The Norse Directive (18 page)

Southampton, England

Sean gasped for breath as he lay on the cold stone floor inside the crypt. Adriana and Tommy hurried over to him and turned on their phone lights to illuminate the eerie darkness.

“You’re gonna be okay, buddy,” Tommy said, though his tone was full of distress.

Adriana knelt beside Sean and put her hand on his face. A tear welled in her eyes, though no one could see it in the black chamber. She remained silent, though her heart yelled out a thousand different things.

Sean grunted, his face twisting as he winced in pain. “There are so many profane things I want to say right now.” His eyes squinted hard.

Tommy checked Sean’s torso. He saw where the bullet entered through the jacket, but there was no blood. “Why aren’t you bleeding?” Tommy asked, wondering how that was possible.

Sean planted his hands on the ground and scooted over to the side of the sarcophagus. He labored to perform even a simple movement. He rested for a second with his back against the heavy stone, then reached into his jacket pocket and removed his trusty money clip. The flattened bullet was firmly imbedded into the metal, as well as his driver’s license and a few debit cards. But it hadn’t penetrated. He forced a laugh. “Looks like I’m going to need a new one of these.”

Adriana slapped his shoulder. “I thought you were dying, rolling around on the ground in pain like that.”

Sean tightened up again at her reaction. “Trust me, sweetheart, it does hurt.” He gently touched his chest where the bullet had stopped. “That’s gonna be a nasty bruise tonight.”

“Better a bruise than dead, you lucky son of a gun,” Tommy said with a smile. “Can you stand?”

Sean swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah.”

With the help of his companions, he wobbled back onto his feet, bracing himself on the edge of the stone box.

“They locked us in,” Tommy overstated the obvious.

Sean passed on the opportunity to reply sarcastically. “Yeah. And they have the coin.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone. Ten seconds later, he was on the phone with Jim.

“Ello,” Jim answered in his jovial accent.

“Jim. It’s Sean. We ran into a bit of a snag.” Sean proceeded to tell their driver of their predicament, and how to find them, giving a few quick and easy-to-follow directions. When it sounded like Jim had the details he needed, Sean hung up.

He tried to take a deep breath, but it still felt like there was a twenty-pound weight sitting on his chest. His hand involuntarily went up to the spot where the bullet had miraculously stopped.

“Sit back down,” Tommy ordered in a kind tone. “Just take it easy.”

Sean shook his head. “I’ll be fine.” He looked around and took in their surroundings again. He switched on his phone light and scanned the room, shining the light back and forth before stopping on the skeletal remains in the coffin.

Adriana looked at him, puzzled. “What are you looking for?”

Sean leaned into the stone box and began patting down the dead man’s tattered clothing. “Anything we might have missed. The coin isn’t necessarily the clue to the next location. It’s possible that the coins are simply the markers or the beacons.”

The other two thought about his logic for a moment and then circled around to the other side to assist with the search.

Tommy hesitated for a second, staring down at the corpse. “Sorry to disturb your rest,” he said reverently.

The comment caused Sean to pause for a moment as well. He gave a quick nod, and the three began checking pockets and inner compartments of Stuart’s uniform. Sean carefully moved the hands away from the torso and pulled the left breast of the red coat back, but there was nothing inside.

Adriana gently removed the man’s hat and checked the inside. She stuck her hand into the headpiece, her fingers tripping across something unusual. She grabbed the object and pulled it out. “I’ve got something,” she announced, causing the two men to stop their search in its tracks.

All three lights redirected to the object in Adriana’s hand. Their wide eyes stared at it in disbelief. Whatever she was holding had been wrapped in cowhide like a Christmas present and tied with a bow made of hemp. The rectangular object within was only about eight inches long and maybe six wide.

Adriana set the piece down and carefully untied the knot. The string nearly fell apart in her hands, but she was able to get it undone. Next, she pulled back the folds of the dried-out leather, one section at a time, to see what was inside. Each person in the room held their breath in anticipation.

When her delicate fingers had finished unwrapping the cowhide, the curiosity factor increased by a factor of ten.

Tommy swallowed hard. “Do me a favor, and give me that,” he said, taking off his jacket. “We don’t want our fingers to damage it.”

She nodded slowly as Tommy held his coat across both hands to provide a makeshift hammock.

Adriana ever so carefully placed the object into the cradle Tommy had created. The three Americans continued to stare at what she’d found.

The pale glow of the LED lights revealed a book that appeared to be several hundred years old. The edges of the pages had browned over time, and were brittle to the touch. The tanned cover, made from a leathery substance that Sean assumed was calfskin, displayed a few faded words on its surface. The companions arched their backs, hunching over the sarcophagus to try to get a better view of what the lettering spelled out.

Sean hovered over the cover with his light for a few more seconds before he read the title of the book out loud. “
Hamlet
by William Shakespeare.”

“Why?” Tommy asked. “Why would he have a copy of Shakespeare’s Hamlet buried with him?”

Sean tipped his head to the side and then straightened. “Why was Frank Sinatra buried with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s? Because it was his favorite.”

“Good point.” Tommy sighed, though he wasn’t convinced that was all there was to the story.  He knew Sean wasn’t either.

Adriana continued to stare at the book. She’d been silent, deep in thought about it for the last minute or two. Now she spoke up. “It most certainly has more to it than that. Remember what we learned about Holger Danske?” She didn’t wait for the men to answer. “He was from Denmark. And there is a statue of him in the basement of the Kronborg Slot in the town of Helsingor.”

Sean started to connect the dots. His face lit up at the realization. “Right. That castle was the setting for Shakespeare’s
Hamlet
.”

“Exactly,” she emphasized the answer with a point of her index finger.

Tommy began gently rewrapping the book in its protective leather casing. “We need to get this book back to the kids at the lab and let them analyze it. I don’t think it would be wise to open it here with all the moisture. There could be another clue inside, but it’s not worth the risk of damaging it.”

“Agreed,” Sean said. “As much as I’d love to go straight to Denmark from here, we don’t need to get ahead of ourselves.” He rose back up and winced again at the pain in his chest.

“You probably need to see a doctor,” Adriana advised, putting her arm on his shoulder in a caring manner.

“She’s right,” Tommy said. “You could have a broken rib or something.”

Tommy’s depth of knowledge of history was unrivaled. He knew more about the ancient world than anyone Sean knew. His medical wisdom, however, was quite the opposite. Sean looked back to a moment from college when Tommy thought he was going to die. He’d been hit on the ear with a baseball, and the ear was bleeding from a cut on the lobe. Tommy panicked, thinking that the blood was coming from inside his ear and requested to be rushed to the hospital.

The doctor said he was fine and that he might experience a little ringing for a day or two, but there was nothing life threatening.

Sean decided not to bring that story up, instead blowing off the dull pulsing from his ribcage. “I’ll be fine. When we get back to the States, I’ll have someone take a look at it.” Then his attention went to the door. “Right now, we need to focus on getting out of here.”

He stepped over to the entrance and shone his light on the crack between the two doors. It was nearly completely sealed, barely revealing any daylight from the other side. He listened closely and heard the sound of footsteps skidding to a stop.

There was a momentary pause before something heavy tapped on the door. “Sean? Are you guys in there?” Jim’s accented voice echoed in the tiny stone chamber.

Sean could tell their driver was trying to be subtle. If anyone saw him talking to a crypt, they might start to wonder. The idea nearly made him laugh. “Yeah, we’re in here. Can you break the lock?”

The doors shuddered for a few seconds. Jim was clearly grasping the lock and jerking it back and forth. “We’ll probably need a bolt cutter,” he said finally. “I don’t think I can get it open. I’m assuming you don’t want me to find the cemetery manager and get them to open it.”

“We would definitely like to avoid that if at all possible,” Sean said, grinning in the dark.

“Okay. There’s a hardware store up the street. Stay here, and I’ll go get something to cut that lock off.”

“All right,” Sean said sarcastically. “We’ll stay put.”

Jim didn’t respond for a moment, realizing the hilarity of what he’d said. “Right. Sorry about that. I’ll be right back.”

The footsteps tracked away from the crypt’s alcove and faded away.

Sean walked back over to the side of the stone box and stared into his friends’ faces. He motioned with his head toward the entrance. “He’ll be back in a minute.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “Nothing like hanging out in a crypt with a dead person for a half hour.”

While they waited on Jim to return, Tommy contacted the IAA pilot and requested that he file a flight plan to return to Atlanta in the next three to four hours. The man acknowledged the request and ended the call.

Twenty-eight minutes after he left, Jim rapped on the crypt’s wooden doors.

Sean and the others rushed over to the entrance. “We’re still here,” Sean said cynically.

“Right,” Jim responded, ignoring the humorous comment. “I got the bolt cutter. Just give me a minute, and I’ll have you out of there.”

Seconds later, the sound of metal on metal creaked from just beyond the doorway. It was followed by a sudden snap and the clank of the lock hitting the stone threshold. The two doors swung open, and the gray Southampton daylight poured into the crypt.

Despite the day being overcast, the sudden exposure back into the open air caused the three Americans to squint and cover their eyes for a moment.

Jim stood just beyond the alcove with a pair of heavy-duty bolt cutters hanging from one hand. He wore a proud look on his face that was also painted with befuddlement. “How in the world did you get locked in there?”

“We’ll tell you all about it,” Sean answered first. “Did you happen to see anyone suspicious leaving the grounds?”

Jim thought about it for a second before answering. “Nah,” he shook his head. “Not that I can think of.”

Sean didn’t worry about it. Whether Jim had seen the men or not would make no difference.

“Although,” the Englishman raised a finger. “I did see a few blokes in black coats leaving in a car together. I figured they were here for a funeral or to pay their respects or something.”

“Petrov,” Tommy said.

Jim put the story together on his own. “So the guys that were chasing you followed you here and put you in that grave? Why? And how did they know you were here?”

“Not sure,” Sean said. “But we need to get back to London. We have a plane to catch.”

Jim looked at one, then the other, then back to Sean. He put his hands out. “Hey, you’re the boss. Sure you don’t want to stick around for the soccer match this afternoon? The Saints are playing Aston Villa.”

“Next time,” Sean said with a grin.

Paris

Petrov watched closely as the parade of four scantily clad girls marched out of the room through a door in the far corner.

Dufort sat in a high leatherback chair, staring at the last of the females as she disappeared into the dark underbelly of the mansion. He’d just received the new batch earlier in the day. Since arriving, they’d gone through the standard procedures of being cleaned, checked for diseases, and then promptly drugged.

The latter was extremely important. One of his connections was with a drug dealer who had produced an excellent mixture. It kept the girls awake, but in a heavily stoned state. They wouldn’t fall asleep like with some sedatives, which was something many of Dufort’s clients had requested.

The door in the corner closed, and Dufort stood from his chair. His head of security, Fabien Caron lurked nearby against the wall, next to the exit. Of all the rooms Petrov had seen in Dufort’s mansion, this one seemed the most menacing. It resembled a miniature ballroom without the dramatic drapes, carpets, or chandeliers. Blank concrete walls surrounded the lone chair in the middle. It was where Dufort did a sort of intake interview of his new stock.

Today’s haul had been impressive. Three of the young girls had an exotic look to them. If he’d had to guess, Petrov would have said they were from South America, most likely Brazil.

“Show me,” Dufort held out his hand and stalked toward the Russian.

Petrov dug into his black windbreaker and fished out the coin. He palmed it for moment, looking down at it with a kind of arrogance. Dufort wasn’t a patient man, so Petrov gave him the coin quickly.

“It took a lot of effort to get that thing,” he said as Dufort turned around and held the piece of gold up to the light.

The Frenchman didn’t respond, still eyeing the coin carefully. He flipped it over and stared at the back, examining the surface with narrow slits for eyes. “Fascinating,” he said finally. “Absolutely fascinating.”

“I am glad you are impressed.”

“Very. I am very impressed.” Dufort turned around and faced the Russian with an expectant expression on his face. “What else do you have for me?” He held out his hand again after the question.

Cluelessness washed over Petrov. He shook his head. “What do you mean? You said you wanted the coin. I got you the coin.”

Dufort’s demeanor changed instantly. He held up his hands as if trying to stop a car. “Wait. You’re telling me that you only have the coin? That you have nothing else?”

“That was what you said you wanted. There was nothing else in the coffin except the coin.”

“Are you sure?”

Petrov got defensive. “Yes. Of course I’m sure. There was nothing in the box but the body and the coin. It was on his chest. I made sure Wyatt took nothing else.”

Dufort’s eyebrows lowered at the last bit of information. “Wyatt was there? At the cemetery?”

“Yes. We followed them to the grave that contained this. We trapped them in the crypt. I killed Wyatt and left him there.”

“And what about the other two?” For the moment, Dufort was distracted from the topic of the coin and was now concerned about loose ends. Usually, the Russian was extremely efficient, ruthless even. In this instance, it seemed he’d got a little sloppy.

“A funeral arrived while we were in the process of taking the coin. I shot Wyatt in the chest, and we locked the other two in the crypt with him.” Petrov stumbled through the explanation, hoping it satisfied his employer.

One of Dufort’s eyebrows rose slightly. “You shot him and then locked the three of them in a crypt with a dead body?”

“Da.”

There was a momentary pause. Then Dufort erupted in laughter. He spun around as he continued to bellow.

Petrov waited for the laughter to die down before he spoke again. “They will not be any trouble to us, if they even get out of there. Wyatt is dead, and the other two are harmless. The treasure is as good as yours.”

Dufort took a long, deep breath. When he finished, his face grew sour, seeming to take on every shadow in the room. “Did you see Wyatt die?”

“What? I told you. I shot him and locked them in the crypt. We left quickly to get the coin back to you.”

The Frenchman stepped closer. Petrov could smell his expensive cologne as it wafted up and trickled through his nostrils. “Did. You. See. Him. Die?” Dufort was sure to emphasize every single word as pointedly as possible.

Petrov glanced over at one of his men, the American standing next to Fabien Caron. He swallowed hard and then turned his head quickly from side to side. “No. But he is dead.”

“So you didn’t see him die, but you know he is dead?”

“It would have taken a miracle. Even if someone had got them out of the crypt, he would have been dead by the time he reached a hospital.”

Dufort’s eyes peered through Petrov. He was growing tired of the Russian’s blubbering explanation. “Let’s assume, because that’s what you’re doing, assuming, that Wyatt is dead. What about the other two? You said they were still alive.”

Petrov continued to stumble through his words. “We couldn’t shoot them. The funeral was approaching too fast. We barely had time to throw them into the crypt before anyone could notice.”

“I see. You do realize that we have two loose ends running around now, and we have no idea where they are.” Dufort’s irritation had reached boiling point.

“No,” Petrov shook his head. “They will not be any trouble to us anymore. They are harmless.”

Dufort spun around suddenly and took several steps away before turning back to face the Russian. “Do you know who Tommy Schultz is?”

“What?”

The Frenchman yelled at the top of his lungs this time. “Do you know who Tommy Schultz is?”

The shouting caused Petrov to shudder for a brief second, but he stood his ground. He feared no one. Respected power and money, sure, but fear? Never. “Of course, he was the friend of Wyatt.”

“And what does he do for a living?”

“He’s an archaeologist. Nothing to worry about.”

“Oh? And what about the girl? Is she harmless as well?”

Petrov didn’t have an immediate answer. At least not one that he wanted to blurt out. The truth was that he’d not been able to find out anything about her. His top resources had scanned through databases all over the world, hacking into every possible nook they could find to get information on her. As of yet, nothing had turned up.

“Niet,” he answered with the Russian for no. “No, we do not know anything about her.”

Dufort cocked his head to the side. “I am absolutely baffled by this, dear Nicholas.” His tone carried a heavy sentiment of regret and cynicism. “You have worked for me all this time, going above and beyond to provide tremendous services for me. Are you slipping? Perhaps you are too old for this sort of thing.”

Petrov suppressed the urge to swear at the Frenchman. He could snap the smaller man like a twig, but he would never make it to the exit. Petrov’s men were armed, but one was upstairs in the main part of the mansion. The other one was outnumbered. And he was a mercenary. If a gunfight broke out, he’d look to save his own skin first.

The tension in the room continued to build, like the deep rumble in a mountain just before an avalanche.

“Schultz is a trained killer, Nicholas. He may not be as proficient at it as his counterpart, but make no mistake, as long as he is alive, he’s a threat. What’s worse is that he has vast resources. Money is no object to him, and if he wants, he will spare no expense to get whatever it is he seeks.”

Dufort drew in another breath before continuing. Petrov’s level of discomfort was evident to all eyes in the room.

“I’ll give it to you on the topic of the woman though. Information on her was difficult to find. That task took deeper measures than I would have expected. Her name is Adriana Villa. She was born in Spain, to a wealthy landowner just outside Madrid. Her father did undercover work for the Spanish government and is rumored to do surveillance and intelligence for the United States as a freelancer. We aren’t sure exactly where, but all signs point to him living somewhere in South America.

“She has homes in the United States, Spain, and a few other locations in Europe. It seems she likes to jump around.”

Embarrassment was beginning to set in on Petrov’s face. He started to offer an explanation, but Dufort cut him off, holding up a dismissive hand as he continued to recite the dossier.

“The woman is an international thief, stealing priceless art from the wealthy and giving the paintings away like a mad Robin Hood. The stories claim that she returns stolen art to the original owners.” He spat a quick laugh at the last part. “How clichéd. My question for you, dear Nicholas, is how was I, a humble business owner, able to dig up all of this information and you were not when that is your area of expertise?”

“I don’t know where you got all of that, but I can assure you that I did all I could in my power to find her identity.” A bead of sweat rolled down Petrov’s temple.

“The way you have handled this entire operation has been sloppy, Nicholas. It feels like you are becoming a loose end yourself.” Dufort motioned for Caron to step forward.

The bodyguard obeyed and took three long strides toward his boss. He reached into his jacket and produced a black pistol. The long black barrel was a signature of the company that made it. Most people didn’t use a .50-caliber handgun; Caron used it only for special occasions.

Dufort took the weapon with a bow of the head and pulled the slide back. He raised it swiftly, aiming it at Petrov’s heart. “Do you know what a Desert Eagle .50-caliber will do to a human chest, Nicholas?”

Petrov never flinched, but he gulped a big swallow of air, and the concentration on his face showed he was desperately trying not to break. He would not apologize. Not to this weak little man. And not in front of his cronies, especially Caron, with his snooty, aristocratic expression that seemed permanently glued to his face. Petrov gave no answer.

“Surely you have seen what a weapon like this can do to a man, Nicholas,” Dufort egged further.

When Petrov spoke, he kept his voice even and calm. “I have stared death in the face more than any man in this room. If you want to kill me, go ahead. Do it. But do not think that I fear it. I do not fear death. And I do not fear any man.”

Dufort seemed to consider the words for a moment. He tilted his head sideways and stared through the Russian. Caron’s expression was unchanging. Petrov fearless eyes stared through Dufort’s.

“You have courage, Nicholas. Of course, I already knew that. It’s one of the reasons I hired you so long ago.” Dufort lowered the weapon.

He retraced his steps back over to the leatherback chair and laid the gun on the seat. “You have done poorly though,” he said, taking off his two thousand dollar, pinstripe suit jacket. He hung the expensive garment over one side of the chair and started loosening his tie.

“I did what you asked,” the Russian defended. “I brought you what you asked for. You have the coin. So what if I let the Americans live? We can kill them later if that is what you want.” He held his hands out as he pleaded his case.

“No, Nicholas. They are most certainly gone now, probably back in the United States at this point.” Dufort had removed his tie as Petrov tried to convince him things were fine. He laid it across the jacket on the chair and unbuttoned the top button of his white shirt, revealing a little olive skin at the base of his neck.

He turned and faced the big Russian.

“So? We go back and get them.”

“No,” Dufort shook his head slowly from one side to the other. “That won’t do. I think we are going to have to make a change in that department.”

“What do you mean?” Petrov eyed the Frenchman suspiciously. He wasn’t sure why his boss had removed his jacket and tie. It looked like he was getting ready for a fight. Surely the little man didn’t intend to engage in hand-to-hand combat with him. Petrov was certain he would break Dufort in half.

Dufort took a slow, deliberate step toward the Russian. “A man so highly decorated as yourself deserves to die on his feet, not like a common criminal.”

Petrov’s face twisted into a frown. “You would not fight me.”

Dufort rolled his shoulders. “It’s that, or I blow a hole in your chest. The choice is yours.”

Even though two other guards lingered in the room, close to the wall, they all took a collective step back to make additional space.

Petrov continued to gaze at the little Frenchman, surprised he would be willing to risk his own life. “And what happens when I kill you?” he asked bluntly.

Dufort held his hands out wide. “You are free to go. Do whatever you want. My men will not harm you.” He cast a sideways glance at Caron to make sure his right-hand man understood. Caron acknowledged the order with a nod.

Petrov looked around the room at the men’s faces, making sure they all would play by the rules. Satisfied, he slowly removed his jacket and tossed it aside on the floor. He cracked his neck from side to side and loosened his arms. Not that he needed to stretch. This was a fight that would be over in a matter of seconds. The moment Dufort got too close, he would grab him and crush him like a walnut.