The Gods of Laki

by Chris Angus

  Haraldr was a happy, bubbly boy and they all loved him and watched over him. After the second long winter, Runa felt herself bursting with new life. In April, she gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. There were now three new members of the clan. It was exciting to see life take hold in this hard land.

  They were all very healthy. In their small community with no outside contact, they were not exposed to disease. It was unusual for Vikings to enjoy such a long period of strength and vitality. Amma seemed to be growing more vital and stronger with each passing month. It was as if she were growing younger as the children grew older. Everyone marveled at it, and they made offerings to the gods for their good fortune.

  Chapter Two

  Present Day

  The security guard looked up from Ryan’s ID. “Been a long time for you,” he said. “Miss the action?”

  “Not even a little,” he replied.

  The guard returned the papers. He had that glazed, done-it-all-a-thousand-times-before look that Ryan remembered so well. “Know where you’re going?” the man asked.

  He shook his head. “I have a meeting with Senator Shelby Graham.”

  “Straight down the hall till you reach the elevators. Go to the third floor, turn right and you’ll find the senator’s suite in front of you.”

  “Since when did they start calling them suites?”

  “Don’t know,” the guard replied, already looking away. “Probably has something to do with the sweet deals these SOBs give themselves with our hard-earned tax dollars. Hope you’re here to cash in like everybody else.”

  That would be the day. It was ten years since he’d left government employ. The entire decade of his thirties had been spent with the Secret Service, protecting the President. It had been one of the most boring jobs of his life. Advance work checking sniper lines of sight, emergency escape routes, and donor credentials. Then came endless hours staring at throngs of adoring fans, checking their hands, trying to determine if that camera or cell phone or peanut butter sandwich was a threat.

  The money was good, but he still looked upon the day he quit as emancipation day. After all, what would be the result of failure? Another politician would slip automatically into place. No shortage there. After ten years on the job, he had come to believe that it would make no difference whatsoever. History would go on in its usual peripatetic fashion. It wasn’t an attitude that went over well in the Service.

  He’d grimaced upon learning recently of the thirteen-billion-dollar program to upgrade the President’s helicopters, making them terrorist- and nuclear-proof. What utter nonsense. Thirteen billion dollars to secure the safety of one man who could be replaced in a nanosecond. Indeed, every one of the self-serving pols in line for the Presidency secretly longed for that day.

  Senator Graham’s suite was sweet indeed. The hallway expanded suddenly and a set of glass doors gave entrance to a large reception area, decorated in what Ryan could only call Washington Regal. Muted, gold striped wallpaper, sitting areas with color-coordinated couches perfectly aligned, three secretaries busy on the phones. Graham was the majority leader and had one of the most coveted offices in the capital.

  “Oh yes, Mr. Baldwin,” said the voluptuous and preternaturally put-together blonde-haired woman at the primary desk. “The senator said to keep an eye out for you. You may go straight through to the inner waiting room.” She gestured to a door. “He’ll be with you directly.”

  Avoiding the eyes of half a dozen other supplicants who stared at him with instant dislike for his immediate access, he passed into the inner sanctum.

  The old feelings of privilege and power washed over him. It had been heady stuff, working for the President. Doors opened without hesitation, and as security for the great man, Baldwin had often been the first through those doors. He’d acquired the Secret Service stare. Everyone was suspicious, and he quickly came to realize that most people viewed the men sporting the mysterious earpieces with a degree of fear.

  He was alone for only a minute, looking at the pictures of the senator on the wall with various heads of state. In one corner was a workout center with an elliptical trainer, weight machine, and rubber mat. The senator was known to be a health nut. A door opened behind him.

  At first glance, Shelby Graham from the great state of Tennessee presented the central casting image of what a senator should look like. He was in his early seventies, over six feet in height, with hair graying at the temples. That was all standard. But in direct contrast to his obvious fitness and intensity, he dressed in famously rumpled attire. The creased jacket, scuffed brown loafers and decidedly chaotic haircut allowed him to cultivate the image of one so busy and important that he couldn’t be bothered with the amenities. Perhaps incongruously, that relaxed image had gone a long way toward cementing his popularity in his home state, as had a penchant for dropping his final g’s on the campaign trail.

  The voice had become more graveled in the years since Ryan had last seen him.

  “I appreciate your coming on such short notice,” the senator said, moving forward with his hand out.

  Ryan took the hand and said, “My coming on short notice was in response to what I took as a summons. Delivered by patrol car.”

  “Not my intention, I assure you. You’re not an easy man to get hold of, either in your U.S. or Icelandic offices. We’ve never really met, but of course I saw you often in the company of two of our former presidents.”

  Ryan shrugged. “I remember you as well, Senator.” Then, because he couldn’t think of anything complimentary to say, added, “Congratulations on being chosen majority leader.”

  “Thanks . . . uh . . . shall we sit by the window?”

  When they were settled, Graham stared out at the Mall and was quiet for a moment.

  “Though I am, as you say, the newly appointed majority leader, the reason I’ve asked you here has nothing to do with my office . . . directly. This is a personal matter.”

  Ryan raised an eyebrow. After leaving the Service, he’d gone back to school and earned his PhD from Georgetown, then worked for British Petroleum before going into business for himself as a consultant to energy companies. Not on security matters. He’d long since given that up. He now helped companies develop alternative energy sources, primarily geothermal. He couldn’t imagine what personal matter the senator wished to consult him on.

  “You have any children, Mr. Baldwin?”

  “No sir. Never been married.”

  “Well then . . .” Graham was quiet, staring outside again. Then he began.

  “My daughter’s name is Samantha. Sam for short.” He turned slightly and picked up a photo from the table next to him. It wasn’t very clear, but showed a windblown young woman with short, dark hair, standing on a rocky ledge next to an array of strange-looking instruments. She held a clipboard and appeared oblivious to the photo taker.

  “This was taken several years ago in Papua New Guinea. She was only a few years out of graduate school. My daughter is a volcanologist.” He replaced the picture on the table. “I don’t see her very often. Sam’s life has taken a very different direction from mine.”

  “Interesting field,” Ryan said. “I considered it for a time. And of course, it’s related to my own interest in geothermal energy.”

  “Which is why I thought I might be able to engage you in this . . . project,” said the senator.

  “Project?”

  “Simply put, I believe Sam needs protection. She’s always been fearless in her travels to remote places around the globe. In addition to her professional duties as a research volcanologist, she’s also a science journalist. You may have seen some of her articles in Science News and occasionally the New York Times. She’s currently working in Iceland, one of the most volcanic places on earth, as you know.”

  “Yes, my office there is studying what they’re doing with new geothermal and fuel cell technologies. Some extraordinary things, really.”

  “Precisely why I want you for this. You
have a unique set of abilities and are familiar with Iceland. I thought you might not be averse to taking on a slightly enlarged set of duties.”

  Ryan crossed his legs, noting that his own shoes were more scuffed than the senator’s. “From what you say, your daughter—Samantha?—has spent years working in her field. I wouldn’t think she’d need much protection from dangerous locations or potential volcanic eruptions. She must have much more experience with all of that than I do.”

  “She doesn’t need protection from the elements, Mr. Baldwin.” He hesitated. “What I’m going to tell you is not generally known, and I probably shouldn’t reveal it, but . . . we’re talking about my daughter’s safety.” He sighed. “Sam has upset certain interests in Iceland, as a result of her research. A great deal of foreign investment has come into the country since the financial meltdown a few years ago. The failure of the nation’s banks provided an opening for foreign investors. From one nation in particular, as I suspect you know.”

  “Iran,” said Ryan.

  The senator let the word hang in the air for a moment. “I’m also Chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee, which makes this whole business even more touchy. I’ve tried to talk to Sam about it, but she refuses to believe there’s any danger. I can tell you, however, that these Iranians are ruthless characters. I don’t know exactly what they’re up to, whether it’s manipulation of the financial markets or oil prices or simply laundering money, but they have moved into Iceland in a big way. My daughter’s work may put her directly in their path.

  “Sam speaks her mind, not unlike her mother, and she’s written two pieces for the Times in which she argues that Iceland’s economy will suffer even more than it already has from the cheap energy the Iranians have flooded the local market with. She believes it will stifle the alternative energy programs that are the way ahead for the country, indeed, that have already made Iceland a world leader in that area. Frankly, she’s stirred up a hornet’s nest.

  “I don’t want her to have an accident. I want you to go there and watch her back, is that clear enough?”

  Ryan shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not in that business anymore, Senator. I have my own clientele and frankly, I have a lot on my plate at the moment. I can’t just drop everything and go . . . if you will excuse the expression . . . baby-sit. That sort of assignment is precisely why I gave up working for the Service.”

  Graham was nodding. “I anticipated your response, which is why I have something else to offer. One of your major clients, I believe, is British Petroleum, is it not? I have a degree of influence over certain of their projects that have come before the committee. A word from me and they’ll have no problem with your taking a slight detour from your normal obligations. Hell, they’d probably provide you with an expense account if they thought it might put them in my good graces. But I think it’s better not to go there. I’ll be paying your expenses myself, out of my own pocket, along with your fee. I assure you it will be more than enough to recoup any losses from pending business you may have. And I will personally put in a good word for you with BP.”

  Ryan took a breath and looked away. He didn’t like being manipulated. It was another reason he’d left government service. Manipulation was the coin of the realm. Graham had obviously studied his business situation, and he knew that Ryan’s firm had just suffered the cancellation of one of its biggest accounts. For a moment, he wondered if the senator might have had something to do with that. Graham was known for his political ambiguity and freewheeling use of power when it suited his purposes. Ryan knew he was more than capable of such a devious move.

  Still, a proven relationship with the senator would cement his BP connection. Permanently. He suddenly remembered the one thing he had liked about working on the public dime: the bottomless money spigot.

  Graham leaned forward. “You had an interesting reputation at the Service. The Director himself told me he regretted your departure, said you were one of his most skilled agents. But he also said you had an attitude problem, that you tended to philosophize about the job too openly.”

  Ryan tilted his head. “The Service tends to think highly of itself. Thinks the free world will come to a screeching halt if a President is ever assassinated. I haven’t seen any evidence for that yet. They train us to take the assassin’s bullet. I maybe put too much value on my own life to be certain I would do that for another dumb-ass politician. Anyway, it’s why I got out.”

  “Still,” Graham said, “Your skills were the best, and I only hire the best. I might actually agree with you about interchangeable politicians. My daughter is not replaceable. You have some knowledge of her field and you have contacts in Iceland. Those facts alone will serve as cover for your presence. Try not to let Sam know the real reason for your being there. At least as long as you can. She would never agree to a babysitter. I want you for this, Baldwin. No one else will do. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Ryan spread his hands in resignation. He’d spent enough time in Washington to know that powerful men usually got what they wanted. Graham obviously knew he couldn’t afford to pass up the money or the connections that were being laid before him. He wondered if the senator wanted him as much for his business connections as his Secret Service credentials.

  The majority leader’s penetrating gaze seemed to be trying to see into Ryan’s head, evaluating and calculating every nuance. “There’s something else. I don’t know that I should mention it, but you just never know where these things will take you.”

  Ryan waited.

  “I divorced Sam’s mother when Sam was a college freshman. Sam’s never really forgiven me. Her mother’s dead now and we’re the only family each of us has. But she refuses to have any serious relationship with me.” He sighed heavily. “I haven’t even seen her in two years. I’ve never met any of her friends. What I know about her I glean from her writings and from quiet inquiries with local officials. She won’t be happy if she learns why you’re there.”

  Ryan stared at him. “So I’m supposed to protect her without her knowing about it? That certainly won’t make it easier.”

  “I don’t know any other way to go about it. Perhaps you can befriend her somehow. Your shared interests in Iceland, volcanology and geothermals should give you an opening. I leave that to you.

  “I’m counting on you, Baldwin.”

  It took two whirlwind days for Ryan to wind up his affairs and inform his D.C. business partner that he’d be returning to Iceland for a while.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Will had said. “When I told that bloke at BP, the one who’s always giving us all manner of hell about being behind in our work, that you were taking a leave of absence, he was all sweetness and light.”

  That was Senator Graham’s doing. The man had a long reach.

  Now, he stared out the window of his plane as it prepared to land on an uncharacteristically sunny Reykjavik morning. He could see volcanic steam venting in the distance, a promising landscape if one happened to be in the thermal energy business.

  Eva Berenson, who managed his business office in Reykjavik, met him at the airport. She was a tall, striking Danish woman, at forty-three still attractive enough to turn heads. Eva had been invaluable in courting business owners, but she came with an edge, most of which had to do with Jon Gudnasson, who was Ryan’s chief staff geologist. He’d clashed with Eva, who didn’t suffer fools lightly, from the start.

  “How’s my number one employee?” Ryan smiled broadly as he got in her car and kissed her on the cheek.

  “I won’t be number one until you fire Gudnasson. He undermines everyone in the office and has us all looking over our shoulders, waiting for the knife in the back.”

  He sighed. “Look, there will be no knives in the back as long as I’m in charge. You know that, Eva. And you also know it’s been next to impossible for us to find a good geologist willing to take the job at the kind of wages we can afford right now.”

  “Good being the operative word in th
at sentence. No secret why Jon was available. Who the hell else would hire him?”

  He said, “How’s David?”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “But it’s a good subject.”

  David was her seventeen-year-old son from a marriage when she was fresh out of college that had lasted only until David was eight. Ryan knew little about her former husband, except that he’d been a cop.

  “He’s smart as a whip, handsome—like his dad—and beginning to have trouble keeping the girls at bay.”

  “Yeah, that was always my problem too.”

  She gave him a look. “That might actually be true, but you’ve had an attitude as long as I’ve known you. As a teenager, it probably made you unapproachable.”

  “Whoa, way too early in the day for psychoanalysis, okay?”

  She shrugged. “Anyway, David said he hopes to see you. And what I want to know is why you’re not staying with Helga and me?”

  He often stayed with Eva and her sister, Helga, who shared a house together. Helga was younger and even more beautiful than her sister. She was also divorced and neither woman seemed to have any interest in getting back in the market. That fact alone had been enough to drive Jon crazy. “What a waste of good feminine pulchritude,” he’d told Ryan when he first learned of the arrangement, as though there was anything there that might ever be available to him.

  “Out of my hands, I’m afraid,” Ryan said. “My new employer arranged the lodgings for me.” In fact, the place was the same one the senator’s daughter was staying in. He’d present himself as a researcher, which, hopefully, would allow him to fall into Miss Graham’s orbit. He consulted his reservation papers. “Evidently a small home. Only three rooms to let and I got the last one.”

  Eva glanced over his shoulder. “Hildisdottir’s place. Well, you could have done worse. I actually know another of her guests, Samantha Graham.”