She patted Bunny’s hand even though her own stomach had done flip-flops when the call hadn’t come in. “They’ll be fine.”
Rebecca wasn’t sure of Davidson and Bunny’s relationship status. Actually, Rebecca was pretty sure neither did they. After the debriefing in London, Davidson had been whisked away, only to return, months later, as part of Brandt’s team again. And the men had been on the go ever since.
“I know,” Bunny answered, then smiled. “But can you imagine if they hadn’t been called away? We never could have escaped the mother-of-the-Bridezilla.”
Bunny was so right. The men’s departure had made it far easier to hop on a plane to Reykjavik. Rebecca could remember reading the latest issue of the International Genome Project and finding the article, “The Found Tribe of Dann: Did the scales of justice migrate as far as Newfoundland?”
The Disciples were still out there. Unlike the Knot, which had been routed, the Disciples had melted into the night, hiding, apparently waiting for their moment to strike again. Rebecca would prefer to get the upper hand.
Which is why the article had sparked such an interest. Bunny had been reading through the same journal and ran into Rebecca’s room to share the information. They had both deduced the same thing. Someone, besides Rebecca and Bunny, was searching for the Disciples’ messiah.
Iceland seemed like a long shot for finding an ancient Jewish sect, but if a trip to the northern isle got them out of the house until the wedding, so be it.
“We should get inside,” Bunny urged as the boat pulled closer to the dock.
“No, I’m going to stay out here,” Rebecca said, perhaps a bit too sharply. Out here in the fresh air, the rolling and rocking of the boat was fine. Inside, though? Seasickness didn’t even come close to describing it. “I promise not to be thrown overboard.”
Bunny chuckled as she turned away. “You better. I am not explaining to Brandt, or his mother, how I lost their bride.”
Somehow, Rebecca thought that Mrs. Brandt would be the more difficult of the two.
Rebecca shooed Bunny inside. “Go, before your Louis Vuitton gets wet.”
Bunny put up no argument as the door to the deck shut behind her. Rebecca watched as the boat held steady just outside the dock as the waves roiled all around them and the wind whipped from all sides. Then a large wave lifted the boat up and into the slip. They didn’t even hit the bumpers. These descendants of Vikings knew their boating.
* * *
Levont held up his fist again, and this time, Brandt didn’t complain. The guy had proven himself. The point man crooked his finger, asking Brandt to come to the front of the line. He obliged.
Through the filter of wide fronds, Brandt could make out the small village in front of them. Really, it was a tiny shanty town thrown together with scrap wood and corrugated tin roofing. The population was doubled by gunmen, and tents made of animal skin were erected along the periphery.
Finding a fortune’s worth of uranium had created a mini-boom town. Although Brandt doubted that the villagers saw this as any kind of boom. It was the local chieftain who hoped to profit from the discovery, not the villagers.
It was common knowledge that Hitler had had mines in the Congo, searching for the fuel he needed to create his A-bomb. Their exact locations, though, were highly secret. And the one mine that had produced enough weapon-grade uranium? Supposedly, only ten people in the world knew where that was located.
Except for the workers, of course. Knowing first-hand what Nazi rule would feel like, the villagers had risen up, killed their guards, and caved in the mine. This had effectively stopped Hitler’s A-bomb in its tracks.
Flash forward sixty years, and now the uranium was up for grabs again, and the United States’ enemies—and even a few allies—were on the hunt for it.
“I’ve got thermal imaging online,” Lopez said, handing Brandt the tablet.
The feed was sketchy, since the satellite wasn’t directly overhead yet. Just about all eyes had been pointed at the Middle East. Why should anyone be scouting over the western jungles of the Congo?
The reds and bright yellows of the villagers stood out against the dark screen. Although Brandt wasn’t interested in them. He was much more interested in the small scattered readings around the periphery of the village.
Those were not villagers. Those were other teams dispatched to either obtain the uranium or blow the mine, depending on which side of the nuclear line they fell on. Given that weapons-grade uranium was the single most limiting factor in building a functional nuclear weapon, many, many countries had joined the party in the Congo.
Iran, of course, was here. A Quds team—Iran’s special forces—had been the first to head south to Africa. As soon as their wheels had lifted off, the Israelis had been right behind. The Quds didn’t go anywhere without a Mussad team ghosting them. Brandt doubted the Israelis even knew what they were going after—they just followed them on principle.
Then, of course, Egypt and Saudi Arabia had each sent a team. Probably the only Middle Eastern country not represented was Syria. Not that they didn’t want the bomb, they just didn’t have the luxury of sending any teams. The only other oddball team that had been dispatched to the area was from Brazil.
Supposedly, they had sworn off nuclear weapons in the 70s, just as they were on the cusp of developing them. Apparently, signing several dozen treaties hadn’t stopped them from wanting to be a player in the nuclear game. Or perhaps it was just the military that had wanted the Uranium and dispatched the BSO Brigade. The Brazilians had a long history of military coups, and they had a functioning centrifuge. Not good.
“My bet?” Lopez asked. “Those are the Turks.” The corporal pointed to a set of six dots in the jungle. Seven sat around one central dot that was larger than the others.
“Why?”
“Obviously, they are using a flameless heat source…”
Probably a heat stick. They were all carrying one. The fuel cells were hot enough to boil water without a flame to give you away. “And your point?”
Lopez grinned. “Making coffee, of course.”
Brandt did not even grin at the supposed joke. Although he wouldn’t mind some of that syrup-like coffee right about now.
“He could be right,” Levont said, then rushed on. “Not about the coffee, of course. But they do have the best seat in the house.”
About that, Brandt couldn’t argue. The team in questions had taken the high ground. In theory, the Turks should have been allies—however, despite being in NATO, they had their own aspirations for a nuclear weapon. Especially now with the unrest in Syria.
“They were the first with wheels up,” Levont explained. “And the Turks have a mining facility just to the south of here, which means they may have advanced intel of the area.”
Brandt nodded.
He didn’t like having so many guns here. Even if many of them were allies.
Brandt had a bad feeling about the mission, but kept it to himself. No need to worry the others. He was worried enough for all of them.
* * *
Rebecca allowed the gentle rocking back and forth of the Viking pony to lull her a bit. They were riding up one of the Viking trails, following in the footsteps of ancient explorers.
After cresting the black volcanic sand beach, they arrived at a pristine fjord to the left and a meadow blanketed with wild flowers to the right. The weather had cleared and sunshine flooded the sky, brightening the pinks, blue, and greens to an almost unnatural hue.
An ice wall on one side and a field overflowing with life on the other side. That was Iceland in the summer.
The others in their tourist group chatted away, but she and Bunney were silent. They only cared about the village, Núpsstaður, up ahead that they were going to stop at overnight. According to the article, this small, unassuming village had the highest concentration of Jewish DNA on the island.
As a paleo-DNA- archeologist, it would not be unusual for Rebecca to take some s
amples. She had a smart gene to prove, after all. Although Rebecca never thought she would be on the trail of the messiah.
Her pony tripped, dipping its head, then righting itself. Even so, one of the tour leaders, a dark haired “hottie,” as Bunny had put it, rode up.
“Let the pony have his head,” the man said, leaning over, loosening the reins in her fingers. “These plains are in their DNA,” he said with a smile.
Rebecca muttered a response. He patted her hands. “Just let them lead the way.”
Once he rode off, Bunny rode up alongside her. “Damn, woman, you are engaged and still can get them. That girl behind us has been flipping her hair for the last hour to get his attention.”
As a matter of fact, Rebecca had noticed the blonde tourist giving even more than the usual amount of attention to her curls. Rebecca had chalked it up to the humidity.
“He wasn’t flirting,” Rebecca said.
“Please, he’s been watching you the whole time.”
Bunny apparently thought this was some type of flattery. Rebecca hadn’t even given the guy a second glance. But who would, being engaged to Brandt? Her fiancée could snap the tour guide in half without breaking a sweat.
“She can have him,” Rebecca answered.
“Ah, but it’s not her he wants,” Bunny countered, kicking her pony and trotting to catch up with the rest of the group.
The village, if you could call it that, was just up the hill. The first sign was a small house, built into the meadow. It could have been a hobbit house, except the structure had the classic “A” rooftop. The windows were broken and moss lined the wood, yet there was a sense of substance to the place. Like, “go ahead and scoff. I’ve survived three hundred years. What are you going to be doing in three hundred years?”
And the old Viking house would be right.
That was why Rebecca liked history. It didn’t take crap from anyone. What she studied had stood the test of time, unlike Katy Perry and whoever she was dating at the moment.
The group passed by a small brown-and-white church. Even though it was not built into the meadow, there were still flowers on the roof. The ground lay over the roof helped to insulate the church during the harsh winters. Rebecca glanced inside the darkened structure. It couldn’t fit more than fifty parishioners. But, looking ahead to the tiny homes that lined up on the trail, that would be just about right. The only way to get to this village was on horseback or helicopter. Given their history with helicopters, Rebecca and Bunny had decided to go with horseback.
“There are some interesting ice caves to explore, if you like,” the tour guide said.
Rebecca shook her head, trying to make sure her engagement ring was in full view. “We aren’t on vacation,” Rebecca stated. “We’re here to work.”
The guide smiled. “And miss the glory of Iceland’s natural beauty?’
“Pretty much,” Rebecca answered, trying to look as workaholic as possible.
“I’d love to see the caves,” Bunny interjected.
“I will let you know if a group ends up going,” the guide said, then rode off.
“See?” Bunny asked.
Guess her friend was right. The guide was into Rebecca. Weird—before being engaged, she couldn’t get a guy to even look at her. And now that she had the ring on her finger? She couldn’t keep them away.
* * *
Monkeys hooted from the other side of the jungle as Brandt stared at the yellow and orange globs.
The rest of the teams would probably stay unidentified, if they could get in and out of here quickly enough. Other allies were here, of course. The Brits were on stage, along with Germany’s KSK who had set up camp. Hell, even French COSs were here. It was like they had their own mini-NATO exercise, only this was no run-through. The stakes were about as high as they could get. Why the hell was everyone lingering? Many of them had been here hours before Brandt’s team.
Those that sought the uranium had to figure out how to get past the chieftain’s defenses and carry crates weighing hundreds of pounds each out of the mine and to a rendezvous point for a helicopter airlift. Brandt did not envy those teams. The allies, though? Why hadn’t they just fired an RPG into the mine and been done with it?
“Vakasa!” a woman yelled near the edge of the forest. “Vakasa!”
The little girl in orange ran from the jungle and hugged the woman. Vakasa took her mother by the hand and tugged her toward the village. She skipped along, seeming to be oblivious to the fact that five well-armed men were right behind her.
“Let’s get that grenade ready,” Brandt said, counting the minutes until their helicopter extraction.
Davidson swung the rocket launcher from his back as Lopez grabbed the grenade rocket from his pack. Within seconds, they had the RPG launcher ready to go. Davidson set the launcher on his shoulder and used the scope to zero in on the mine’s entrance.
“Shoot when ready,” Brandt said as Davidson hesitated.
“We’ve got a problem,” the private said.
“When don’t we?” Lopez joked.
“What?” Brandt asked Davidson.
Snapping the rocket up, the younger man frowned, accentuating his scars, “Those aren’t soldiers guarding the mine shaft, they’re women and children.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
* * *
Rebecca startled at the knock at their small “hotel” room’s door. Turning her laptop away from the door. Not that anyone could really understand the odd symbols and DNA markers on the screen, but still. Maybe she had been hanging out with Brandt too long and had developed his suspicious mind. Rebecca looked to Bunny, who rose from her small twin bed, a question on her face. In two steps, she crossed the room and opened the door.
The guide from earlier stood there with some climbing equipment in his hand. “Still want to explore those caves?”
The smile on Bunny’s face was her answer. Bunny had been whining about those caves all evening. Supposedly, there were runes in them thar’ hills. And Bunny was all about the runes.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” The guide asked. “They really are beautiful.”
Rebecca feigned a stretch and a yawn. “Nah. I think I’m going to head to bed.”
The guide looked out the window at the bright sunshine. “It’s early still.”
“It’s ten o’clock at night,” Rebecca countered. Being up in the Artic circle during the summer, daylight lasted long into the evening. “And I’m beat.”
The guide shrugged as Bunny exited the room. “Get some rest then,” he said as he put a hand on Bunny’s back, guiding her down the hallway before he shut the door.
Rebecca went back to her keyboard. She needed to figure out the most representative genetic marker for the Jewish tribe they were tracking. It was going to take her all night to find the right gene.
Cracking her neck, Rebecca propped another pillow behind her lower back. That pony ride had not been kind to her lumbar area.
The next thing Rebecca knew, she was startled awake. Guess she hadn’t been lying to the guide. The room was dark as she blinked her eyes. Looking to her watch, she found it was three o’clock in the morning. She glanced over to Bunny’s bed to find it empty. Apparently, Bunny had found those runes she was after.
Stomach rumbling, Rebecca got up and pulled on her jacket, heading over to the bed-and-breakfast’s dining room, which was really just a room with several tables and benches set up for “crowds” like this tourist group.
However, they had promised snacks and refreshments in the kitchen at all hours of the night. Since most of the tourists were from different time zones, that made sense. What was two o’clock in the morning here was actually nine pm to her, and to any European, it was six o’clock in the morning. Which, for two of her fellow travelers, made it breakfast time.
“Good morning!” one of them announced quite loudly. People who decided to take their vacation on pony-back to Iceland weren’t exactly normal.
&nbs
p; The other woman offered her hand. “Mabel Eston,” she said and she pumped Rebecca’s hand up and down. “And excuse my friend here, Fran Dechold.”
Rebecca withdrew her hand at the earliest convenience. “Rebecca Monroe.” Weird—this may be one of the last times she introduced herself that way. By the end of the week, she would be Rebecca Monroe-Brandt. “So how did you enjoy the ice caves?”
Mabel cocked her head to the side. “Ice caves?”
“Yeah,” Rebecca said, “The guide was taking a group out.”
“You mean, Erik, our Norse god guide?” Fran asked, gushing over herself.
“I guess,” Rebecca answered, although, with dark hair and a prominent brow ridge, she certainly did not think the guy was Norse by any stretch of the imagination. “You two didn’t go, then?’
“We didn’t even know about it,” Mabel said. “Trust me, we would have been there, since he’s cougar-bait. Don’t you agree?”
Ugh, don’t lump me in with you two, Rebecca thought as she looked to the two rather dumpy-looking tourists. She didn’t mean to be cruel, but they were like two Weevils trying not to fall down. They were the opposite of cougars.
Of course, Rebecca did not voice her thoughts. Instead, she just shrugged and grabbed a few biscuits and a bottle of ox milk from the fridge. “Sure.”
She had almost made it out of the kitchen when the two turned their conversation to the caves. “I thought the caves were off limits?” Fran asked.
“They are haunted or something,” Mabel answered.
Rebecca turned back to the two. “What do you mean?”
“Weren’t you listening to the main guide when we rode through town?” Fran asked.
Of course, Rebecca hadn’t been paying a bit of attention. She had been trying to figure out the migration path that would bring such a concentrated group of Jewish descendants to Iceland.
“I must have missed it.”
Fran took a bite of pear and chewed it while she spoke. And Americans were considered rude? “The guide said that the tour used to include cave exploration, but then they were deemed too unsafe.”
“Then the owner of this bed-and-breakfast told us it had nothing to do with slips and falls, but that the caves bore back all the way to the cliffs and were haunted by the ancestors of the village.”
The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection Page 88
