”

  “No. Because I would’ve killed them, if I were in your place.”

  Thor shook his head. “You would’ve found a way to bring them to justice.” He stared into Martin’s eyes. “And that’s the reason you’re the one sitting there.”

  “Knowing the dark place you were in, I’m sure you found your own poetic justice.”

  Thor snorted. “It was a dark place alright: a nice, dark warehouse in Bogota, Columbia.”

  “It took three months to finish them off; a lot longer than I intended, but they kept whining and begging like little bitches. Hel, it took nearly a week just to get the entire truth out of them, but I got it. Their first mistake was doing what they did to Chelsea. Their second: telling me the entire story…” Thor’s voice started to quiver at the end.

  Thor cleared his throat. “To answer your question: Yes, it was poetic justice. I took turns tying each of them down to be raped by the rest. They all kept apologizing to each other, and cried while trying to be a
s gentle as possible. But they were far from gentle with Chelsea. So, I upped the ante: The one that was the most brutal got to eat that day.”

  He took a long puff from the cigar, blowing the smoke out the open window. “Funny how hunger pangs changes your perspective. After a few days, I had to hire a doctor that made Josef Mengele look like a pussy, just to keep them patched up and not dying on me. There were the odd times off for the rectal stitches to heal and blood transfusions; you know, shit like that.”

  Martin stared incredulous. “The bodies?”

  “That was the best part,” Thor chuckled. “The good doctor had a cousin with a pig farm, just outside Bogota. Hel, those damned things even ate the ropes and gags.”

  “Ropes and gags?! You mean they were still alive?”

  “Yeah.” Thor gave a thoughtful stare into the distance. “So, if you want to be technical, I didn’t kill them, the pigs did.” It’s probably too soon to joke about stopping for a bacon sandwich, isn’t it?

  Martin whistled softly. “Man! I’ve heard of some dark shit in my day, but that’s black hole, sucking the light from the universe dark!”

  Thor down-shifted to pass a large truck. He licked his lips. “If this doesn’t go as planned, I’ll make that look like a bright, sunshiny day.” He ignored Martin’s stare, giving the gas pedal a gentle kick.

  Piccolo Gioiello was nestled in a quiet neighborhood, overlooked by the millions of tourists that visited Milan each year, and that was just the way the owners, Giovanni and Rosa Accorsi liked it. They much preferred the local patronage to the overbearing foreigners that plagued their beautiful city. Usually.

  Thor held the door that appeared to have received a fresh coat of red paint recently, and Martin walked past with a nod.

  The door had not been the only thing painted in the last few months, the walls bore a new cream color, and the tables were new. Not a good sign. Thor glanced around, nervously. The last time the restaurant had a makeover, Rosa was trying to marry-off a granddaughter. Sorina may be his ace-in-the-hole, but Rosa could relentless, if in just the right mood. When it came to finding suitable husbands for an endless supply of granddaughters, Rosa Accorsi was always in just the right mood.