The Norse Directive (16 page)

Southampton, England

Jim parked the SUV behind an unoccupied cottage. The
For Sale
sign out front made it a perfect place to lie low while Tommy worked out the cipher. The small, cream-colored home featured a quaint garden in the back. The steep roofing was covered in dark ceramic tiles. Thick shrubs wrapped around the front yard and stretched down both sides of the cottage, providing a little extra privacy for potential residents. The shrubs were one of the reasons Jim had chosen the place to hide while Tommy did his thing. 

Even with the key, the code was extremely complicated, and the translation of it came slowly. Tommy’s eyes darted back and forth between the image on Adriana’s phone and the one on his phone’s screen. Due to the size of the key, he had to occasionally scroll up or down depending on which letter needed to be found.

“I’m glad you’re good with these things, buddy,” Sean said, staring at his friend as he worked out the cipher. “I don’t really have the patience for it.”

Tommy wrote down another letter in a little notepad. He’d been working on it for the last fifteen minutes, and already had a significant portion of the translation complete. “I’ve always loved puzzles,” he said in a hushed tone. “And this one is particularly interesting.”

Sean kept a wary eye through the windshield, just over the driver’s shoulder. He hoped that the man he now knew as Nicholas Petrov would have been apprehended by the authorities. Escaping Bargate would have been tricky. Sean and his companions narrowly escaped before the police arrived. Even if Petrov were able to get away from Bargate, he would have been seen, and police all over the region would be alerted to his presence.

Somehow, that didn’t exactly imbue Sean with a ton of confidence. If what Emily said about Petrov were true, and he had no reason to believe otherwise, it would take more than a few local cops to bring him in.

The rain picked up, pounding the roof and windshield with heavier drops, driven by a light coastal breeze.

“You’re welcome for the beautiful weather,” Jim said in a sarcastic tone.

Sean snorted a quick laugh at the comment. “Yeah, this is one of the reasons I never bought a place over here.”

“Ah, you get used to it, just like anything else.”

“Not sure if I could,” Adriana said. “I prefer warm climates and sunshine.”

The seconds ticked by like a hammer on an anvil, one inching by after another. Jim seemed relaxed enough, while his American passengers feared that the men pursuing them would magically appear at any moment.

Tommy’s writing pace increased, reaching an almost frantic pace until he stopped and said, “I’ve got it.”

Sean and Adriana leaned forward simultaneously, eager to hear what their friend had deciphered.

“It’s a location and a clue,” Tommy said, tapping on the translation.

The sheet read,
Histon Road Cemetery. Find the one who started the journey.

“Is that near here?” Sean asked after reading the two lines.

Jim thought hard. “I don’t know of any place by that name around here. There are several old cemeteries in Southampton, but I don’t know of one by that name.”

Adriana was already on it, working her magic with the Internet on her phone. “What about Southampton Old Cemetery?” she asked, about to click on the map to point the way.

“Oh, sure. I know that one.”

“It seems the cemetery was formerly known as Histon Road, but the name was changed in 1846 when it reopened.”

Jim nodded slowly. “Right. That one is about ten, maybe fifteen minutes away.”

“I thought you two were hoping you wouldn’t have to dig up any graves,” Adriana commented wryly, an eyebrow lifted slightly at Tommy and Sean.

“With any luck,” Tommy said, “we won’t have to.”

Jim’s eyes darted suspiciously around the SUV’s cabin. “Wait. What do you mean by digging up graves?”

SSSSS

The deluge dissipated to an occasional spit of rain, though the heavy clouds overhead remained a constant threat for precipitation. Jim pulled the SUV off the road and into a parking lot that had fallen into disrepair decades prior. The asphalt had more cracks than not, and in several places had been worn away by time and erosion. A moss-covered red brick wall with faded concrete coping wrapped around the Southampton Old Cemetery. Just beyond the wall, homes built from similar red brick lined the other side of the street.

“Would you like me to stay with the car?” Jim asked. He sounded as if he already knew the answer.

Sean stepped out and leaned in through the open door. “Yeah. And do me a favor. Circle around to the other side of that wall over there. There should be some parking spots along the sidewalk, and you’ll be out of sight. Just keep the motor running. I have a bad feeling we may need to get out of here quickly.”

Jim didn’t seem worried when he responded. “Understood.”

The three passengers walked toward the concrete arch leading into the cemetery. Behind them, Jim eased the vehicle back onto the road and disappeared behind the wall at the intersection.

“Expecting more company?” Tommy asked as he turned his head from left to right, surveying the area.

“You know me, buddy. Always be ready.”

They passed through the enormous stone archway and made their way by the white stone Nonconformist chapel.

When the graveyard reopened, the Bishop of Winchester had consecrated a certain section of the land, leaving a small portion of it unconsecrated for the people they called dissenters or nonconformists. The chapels bleached rock walls appeared surprisingly new, along with much of the landscaping near the entrance.

“According to this,” Adriana pointed at her device, “over one hundred thousand people have been buried in this cemetery through the centuries.”

“That’s a lot of graves,” Tommy said, trying to stay respectful in spite of his shock.

“Especially when you consider it only covers twenty-seven acres,” Adriana added.

“Many are likely in catacombs,” Sean entered the conversation, then turned it back to the task. “We need to find a quicker way to Francis Jackson’s grave. Any ideas other than wandering around looking at headstones?”

The other two didn’t have any suggestions.

“There’s a map,” Sean said, pointing at a bulletin board near the walkway.

Tommy shook his head. “That identifies sections, but it won’t necessarily have names on there. Only names of some of the more well-known tenants.”

“We’re going to have to split up,” Adriana said. “It’s the only way for us to save time. I’ll head that way. You two can decide which direction you want to go. If you find Jackson’s grave, text the other two.”

She headed off toward the northwestern area of the cemetery, leaving Sean and Tommy gawking behind her.

“I thought you didn’t want to split up since it would be safer that way?” Tommy said with a slack jaw.

Sean shrugged and gave a lopsided grin. “Yeah, but when she sets her mind to something, there’s no stopping her. Either get onboard, or get out of the way.”

“She sure is determined.”

“You have no idea. Just put it this way, if someone does find us here, it would probably be better for them if they found you or me.”

Sean pointed behind the chapel. “I’ll head back there. You can take this area over here. Like she said, text us if you find something.”

“Will do,” Tommy answered with a short nod.

Sean strode around the back of the chapel, hurrying his steps as he moved. The blackish-gray clouds rolled ominously through the sky above. It was still a few hours from twilight, but walking around a several-hundred-years-old cemetery had a huge creepy factor no matter what the time of day. He wouldn’t have been ashamed to admit that being there at night would be somewhat unnerving.

As he made his way around the corner of the little church, Sean realized he’d probably given himself the toughest assignment of the three. Tall weeds grew everywhere among the headstones. Some of the monuments were nearly half-covered by the overgrowth. Skeletons of old trees popped up here and there, adding to the eeriness of the graveyard, occasionally mingling with an old oak bursting with green leaves. Thick patches of clover ran across some of the burial mounds and atop flush headstones on the ground. Finding Jackson’s grave back here would be a difficult task to say the least.

He remembered his days of working in the landscaping industry during college and wished more than ever that he had one of the old weed whackers he’d used so many times on his employer’s property. Unfortunately, he was going to have to pull back the overgrowth by hand to check the tombstones.

Sean stepped from one grave to the next, reverently trying not to step on the sunken mounds as he searched each monument. Some of the older headstones were so old that the engravings were barely visible. Visiting cemeteries had always been a point of fascination for Sean. While he was saddened to be surrounded by those who had passed, he also marveled at what they might have accomplished during their lives, what their personalities were like, and what kind of work they did.

Many of the tombstones were tilted at awkward angles from years of weather, erosion, and the earth shifting beneath them. Some featured eighteenth century crosses carved out of the stone tops. Sean stepped high over some of the taller weeds and proceeded deeper into the cemetery’s oldest section. The rolling field stretched at least a hundred yards to a tangled strand of ancient trees on the other side. Each tree stood like a guardian on the boundary of the place of rest.

Sean took in a long breath and sighed.
I need to be more methodical about this,
he thought. One thing he’d noticed was the loose grouping of headstones according to the year they died. It made sense, the more he thought about it. The people in charge of the burials would have filled out the available land as needed. With that logic, Sean assumed those on the far end of the field could be eliminated as potential candidates for Jackson’s grave, since he died in the relatively early nineteenth century.

He checked a tombstone nearby with a date of 1797. Then another that displayed 1802. A third revealed 1803.

If Jackson were buried in that section of the cemetery, he’d have to be nearby.

Sean found a few anomalies to his theory, people who outlived their relatives were buried close to loved ones in their family plots. Those headstones had dates in the 1830s. As he circled around the dense overgrowth, a particular monument stood out above all others. It was an angel, carved from granite, watching over the entire eastern section of the cemetery. Sean made his way over to it and knelt down. He swiped away the tall weeds and read the name.
Francis Jackson.

He pulled the phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text to Tommy and Adriana, then returned his attention to the elaborate monument.

The angel’s face stared off to the south, pointing with one finger outstretched in the same direction. The eyes drooped, as if overcome with sadness. Sean noticed another cipher symbol below the birth and death dates on the placard.

A minute later, Tommy and Adriana rounded the corner of the chapel and stomped their way through the unkempt area, lifting their knees high as they moved.

Tommy spoke first as they arrived at the stone angel. “Hardly a subtle burial place.”

“Right.” Sean affirmed. “And there’s another cipher below the name and dates.”

Tommy knelt down and pulled his little notepad out of his jacket. “Had a feeling I would need this again.”

He started working through the symbols, one after another. This particular cipher wasn’t as complicated as some of the others, and when he’d finished working out the lettering, they all realized why.

The words on the paper read,
The end.

Adriana frowned, as did the two men. “The end? What does that mean?”

Tommy scratched his head. “I guess it could mean that the end is death, but that doesn’t help us with the riddle. Why would Jackson have that put on his tombstone?”

Sean didn’t have an immediate answer. He took a step back and glanced around the area. A car door closed somewhere, the thud echoing across the field. If it were the men who were after them, they would have been a little more subtle. Still, he’d not been alert enough for the past few minutes while searching for the grave.

Adriana and Tommy continued discussing the potential meanings of the message, aimlessly trying to find a solution. Sean stared down at the base of the angel monument. His eyes weren’t trained on the dates or the strange cipher symbol below them. Instead, his pupils were fixed on the name of Francis Jackson. Suddenly, something occurred to him.

“We’re not looking for Francis Jackson,” he blurted out.

The other two stopped in midsentence and turned their heads.

“What do you mean?” Tommy asked, his face representing a lost confusion.

Sean crossed his arms and thought for another second before answering. He pointed at the headstone as he spoke. “We’re not looking for Francis Jackson. Remember? The message he left in his diary said that we have to find the one who started the journey.”