The Resurrector (The Dominic Grey Series)

by Layton Green

  Enough. He was pushing his luck. As he turned to leave, he heard the sound of a lock turning.

  Grey swore silently. It was so late he hadn’t considered that Emil might not live alone. Footsteps in the foyer. Grey swiveled his head. No place to hide. Right before he resigned himself to a fight, he darted inside the master bathroom and slipped behind the shower curtain. He hated to put himself in such a vulnerable position, but he would do anything to avoid alerting Dag.

  Grey heard the rustle of clothes falling away, and he had to listen to a swift, loud bout of late-night sex. What kind of a girlfriend didn’t leave clothes or toiletries lying around? Must be a recent hookup. Afterwards, the couple returned to the bathroom, one at a time, forcing Grey to live in fear of a drawn shower curtain.

  Half an hour later, hearing nothing but the sound of soft snoring, Grey crept out of the bathroom. After peering around the wall, he padded down the hallway, replaced the ski mask, and disappeared into the night.

  Grey woke in a pension Jax had procured just off Snorrabraut Street, a short walk from Hallgrímskirkja. The two-bedroom unit had a small kitchen and a street-side exit that allowed them to avoid contact with other guests.

  After pouring a cup of coffee, Grey sat across from the mercenary at the breakfast nook. A combination of rain and fog blurred the cityscape outside the window.

  “Any word?” Grey asked.

  “Yep.”

  Grey stopped reaching for the creamer. As soon as he returned to the pension, he had wakened Jax and asked him to send Emil’s information to the Sensei.

  Grey put his palms on the table. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Chill. It came in five minutes ago.”

  “Five minutes is five minutes.”

  Jax bobbed a hand. “I was going to bring you coffee in bed. You beat me to it.”

  “And? What’d the Sensei say?”

  “I’m curious: why do you think they’re breaking protocol to help you? I’ve never had an email returned.”

  Not for the first time, Grey wondered about the origins of the mysterious young woman who had helped him in New York. What had made her who she was.

  Judging by her appearance and her interest in Charlie’s disappearance, he thought he had a clue.

  “I’ve a feeling it’s a private agenda,” Grey said. As Jax mulled over the response, Grey snapped his fingers at him. “Emil?”

  Jax took a sip of coffee. “He’s in the business, all right. His recent call list was a who’s who of high-ranking members of neo-Nazi orgs. Most of them in Iceland, a few in Europe and the States. Sensei sent us names and photos.”

  “Emil’s helping them recruit.” Grey leaned forward. “What about Dag? Do we have a number?”

  Jax shook his head.

  “Damn. I was hoping . . .” Grey cut off and looked away. “What about the congressman’s son?”

  “Nope.”

  “The credit card? Any suspicious transactions?”

  “Define suspicious. Ammo, pharmaceuticals, call girls? Plenty of that.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Jax pulled up an image on his phone and slid it over to Grey. It depicted a group of young, attractive patrons in fur-lined coats holding drinks and smiling as they conversed around, bizarrely, a bar made of solid ice.

  Grey frowned. “What’s this?”

  “What’s it look like?”

  “A bar made out of ice.”

  Jax clicked his tongue. “Give this man a prize. This fine establishment is where our guy goes whenever he leaves Rekyjavik. Not counting international flights.”

  “Where is it?”

  “It’s got a really clever name: Ice Bar. It’s near a town called Vik, about two and a half hours away. A village, I should say. Home to a whopping three hundred people.”

  “So?” Grey said. “His parents probably live there.”

  Jax leaned back and rapped a knuckle on the table. “That’s the thing. Whenever Emil goes to Vik, he spends money in the Ice Bar for a night or two, leaves a huge tip, then disappears for a week at a time. Sometimes longer.”

  “What do you mean he disappears?”

  “According to the records, Emil’s one of those people who lives off his credit card. Uses it everyday, for everything from house bills to hookers to a bottle of water. But once he goes to Vik? He hits up the Ice Bar, puts gas in his car the next day, and doesn’t use his credit card again until he returns to Rekyjavik.”

  “So where’s he go?”

  Jax spread his palms. “That’s the million-dollar question.”

  Grey stared at the photo of the Ice Bar, thinking about Dag’s last words. Trust me when I say that you will never find her on your own.

  Dag might be a white supremacist, kidnapper, and mass murderer, but he did not strike Grey as a braggart.

  Iceland was remote, but Rekyjavik was still a capital city, a prime tourist destination. A town of three hundred people in the middle of nowhere, however, combined with a mysterious credit card trail . . . .

  Grey handed the phone back to Jax. “Let’s go find the million-dollar answer.”

  -34-

  Smoke poured out of the van Draker mansion, swirling within the beams of high-powered floodlights to create a cottony veil around the property. Her siren blaring, another patrol car and a fire truck on her tail, Sergeant Linde careened up the long driveway and parked with a wheel halfway on the curb.

  She left her car and strode over to meet Jans van Draker, who was standing with Pieter, his guard, at the end of the flagstone walkway leading to his home.

  Jans was fuming. Age-spotted white ankles poked out of the house slippers he had donned beneath a full-length cashmere coat. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Naomi summoned her most convincing display of innocence. “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t request assistance.”

  “Why not? It appears your house is on fire.”

  Van Draker’s face darkened. “Vagrants from the township must have thrown smoke bombs through the windows. There’s no fire.”

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to be the judge of that,” she said, as a quartet of firemen in helmets and full protective gear raced towards the manor. Naomi prayed van Draker wouldn’t turn and notice that one of the firemen, even while hunched, was significantly taller than the rest. “Protocol demands that we investigate.”

  “You’ll do no such thing. This is private property!”

  “Our job is to provide for public safety. A fire could spread.”

  Mouth agape, his eyes turning suspicious, van Draker pointed a finger at her. “I have no central alarm system. Who told you about this?”

  “We received an emergency call.”

  “From who?”

  “An anonymous neighbor. Two, in fact. It’s hardly unusual to call in a sky full of smoke.”

  “It’s dark. I doubt anyone off the property would even notice.”

  Jans turned and stalked back towards his house. The firemen were clearly in view, spreading out as they approached the property. In desperation, Naomi ran up and grabbed Jans’s arm.

  “Doctor van Draker! I can’t let you go inside.” He turned and looked down as if a leper had grabbed him. She withdrew her hand. “It’s for your own good,” she said. “I’d be derelict in my duties otherwise.”

  He snarled. “You’re keeping me from my own house?”

  Naomi reminded herself who the police officer was. She straightened her shoulders and said, “As soon as we’re given clearance, you can return inside. It shouldn’t take long.”

  He looked at her in disbelief. “After the stunt you pulled the other day, I question the longevity of your employment. I’m calling your superior.”

  He took out his phone. Naomi thought quickly. She had told Viktor he would have thirty minutes to search the house, and the Captain only lived a mile away.

  “At two a.m.?” she said. “I’d rather not disturb him.”

  He punched in
a number.

  Unable to think of anything else to say, Naomi started walking towards the house. She saw with a sigh of relief that the firemen had disappeared inside.

  “Where are you going?” Jans shouted.

  “To search the property. Those responsible might have left evidence. Or still be around.”

  Van Draker strode to catch up with her, the phone gripped in his hand. “You’ll be going nowhere on these grounds by yourself.”

  Naomi’s heart sank as he raised the phone to his ear. She had bought herself all of thirty seconds.

  “And I’ve woken the captain before,” he added.

  The night before, Yusuf’s men had proven trustworthy, no one had burst into the chicken shack, and the Malay driver had circled back later to collect the professor and bring him back to Bonniecombe. Some romantic date, Viktor thought as he slipped through the rear door of the van Draker manor, feeling awkward in the fireman’s gear. At least the bar for the second date, if it ever occurred, would be exceedingly low.

  He turned his head, relieved no one had followed. Nor had an alarm sounded. He was in the clear, at least for thirty minutes.

  Unless, he thought, someone was waiting inside. The dense smoke limited Viktor’s vision to a few feet in front of his face. With every step he took, he expected Robey or Kristof to appear right in front of him.

  He forced himself not to think about that. Thanks to Thato’s plan to launch homemade smoke grenades through van Draker’s windows and onto his lawn, and insert Viktor into the fire department’s deploying team—Thato’s husband Garika was the chief of the local branch—this might be their one shot to penetrate the manor.

  As someone who had been around wealthy residences his entire life, whose family castle itself possessed hidden rooms and passages, Viktor would bet good money that van Draker’s manor harbored secrets. The question was whether he could find them in time.

  The first place he tried was the library, remembering how Kristof’s eyes had lingered on one shelf in particular. After long minutes of searching behind the books and paintings, Viktor found no evidence of a secret door.

  He hurried to the second floor. There was a lot of house to cover.

  Contrary to the movies, in his experience the bedrooms concealed the majority of hidden passages. Surreptitious access to a mistress.

  As before, the bedrooms looked occupied. One even contained a suitcase and clothes hanging in the closet. According to Naomi, who often staked the place out, van Draker rarely had guests.

  So how did his visitors arrive? Where did they park their cars?

  Either the bedrooms possessed no secrets, or Viktor didn’t know where to look. After swiping a set of keys from a drawer in the master bedroom, he checked his watch. This was taking too long. He picked up the pace, striding down the hallway to the billiards room. After eyeing the taxidermy, Viktor approached the stuffed gerenuk head. The deformed specimen was just the sort of thing van Draker would use, and Viktor would not be surprised if the arrogant doctor had mentioned it during their visit just to be perverse.

  With an intake of breath, Viktor reach up to gently pull on the antelope’s fused horns.

  Nothing. Viktor pushed and tugged on different parts of the stuffed head until convinced it was the wrong choice. He quickly tried the rest of the taxidermy and checked behind the gruesome photos of the concentration camps.

  Still nothing.

  Frustrated, he raced through the first story, running his hands along the bottoms of the balustrades, behind the mirrors and knick-knacks, over the seams of every shortened corridor and irregular wall. He moved aside rugs and portraits and coats of arms, but still came up empty.

  Ten minutes to go.

  Growing desperate, knowing he might simply have missed a hidden trigger, Viktor entered the dining room. He peeked outside the window and saw another police car pull up, and a burly white-haired man step out. The captain.

  Van Draker walked up to the man while Naomi stood by her car, alone.

  That didn’t look good.

  Fearing the dining room was too close to the front door for concealed passages, Viktor gently pulled on the chandelier and searched behind the paintings. He checked the cabinets, found nothing except fine china, then walked over to stand by the creepy bear-hunting outfit. The inch-long spikes covered the entire leather suit except for openings in the eyes and mouth.

  Viktor stepped forward and peered inside the orifices. Too dark to see. He slipped his finger into the mouth slit, felt nothing, and then tried the eyes.

  Deep inside the mannequin’s left orb, Viktor felt the smooth contour of a button. A jolt of adrenaline shot through him as he applied pressure and felt the button depress. A built-in cabinet beside the mannequin hinged open, revealing a closet-size alcove. Viktor peered inside and saw a set of stone steps winding down into darkness.

  Feeling eyes on his back, he whipped around and saw Garika. The mask obscured the fire chief’s face, but Naomi had given Garika and Thato the highest vote of confidence. She added that they both hated van Draker.

  Outside, the smoke had mostly cleared. Van Draker, Pieter, and the police captain were approaching the manor. They would see him within seconds. With a final glance at Naomi, who couldn’t see him watching, Viktor stripped off his fireman’s suit, handed it to Garika, and stepped into the alcove.

  Naomi was in despair. The smoke had cleared and the captain knew all of the local firemen, none of whom were an inch over six feet.

  The captain offered to scour the house, but van Draker scoffed away the request, repeating that it was “a couple of blicks” from the township. After his comment, the two men chuckled in a condescending way that Naomi hated.

  As the captain fawned over van Draker, three of the firemen strode onto the lawn. None were Viktor. Thato’s husband removed his helmet, gave a thumbs-up to the captain as he handed over a handful of plastic coke bottles used for the smoke bombs, then returned to his truck with his men.

  Naomi hurried over to pull Garika aside. “Where’s the professor?”

  “He found a secret passage.”

  Naomi caught her breath. “And?”

  “And he went down it.” Garika patted his backpack. “He gave me his gear, so it won’t come back on us. Good man.”

  “Sergeant Linde!”

  Elated at Viktor’s find but worried for his safety, Naomi turned as the captain barked her name. Had someone noticed only three firemen had returned?

  The captain was waving her over as if she were the family dog. Shoulders back, she walked over to him, and the captain jabbed a finger at her. “Don’t you ever keep Mr. van Draker from his own house again.”

  “It was full of smoke. I was following protocol.”

  The captain snarled. “You don’t get it, do you? I want you back in the station, tonight, filing a report. Tomorrow, you’ll go to the township and find out who did this. And if you harass van Draker again, I’ll suspend you.”

  Naomi’s eyes flicked to the manor. What was Viktor thinking, going off alone?

  Left with no choice, she gave a curt nod to the captain, breathed a sigh of relief that no one seemed to have noticed the missing fireman, and returned to her cruiser.

  Inside the alcove, Viktor found a pair of switches that illuminated the staircase and caused the cabinet to swing shut. Wary but excited, he descended and found a narrow, rough-hewn stone passage at the bottom that looked as if it had stood for centuries.

  The rocky floor of the passage was uneven. Every twenty feet or so, an oval stone archway reinforced the ceiling. Dim can lights, embedded at ten-foot intervals and casting a faint golden glow, supplied the only evidence of modernity.

  Viktor hurried forward, having to duck beneath the archways. The passage smelled chalky. He soon reached an intersection, and then another. He also passed five sets of stairs he assumed led to different parts of the manor. It was a maze of secret corridors.

  He guessed the lights were on a timer and, fearing
he would get lost before they switched off, he walked as fast as he could, his long stride carrying him swiftly down the passage. In a pinch, he supposed he could use his cell phone for light. He wanted to text Naomi but the thick rock walls blocked the signal.

  When he came to a much longer passage, Viktor tensed. Perhaps the entire underground level was innocuous and served as an emergency escape route to the forest, not uncommon in Europe for noble families fearing a peasant revolt. In South Africa, he imagined the same logic had applied.

  But the passage didn’t lead to the forest. It led, he discovered as he crept forward, to a steel door built right into the rock wall. Viktor sucked in a breath. This was why he had come.

  He tried the handle. Locked. No surprise. He took out the set of keys he had stolen from van Draker’s bedroom. On the second try, starting with the largest key, he was rewarded.

  The deadbolt clicked.

  Viktor pulled the door open.

  And couldn’t believe his eyes.

  He had come seeking a laboratory or a medical facility, evidence that illicit experiments had been performed by van Draker. What he saw through the steel door went past that, to the edges of science and beyond, into the realm of madness.

  The door opened onto an underground chamber the size of a large municipal swimming pool. The chamber had been dug at least thirty feet deep, accessible via a spiral staircase to the left of the door, and an elevator to the right. An iron catwalk started at Viktor’s feet and led to a series of interconnected walkways supported by cables bolted into the ceiling.

  Interspersed throughout the chamber were a dozen circular bronze vats, standing on iron mounts and connected by thick cables and even thicker transparent glass pipes, large enough for a man to fit through. Just down the walkway, Viktor heard gurgling noises emanating from one of the vats. He also noticed a giant electronic control panel.

  In the middle of the room, suspended by cables attached to the ceiling, was a metallic blue gurney fitted with leg, neck, and arm clasps. A glass tube exited onto the gurney, and thinner cables extended from the gurney to a pyramidal generator on the floor below that throbbed with green light.