The Norse Directive (12 page)

Atlanta

“You lost them?” Dufort’s rage blared through the earpiece of Petrov’s phone.

The big Russian sat in his sedan, staring at the glimmering white facade of the hospital. When he arrived at the IAA headquarters, his quarry was on their way out. Petrov and his men hung back and made sure they weren’t noticed.

Four people left, two were young, probably in their early twenties. The woman, a tall brunette, probably in her late thirties, was among them. But Petrov’s attention remained locked on Tommy Schultz, who exited the building with a laptop bag and a few papers in hand. The way Schultz was looking around, checking for anything suspicious, told Petrov that the man had been alerted to their presence.

“No. I didn’t lose them. They’re at the hospital as we speak. One of them must be wounded. My team is waiting outside in the parking area. If they come out, we’ll be here to nab them.”

Dufort didn’t apologize, but the explanation seemed to soothe his tone a little. “Where is the coin now?”

Petrov knew that question was coming. It was also a dumb one, though he wouldn’t tell his employer that. Obviously, the coin was with his targets. If he had it, he’d be on a plane back to France right now.

“Sean Wyatt has the coin.” He figured a white lie wouldn’t hurt. After all, it was a reasonable assumption.

“I need that coin.”

The Russian knew that. His irritation bubbled up inside him, but he suppressed it. “I know. We will have it shortly.”

His phone vibrated, and he pulled the device away from his ear to glance at the screen. A message from an unidentified number appeared. He read it and smiled, putting the phone back against his ear.

“We know where they’re going next.”

He imagined the sentence changed Dufort’s demeanor.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s what you pay me for, isn’t it? I get things done.”

“True.”

Petrov gave a signal to the other men and started up the car. “A new flight plan was just filed from one of the private hangars at the Atlanta airport. They’re going to London.”

“London?” Dufort’s voice sounded troubled again. “They must have discovered the first clue from Francis Jackson.”

Petrov steered his car out of the parking space, through the thick maze of parked vehicles, and out the exit onto the road. “What would you like me to do?”

He could tell Dufort was thinking about the issue, which meant the man wasn’t sure. Petrov hated uncertainty. He always paid close attention to detail.

“Follow them to London. If they find the next coin, take it from them, and return it to me.”

“And what about Wyatt and his companions?”

“Do what you do best.”

London

By the time the IAA private jet landed in London, it was just a few minutes past one in the morning.

He, Tommy, and Adriana had departed the hospital, leaving Charlie with Coop. The three felt bad about ditching the two older men, but each knew it was the right thing to do.

Before they left the hospital, Tommy made a phone call to his private pilot and had him file a flight plan for London. Having their own plane and pilot made spontaneous international travel much easier. 

On the airplane, the three poured through as much information as they could find about Holger Danske and the two battles of Copenhagen. Thanks to the Wi-Fi setup on the plane, they had easy access to the wealth of knowledge the Internet could provide.

The two bombardments of Copenhagen were both strange altercations. Great Britain didn’t necessarily have issues with the Danes. Rather, it was their fear of French allegiance with Denmark that troubled the British. In both attacks on the Danish capital, the battles seemed more like a parent spanking a child to remind them who was the adult.

Very few land battles occurred, mostly involving a siege of the city and some artillery shelling. The most damage was done from the sea by British warships. While the attack only lasted a short time, the results were devastating. Over three thousand Danish soldiers and sailors were killed, and nearly two hundred civilians died in the bombing. One thousand city buildings lay in rubble by the time the cease-fire was called. The crown prince had no choice but to submit to the British forces once more. This time, the entire Danish fleet was turned over to Great Britain, which cleared the trade route through the sound between Sweden and Denmark.

Another interesting item of note from the story was that Francis Jackson’s name was only mentioned a few times. He worked as a diplomat under George Canning, who eventually became prime minister. Jackson’s reputation for diplomacy was less than stellar. He preferred a direct, unbending approach to almost everything he did and was rumored to have offended several members of state who represented other countries.

Jackson’s mission to Denmark was odd in that the few documents Sean and Tommy found suggested that he had barely spent any time in the city. Jackson’s meeting with the Danish ambassadors had been swift. Based on the diary, it must have been because the man knew what was coming – and only had a short time to complete his secret mission.

The research on Holger Danske added little to what the three already knew. It was mostly a fairytale, with vague pieces of legend mingled together with a few real facts, dates, and places.

The airplane came to a stop, and the flight attendant opened the door. “You’re going to need these,” she said, producing three black umbrellas for the passengers. “Quite rainy out.”

She wasn’t lying. When Sean set foot onto the steps, he was greeted by a cold gust of air and a steady downpour. “Good to be back in England,” he said sarcastically over his shoulder.

Tommy laughed as he opened his umbrella.

Down on the tarmac, a black SUV waited in the deluge. The driver hurriedly exited the front of the vehicle and opened the rear doors as the three approached. The man was in a black suit and tie. His short, buzz cut hair was soaked instantly, but he greeted the group in a friendly manner.

“Hello,” he said, offering to grab Adriana’s bag as she approached the SUV. “My name is Jim. I’ll be your driver.” His English accent distinctly hailed from London’s north side.

Adriana allowed the burly man to take her bag. Tommy and Sean followed him to the rear of the vehicle and tossed their things into the back hatch. Tommy ran around to the front and hopped in, Sean sat in the back with Adriana.

Jim secured the rear door and returned to the driver’s seat, soaking wet.

“Sorry about the rain,” he said cheerfully and put the SUV in gear. “Fairly typical this time of year, although not usually this hard.”

“I was about to apologize to you,” Tommy said, “dragging you out here in the middle of the night in this.” He motioned to the weather outside.

Jim steered the SUV through the required checkpoints and out onto the road leading away from the airport. “I don’t mind. I’m a night owl anyway. And I’ll be home and dried off before you know it.”

“Well, we appreciate it,” Sean offered from the back.

“It’s no trouble at all. I understand I’m to take you to your hotel, correct?”

“Yes,” Tommy confirmed.

“And tomorrow we are heading to Southampton?”

“Right again.”

“Based on all the different factors involved, I’m going to guess that you three aren’t here on holiday.” Jim glanced to his left at Tommy. His question was innocent enough.

“We’re here to investigate a piece of English history.”

The man nodded. “Must be important for you to up and fly from the USA all the way over here on such short notice.”

Tommy knew the guy was just making small talk. The IAA had used that particular driver agency dozens of times when visiting England. The conversation reminded him of nearly every cab ride he’d taken in every major city he’d frequented.

“Time is of the essence,” Sean said.

“I suppose it is, sir.” Jim grinned and flipped on his blinker, merging onto the highway leading into downtown London.

Sean had always found the London skyline fascinating. Off in the distance, he could see the section of town that housed the famous buildings every tourist wanted to see, like Big Ben and Parliament House. Along the same line of sight, the newly famous London Eye stood out, even through the downpour.

The stark contrast of the more modern downtown area of London wasn’t lost on Sean. New skyscrapers, apartment buildings, and businesses seemed to sprout up nearly every time he visited the old city; a reminder that the melting pot of England still boasted a thriving economy, at least in some areas.

Traffic was light, both due to the late hour on a weeknight and the monsoon that seemed to be hitting the area. Jim took his time getting them to the hotel, which didn’t bother any of the passengers. They would rather arrive safely than quickly. It was going to be hard for any of them to sleep anyway. Back home, it was still fairly early. Their bodies wouldn’t begin to feel fatigued for a while yet.

The SUV exited the highway and merged onto an offshoot street surrounded by shops, old apartments, pubs, and restaurants. Sean stared out the window as the vehicle splashed through huge puddles and the occasional pothole. The pubs were the only places that still claimed a few patrons, the businesses and restaurants long since closed for the day, save for one late-night fish and chips place with bright-blue neon lighting on the sign.

A few minutes later, Jim pulled underneath the burgundy awning in front of a tall gray building. The hotel was one Sean and Tommy had both stayed in several times. Tommy booked the rooms while on the plane, able to pull a few strings on the other end as a result of his consistent and financially worthwhile patronage.

The hotel staff had been more than happy to accommodate the request, especially considering the weather probably kept the place from being completely full.

A bellhop working the late shift emerged from the entrance’s metal-encased glass doors and hurried to open as many doors as he could before the passengers exited. Jim had already opened his, and the young man only succeeded in getting to Sean’s.

“Good mornin’,” Jim said to the beleaguered bellhop as he stepped around and opened the back hatch. “I’m just droppin’ them off, and they only have a few bags.” He turned his gaze to his three passengers. “If you need anything else from me, here’s my number.” He reached into his jacket pocket and fished out a plain white business card with black lettering on the surface. “I’m a light sleeper, so feel free to call whenever you want.”

“Thanks, Jim,” Sean said, taking the card and stuffing it into a front pocket. “We’ll see you in a few hours.”

Jim gave a quick nod of the head and jumped back into the SUV. The bellhop busily loaded their luggage onto a cart and then followed the three Americans into the hotel.

The inside of the Hotel Baccard felt like going back in time. The pinkish marble floors stretched out in three directions. A bar sat off to the side, surrounded by a small seating area for a lounge. The bartender, a man in a white shirt and black bow tie, was nearly finished closing for the night, locking one of the cupboards and then wiping down a last section of the counter. Straight ahead, a set of grand staircases wound upward like a double helix to a mezzanine above. Off to the right, the concierge desk housed three computer stations behind a wall of gray stone and black countertops.

A giant chandelier hung from the ceiling in the center of the room, glistening with hundreds of little crystals. Four cubed pillars wrapped in English oak stood at the corners of the lobby. Roaring lions’ heads jutted out from the surface, carved directly from the same piece of wood. Tommy admired the craftsmanship as he strode by one of the reliefs before reaching the concierge.

He returned to the other two a few moments later and handed them each a card key.

“This is a lovely hotel,” Adriana said as she slid the key into an empty pocket.

“It really is,” Tommy said, staring up and around at the huge room. “It’s a little off the beaten path, which is nice because you won’t have to deal with as many tourists here. The location is great though. Here, we are kind of in the middle of everything.”

She nodded.

“It’s rumored,” Sean said, “that Winston Churchill stayed here semifrequently to get away from his primary residence.”

Adriana frowned. “I would think he would have spent more time out in the country or somewhere away from the city.”

“True. He did like to get out and enjoy the countryside at the prime minister’s other residence, called Chequers, but he also loved the city of London. Being the prime minister of one of the most powerful nations in the world doesn’t lend itself to a ton of anonymity. During the war, however, he found it necessary to evacuate his home at 10 Downing Street due to the bombings or other security threats.”

She shook her head at him and smiled. “You really are such a nerd.”

“You both are,” Tommy said, turning and leading the way toward an elevator at the other end of the room. He twisted his head around and looked back at them as they laughed. “We all are.”

The rooms of the Hotel Baccard were luxurious despite their modesty. The interior designers had done all they could to make the most of the somewhat small spaces, featuring hunter-green curtains and golden ropes to accent them, a cherry writer’s desk in the corner and accompanying leather chair, and a beige microfiber club chair by the window.

Tommy entered the room across the hall and joined Sean and Adriana a few minutes after getting settled. “What time do you guys want to get up in the morning?”

“I doubt I’ll sleep much,” Sean answered. “It’s always hard for me to adjust to the new time zones when I travel.”

“Really?” Adriana said. “I never seem to have that problem.”

“You’re lucky,” Tommy commented. “Let’s just say 7:30. Sound good?”

The other two nodded.

The phone in Tommy’s pocket trilled suddenly. His eyebrows lowered, signaling he had no idea who would be calling him at that time of day. Then again, back home it wasn’t that late yet.

A quick look at the screen told him it was Tara. He hit the green button and answered. “Hey, Tara, I’m going to put you on speaker phone. What’s up?”

Tommy hit a blue button on the device’s screen and held it down so everyone could hear.

“I assume you arrived in London without any other incidents.” The young woman’s voice crackled through the speaker.

“No problems on this end,” Tommy reported. “Got something new for us?”

When she spoke, her voice carried a tense excitement. “Do we ever. Remember the pictures of those symbols you sent us from the diary?”

“Of course.”

“Right. Obviously, you remember. Anyway, from what we can tell so far, it looks like our friend Francis constructed what we call a skyscraper cipher.”

“Skyscraper cipher?” Adriana frowned.

“Yeah,” Tara answered. “Obviously, that’s not what they called it back then. Originally, it was called a stacked cipher. Essentially, you have to look at the symbols from a three-dimensional perspective. Each line and shape has its own meaning. They stack them on top of each other to produce a code that is three, four, even five levels deep, just like constructing stories of a building one on top of the other. By doing the cipher this way, unraveling the secret it contained was almost impossible two hundred years ago.”

“I can see why,” Sean chimed in. “Do you have any idea what it says?”

“We’re still working on that. Alex is running a program right now that peels back the layers and looks for a common thread. From what we can tell, though, these particular symbols are most likely the cipher key.”

“That means we’re going to probably find more symbols like that,” Tommy said.

“Exactly. If you guys are on the right track, you will probably find another one of these. Hopefully, we will have the key unwrapped by the time that happens.”