by Matthew Rief
“Multiple villages, by the accounts. Two south of Edinburgh, and a third much farther south near the mouth of the Humber River. This is based on what we can gather from the raiding party logs, though they’re far from watertight.”
Charlotte thanked the curator for everything, then left the museum, striding back out into the cool Reykjavík air. With the storm rolling past and migrating to the east, the sky was crisp and clear. It was a normal weekday in the capital city, with college students and professionals passing by.
Charlotte sat on the front steps of the University of Iceland’s main building and pulled out her phone. Over her years of traveling the world, excavating everything from tombs in Egypt to lost cities in Central America, she’d built up a substantial list of contacts. One of them was a tenured history professor at the University of London, who also worked for the Royal Historical Society. Dr. Harry Adams was one of the world’s leading experts on early English history. Charlotte knew that if there was a man alive who could educate her on the breakout of an unknown plague along Mercia’s coast back in AD 1340, it was Adams.
When the call went to voicemail, she left a detailed message, then continued to her rental parked on the other side of a wide courtyard. While walking, she thought about the Naturstrond settlement, the raiding party, and the recently discovered shipwreck, and tried to piece together the confounding puzzle that had been jumbled and kept in the dark for seven hundred years. She imagined a crew being assembled—women and children and Viking men—gearing up with supplies and venturing out to try and escape the disease that was ravaging their town.
Then somehow ending up miles inland and hidden under an encroaching glacier?
The moment she sat down in the driver’s seat, she received a message from Scott.
Regroup in Stokkseyri.
FOURTEEN
The Bell 407 helicopter banked above the rocky shoreline, descending over the southern town of Stokkseyri. With a population barely over four hundred, the coastal hamlet nestled between the ocean and endless hayfields was little more than a quiet cluster of houses hugging the Atlantic.
The pilot brought them down in a field, just up from the beach, beside a gravel lot and a green, single-story structure with a red roof. Just before the helicopter soared back up into the air, Jason, Scott, and Alejandra hopped out and headed for the waterfront restaurant called Fjorubordid.
Seven miles from the nearest large city, the remote, unassuming restaurant was just far enough off the map for privacy, and located in between the Vatnajökull glacier and Reykjavík, making it a great place to meet up with the rest of the team on the flight back.
Scott had booked the entire place, ensuring privacy, and they were greeted eagerly by the host, who ushered them to a table beside windows overlooking the rocky coastline.
Though Jason didn’t like the idea of sitting still—of kicking back while their enemies scrambled—his level of fatigue and the incessant grumble in his stomach convinced him that his body needed a break. Besides, it wasn’t like there was a whole lot they could do anyway. Their unknown enemies were hiding out among the forty thousand square miles of mostly barren terrain. Going off in search of the terrorists was unlikely to yield any productive result, especially when every law enforcement officer in the country was already mobilized. There was also the fact that they didn’t know who to look for. Since the gunmen in the caves had been wearing respirator masks, neither Jason nor Ragnar had seen what their attackers looked like. And Alejandra had been too far away to see the men back in the valley before she was attacked.
Taking it all into consideration, Jason knew that, as their leader had recommended, taking a breather to reevaluate was the best move.
After poring over the menus, the team followed the waiter’s advice and led off with rounds of langoustine bisque.
“People travel for hours through storms for this magical soup,” the waiter said as he set the bowls down. “We have the best and freshest langoustine in the country.” He pointed at a fishing boat tied off at the end of a concrete pier. “Hauled in less than two hours ago.”
The aroma tantalized his senses, and Jason took his first spoonful of the warm, soothing liquid. With the first recommendation knocking it out of the park, they told the waiter to bring over whatever else they should try. He eventually returned with big bowls of steaming langoustines and white potatoes swimming in melted garlic butter and coated in parsley, the bowl flanked with freshly cut lemon slices. After the day they’d had, it was the best food Jason had ever tasted.
Charlotte arrived moments after the food was tabled. She wrapped her arms around Jason, kissed his cheek, and told him that based on the little she’d heard about what happened, he was yet again close to exhausting his nine lives. She sat beside him and joined in, relishing every bite.
The food effectively warmed and energized their bodies, and mugs of coffee revived their minds. By the time they were halfway through the main courses, they were ready to do some heavy mental lifting.
“I have confirmation from the prime minister that all flights are grounded and all ports are closed off,” Scott said. “And based on air traffic control reports, the last plane to leave Iceland took off at zero six hundred.” He focused his attention on Jason. “You had your scuffle in the cave at . . .”
“Roughly half past four,” Jason said. “Not certain, though, as I didn’t get a chance to peek at my watch during the firefight.”
Scott nodded. “So, that means they would’ve had just over an hour to trek out of the cave, down the mountain, drive to the airport, and load up.” He shook his head. “The flight took off from Keflavik International, over a hundred and fifty miles from the glacier.”
“That means they’re still in Iceland,” Alejandra said.
“Yes.”
Jason swallowed a bite, then wiped his chin. “How long will the island be closed off?”
“We have forty-eight hours,” Scott said. “But hopefully these guys are found long before that time runs out.”
Wanting everyone on the same page, the group went around the table, sharing their sides of all that had happened since they arrived in Iceland. Alejandra led off, giving her account of the events following Jason’s trek up into the glacier. She was as descriptive as she could be, giving makes and models of SUVs, describing the men’s sizes and clothing as best as she could.
“Two of them spoke Korean,” she explained. “The rest, English.”
“The guys in the cave spoke English, as well,” Jason said. “But most of them sounded European. Definitely not American. And one had a Korean accent.” Then Jason told his story about trekking up into the cave, discovering the wreck, being attacked, and the fateful freezing trip through the ice. “They somehow managed to track us down to a cabin near the glacier’s edge.”
“I wonder why they’d bother,” Charlotte said. “I mean, they already had the samples.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing ever since,” Jason said. “Could be they were upset after what I did to them. But a grudge doesn’t seem like a good enough reason. Are the wreck sites closed off?”
Scott took a sip of coffee, then set his mug on the table. “There’s a team there now. Not that it matters much anymore.”
“Why not?” Charlotte said.
“Those guys who attacked Jason? They set the wreck ablaze before they left. Nothing remains of the ship but ash. And the bodies are all burned to a crisp. The only surviving samples of the virus are locked away in a secret government facility just outside the capital, or they’re in the hands of these terrorists.”
Charlotte received a call and excused herself, stepping out onto the beach.
Jason leaned back into his chair. “We still don’t have anything on who these guys are?”
“Nothing yet,” Scott said, “but we’ve got teams of intelligence personnel working on it. And I just got off t
he phone with Murph and gave him an update.”
Elliot Murphy was a renowned hacker and inventor who’d saved their team on more than one occasion. Brilliant with a computer, Murph could accomplish just about anything online and find just about anyone, given enough time and energy drinks.
“Back in the caves, one of them referred to their boss as ‘the General,’” Jason said.
The group fell silent, pondering what that could mean. The front door opened, and Dr. Arnold Huxley arrived. Stating he didn’t have much of an appetite, he contented himself with a bowl of bisque and coffee. Head of the UNSC’s joint operation task force, Dr. Huxley had been one of the men impersonated by the murderers who’d conducted the first attack the previous day.
Just as Scott was about to ask the man what he and his team had discovered so far, Charlotte returned.
“Excuse me,” she said, moving quickly toward the table with her phone pressed to her shoulder. “I have something I think you all need to hear. Especially you, Doctor.” She set the phone on the table and clicked on speaker. She gave a quick rundown of what she’d learned at the National Museum of Iceland, then introduced the man on the phone as Dr. Adams of the Royal Historical Society.
“The Viking raid on the coast of Mercia ties in with a fascinating bit of local history,” the Englishman said. “In that same year, a devastating plague broke out near modern-day Hull on the northern shores of the Humber River. The deadly disease proved so powerful and destructive that entire villages were wiped out. Much of the region had been closed off entirely from the rest of the country, the locals fearing a greater spread of the disease or that the gods would take them, as well. This is right around the time of the thirteen forty Viking raid.”
“Which would tie in with the plague in Naturstrond,” Charlotte said.
Dr. Huxley cleared his throat, then leaned toward the resting cellphone. “Based on historical records, have there been any evidence-based speculations as to the nature of the virus?”
“No solid conclusions were ever formed, Doctor,” Adams said. “It remains a mystery. Though I can confirm that the symptoms match both what Miss Murchison has described from the victims in Naturstrond, as well as the more recent victims.”
Charlotte thanked the Englishman for his time, then ended the call. All eyes fell on Dr. Huxley, the lead scientist examining the virus.
“I’m meeting with the UNSC later today, so this will be a good first run to see what kind of questions need to be addressed.” He took a sip of coffee. “We just began testing of the virus less than twenty-four hours ago, so it’s far too early to make concrete statements. Most teams have dozens of scientists working for weeks before a virus can be fully understood. And even then, there’s always more to learn when it comes to the behavior of these agents.” Dr. Huxley cleared his throat. “It’s evident that mankind has stumbled upon a dormant virus—an infective agent hidden from mankind for years and now making a resurgence. The rapidity of growing intensity, and the severity of the symptoms, combined with the mortality rate we’ve seen so far, marks this virus as potentially being the deadliest we’ve ever encountered. Even deadlier and with a higher mortality rate than the Marburg virus.”
His words caused the table to fall silent.
Alejandra set her spoon on the table and patted her lips with a napkin. “How high of a mortality rate are you saying, Doctor?”
“At this point, it’s too hard to say with precision. We’ve only had a little over a day. But based on the initial observations, I’d say mid to high ninety percent. As I said, based on early assessments, it shows many similar properties with Marburg. And like other viruses, a few drops of ordinary bleach managed to neutralize the nucleic acid molecules, killing the infective agent. But the severity and the swiftness of its spread are unlike anything I’ve seen before. I’m not a biological weapons expert, but it’s not difficult to see the appeal of such a powerful virus.”
“What kind of global effect are we looking at?” Scott said. “With modern advances in medicine and vaccine development, surely we could counter it.”
Huxley paused. “There’s the pessimistic view and the optimistic one. Which do you prefer?”
“Both.”
Huxley steepled his fingers. “I’ll cede to the molecular biologist, Dr. Josh Lederberg, for the pessimism. The Nobel laureate is famous for saying, ‘Eventually, the viruses will win.’ It was Lederberg’s view that everything we do to combat viruses is a temporary measure. Just a means of delaying the inevitable a little longer.”
Jason raised his eyebrows. “And the optimistic?”
“Again, it’s impossible to model a global effect at this time, given how little we know about this virus. There’s a small chance that a vaccine could be developed in time to spare most of humanity. But based on what I’ve seen so far, if it were strategically released for maximum contact and spread, we’d be looking at the deadliest widespread outbreak in the history of our species, regardless of vaccination efforts.”
FIFTEEN
The Bombardier CRJ-200 touched down at Keflavik International Airport and taxied into a private hangar. The fifteen members of the United Nations Security Council and their aides stepped off, climbed into a row of parked SUVs, and were driven with a police escort the thirty miles to the presidential compound.
Established just after World War II, the council’s primary purpose is to help maintain international peace and security. With each of the members representing a different country in the UN, the council is also responsible for investigating any dispute or situation that might lead to international friction. Members of the council, or a representative of each member, must remain at the UN headquarters in New York City, allowing the council to meet at any time when the need arises.
The armada stopped in front of the Icelandic president’s residence—an impressive, whitewashed house flanked by similar structures and surrounded by open fields along a peninsula. Government members wasted no time ushering the council into the house, gathering them around a conference table in a secure room down the hall from the president’s office. The UNSC members were soon joined by the president himself, the prime minister, the director of the country’s National Security Council, and two NATO representatives.
The Icelandic president, a tall, serious man in his late forties, opened the meeting with a brief on all the precautions that had already been implemented within the country. “Based on the severity of this virus,” he said, “and the effectiveness of these unknown terrorists to secure samples, we’re focusing all of the manpower and energies we have to locating the attackers, as well as to preventing the spread of the deadly disease.”
The prime minister followed by briefly describing options going forward. Then, the floor was open to the UNSC, its members having all been in constant communication with their respective nations’ leaders.
The representative from the Russian Federation, a bald man with an expressionless face, jumped in, his voice digitally translated from Russian to English. “It is evident, given how quickly and efficiently this coordinated attack was planned and executed, that it was not the handiwork of an extremist, or any private organization, but that of a nation.” The man turned his attention to Zhao Song, the Chinese UNSC representative. “It is no secret that North Korea harbors the largest supply of biological weaponry in the world. And given that the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea has been your ally since the Korean War, the potential that this is a secret collaborative effort between your nations is worthy of investigation.”
The middle-aged delegate from China stared back at him, his expression seemingly unaffected by the rash accusation. Leaning forward, Zhao responded calmly. “There is an old saying . . . ‘He who is first to point fingers, is often the one to blame.’” Zhao cleared his throat, waiting a moment to let his words resonate. “The delegate from Russia is eager to aim the spotlight on someone else. I don’t b
elieve there is anyone in this meeting who needs reminding or educating in your nation’s history with biological weaponry.”
Before the Russian could spit out a rebuttal, Zhao continued, his voice raised. “With that being said, full investigations of all potentially involved parties should be addressed in time, of course. My country should be no exception. But as the president of this country has said, the priority at present must be to keep Iceland secured. We cannot underestimate this unknown virus or the ones wishing to unleash it. We must cast aside our differences and work together if we are going to prevail and resolve this pressing issue.”
The Chinese representative garnered a series of nods as he leaned away from the mic. He didn’t even glance at the stunned man from Russia.
The member from France said, “How can we trust the Icelandic government to properly handle the situation? How can we trust you to ensure that the island remains closed off and the virus contained? You managed to allow a group of assassins posing as our scientific team to walk right into the cave and open fire. Then you let handfuls of men enter your nation and wage an all-out war.”
The verbal assault was directed toward the president and prime minister, but Anna Johannsdottir, the first Icelandic citizen to ever be selected as a member of the UNSC, interjected. “The attackers must have all entered with falsified identifications,” the beautiful woman in her mid-fifties said in an educated, confident air, “giving our people no chance of identifying and stopping them upon arrival. And it was the decision of this council to keep this entire thing under wraps and not deploy our security forces to ensure discretion and total protection of the site.”
Angered by the rebuttal, the man from France was about to reply, when Anna continued, raising her voice. “Shelling blame is not important right now. At present, we must focus on locating the lost samples and capturing the remaining insurgents.” She grabbed a folder from the table and slipped out a page. “In addition to the security measures taken by our country to combat this threat, we have reports that a clandestine group has managed to take down six of these terrorists. I have no doubt that the rest will be snuffed out in time. But with that, we must be prepared for these attackers to get spooked and release this virus at the earliest opportunity. To educate this group on the potential threat this unknown virus poses, I would like to give Dr. Huxley the floor.” As the accomplished scientist pushed back his chair and stood, Anna continued, “For those unaware, Dr. Huxley has been the head of the CDC’s bioterrorism emergency task unit for the past three years. He was the man chosen by the UNSC to spearhead the investigation into this virus.”
