The Norse Directive (7 page)

“You really think they could do that?” Coop sounded hopeful. He rested his elbows on his knees.

“It’s worth a shot,” Sean shrugged. “They’ve got some pretty advanced stuff there at IAA. My friend, Tommy, spared no expense. And their research department is top notch. They’re a couple of regular bloodhounds when it comes to this sort of thing.”

Coop leaned back in his chair and considered the possibility.

“I’m assuming you’re not trying to sell this, that you just want to know more about its origin.” Sean interrupted his host’s thoughts.

“Oh, absolutely. I would never consider selling such a piece. I desperately want to know more about it.” Coop knew what Sean was asking, even though he hadn’t directly asked. “So, you would need to take it to this lab in Atlanta to find out more?”

Sean nodded. He knew it could potentially be a big deal to let such an heirloom go. “This is the kind of thing I did for several years at IAA, Coop. I salvaged and delivered precious artifacts to various government agencies, private owners, that sort of thing. Your coin will be well cared for. I’ll take a few pictures if that’s okay, and send them to Tommy so they can get a head start on the investigation. Might speed things along somewhat.”

Coop thought for a few more moments before answering. “I love it. And I have no doubts that you will take care of my coin, Mr. Wyatt.”

“Call me Sean.”

“Very well, Sean.” Coop clapped his hands together as if to seal the arrangement. “By all means, take as many pictures as you like.” He turned to Charlie who appeared as though he’d just watched a tornado zip by. “Chuck, are you hungry? I know how much you love a good barbecue. It’s not too late for supper, is it?”

“I could eat,” Charlie responded in a gruff tone.

“Sean? Do you like barbecue?”

“Seeing as we missed supper earlier, that actually sounds amazing. But we might need to get back to Chattanooga,” Sean argued despite the grumbling in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if Charlie wanted to hang around or not.

“Gentlemen, I have extra beds here. We can go have a nice meal, you can get some rest, and then head back early in the morning.” Coop would have made a good salesman. Sean wasn’t sure what the guy did for a living, but if it wasn’t in sales, Coop had missed his calling.

“Sounds good to me if Charlie’s okay with it.”

“Let’s eat,” Charlie said, seeming happy about something for the first time all day. 

Their host clapped his hands together again and stood up. “Perfect. Finish taking your pictures, and we will head out to one of my favorite places. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Thirty minutes later, they were seated at a stereotypical red-and-white checkered tablecloth in a place just south of the city. The smells of a wood fire grill and a smoker filled the entire place. Wooden beams, lattices, and rafters gave the restaurant the sense that its patrons were in a giant log cabin.

Sean chewed through a heavily smoked brisket, while Charlie and Coop tore through some baby back ribs. On the way to the restaurant and before their food had arrived, Sean had learned about Coop’s background.

Browning Cooper had served as a medical officer in Operation Desert Storm during the first war the United States had with Iraq. After his tour of duty, he’d gone back to school to finish a degree in dentistry. Having completed a four-year degree before entering the military, it only took another four years of school and a few more of what he referred to as “red tape years” before he opened his own practice.

Cooper had got a late start on his career because of his time in college and then the military. Sean never asked him his age but he guessed the man to be somewhere in his mid to upper fifties. Coop’s original plan had been to get his degree, go into the military and put in his twenty years, and then retire. Like it happens so often in life, plans change: he met a woman.

She’d turned his world upside down in a good way. Coop had never felt like that for anyone before. They got married, and he went back to school. Everything seemed like it was going perfectly. Just two years after opening his practice, though, things went south. His wife was diagnosed with an aggressive form of pancreatic cancer, and she died only a few months later.

As Coop relayed the story, Sean sat quietly, observing the reflections in the man’s eyes. It was the first hint of sadness that had shown itself in Coop since they’d met. Sean had learned long ago never to tell people he was sorry for their loss after something like that. It didn’t make things better. In fact, Sean believed that it was a disservice to the person going through the trials. To say one was sorry meant that they were a victim. Sean believed people could choose to be a victim or not. Coop had clearly chosen not to be. The kind and happy demeanor the man displayed was no accident. Though he had faced an extraordinary tragedy, he’d come out of it on the other side.

Sean didn’t pry further. He didn’t need to ask if Coop ever wanted to remarry or try to find someone else. He could tell that was never going to be in the cards by the way their host told the story.

Coop went on with his tale of how he worked for fifteen years in dentistry before retiring to his little home on the hill just south of the city.

“Now he just sits around and watches TV all day,” Charlie said, clutching a half-eaten rib with fingers from both hands.

Coop let out a genuine laugh and reached for a fresh mug of beer. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a big swig, then placed it back on the table. He rubbed his nose and then threw his hands up.

“He’s not wrong, Sean. I definitely watch too much television. But I much prefer that to the delicate art that is antiquing…” He let the words sink in as Charlie gnawed on the remainder of his last rib.

The old friends eyed each other for a moment before both erupted in laughter. Sean hadn’t really heard Charlie laugh much before. He’d just accepted the idea that his friend was going to be grumpy all the time. It was good to see him enjoying himself.

Sean’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out of his jeans and checked the message.  The text on the screen was only two words from Tommy.

Call me.

Knoxville, Tennessee

Before heading out to the barbecue place for dinner, Sean had taken some photos of the coin and sent them to Tommy in Atlanta. At Sean’s request, Tommy had forwarded the images to his two best researchers, Tara Watson and Alex Simms.

They were two of the best in the world at what they did, though Sean wasn’t really clear on what exactly their jobs entailed for so many hours of the day. Sometimes Sean wondered if Tara and Alex slept at the IAA labs. The way Tommy made it sound, they probably did.

It was well after dark, and the two researchers had likely been there since 9 a.m. When Sean had asked Tommy if they were still there, his friend had responded in a just-between-us tone, “I think they never leave.”

The text message Sean had received could only mean one thing. Alex and Tara had found something. He excused himself from the table and left the noisy restaurant, stepping outside into the warm evening.

The phone rang twice before his childhood friend picked up. “Hey, man. You still in Knoxville?”

“Yeah. We’re probably going to stay the night here and come back early in the morning. What have you got for me?” 

Tommy ceased the pleasantries and pushed the conversation forward. “This is an extremely interesting piece. We really need to get it into the lab to get a better look at it, analyze the metals and all that.”

“I know. I’m bringing it to you in the morning.”

“Oh. Good.” Tommy paused for a second before continuing. “We still don’t know who the guy is on the front of the coin. It could be a Norse god, a king, or someone else. Definitely some kind of Viking. So far, our software hasn’t come up with a match. The kids are working on it though.”

Tommy frequently referred to Tara and Alex as “the kids.” The two were only five or six years younger than he, so the term was probably more playful than anything else.

“What about the runes?” Sean asked. He always preferred to be direct. Wasting time wasn’t something Sean did very often.

“That was why I wanted you to call me. It’s strange. The runes only spell out one word:
awaken.”

Sean paced back and forth on the sidewalk, thinking about the new information. Awaken? What in the world could that mean? The thoughts started mingling with others.

Tommy went on. “Whatever it is, this coin is extremely rare. We won’t know for sure until we run some labs on it, but that kind of writing is definitely old. Where did you say this guy found it?”

“I didn’t.” Sean stopped at the corner of the building, pivoted around, and started strolling back toward the entrance again. “I need you to dig around for a guy named Francis Jackson.”

“Who’s that?” Tommy asked through the earpiece.

“This guy in Knoxville says that the coin is a family heirloom, handed down originally by Jackson. I want you to find out all you can about him.”

Sean imagined Tommy busily taking notes on the other end of the line.

“Okay. Anything else?”

“Other than figuring out who the guy is on the face of the coin, no,” Sean said after a few seconds of consideration. “That’ll do for now.”

“You know,” Tommy’s voice took on a salesy tone, “for someone who’s retired from historical work, you sure seem to be interested in this case.”

Sean snorted a quick laugh. “I knew you were going to say that. And the answer is no. I’m not coming back to work at IAA.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“Come on,” Tommy urged. “You know me better than that. I know you’re happy with your life. But I have to ask, what’s up with this case? Why the interest?”

Sean glanced around the parking lot, eyeing each car suspiciously. He’d been trained to always be observant, to never take anything for granted. In the years following his service to the United States government, some of that training had lapsed, but there were other old habits that died hard.

“I’ll talk to you more about it in the morning. I’d rather have that conversation in person than over the phone. And I’m not entirely sure I’m clean right now.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. A long time ago, Sean had taught Tommy a term they could use in case one of them was being followed. It was a word he’d brought to IAA from Axis. When an agent thought they’d picked up a tail, they said they were dirty. If they lost the person following them, they would say clean. Since the Russian escaped from their grasp earlier, Sean wasn’t about to make any assumptions.

“Understood,” Tommy replied. “I’ll see you in the morning. Be careful,” he added.

“Thanks, Dad, I will.” He grinned and shook his head as he hit the end button, muting the laughter coming from the other end.

Sean opened the door to the restaurant and let out a family dressed in orange-and-white University of Tennessee gear, then reentered the building. His companions still sat at the table, which had been cleared of all the empty plates. Coop was happily signing the bill. Charlie begrudgingly allowed it.

“Hey, Coop, you don’t have to pay for our dinner,” Sean protested.

“Sorry,” he responded. “It’s already been done. You’re my guests, and I’m happy to do it.”

“I tried to stop him,” Charlie defended, returning to his grumpy demeanor.

Coop folded his hands on the table and took on a serious expression. “The truth is, I feel a little guilty too.”

Sean’s face scrunched. “Why’s that?”

Coop shrugged. “I haven’t been completely up front with you, gentlemen. I’ve been keeping something from you regarding the coin.” He looked down at the table for a second with a face awash with guilt. “The coin isn’t the only thing that was handed down by my ancestors. It came with something else.”

Sean’s lips creased in a smile as if he knew what was coming next.

“What do you mean you haven’t been up front with us?” Charlie asked in a demanding tone. “Someone tried to kill me over that darn thing.”

Charlie’s statement startled Coop for a second. “Tried to kill you?”

“Charlie, relax. Let him finish,” Sean tried to ease the momentary tension between the two friends. “Coop, we’ll fill you in later. Please, go on.”

Their host seemed concerned about Charlie’s statement, but continued what he was saying nonetheless. “Very well, but I apologize for any problems this may have caused. The coin has been handed down through generations of my family along with Francis Jackson’s personal diary.”

Charlie stared at his friend for several seconds without saying anything. His mouth drooped wide open, and his eyes remained narrow. Sean remained unfazed. He had a feeling there was something missing from the whole coin story. Now he knew what it was.

“Where is the diary?” Sean asked evenly.

Coop’s bearded face creased into a grin. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a worn, leather book. It wasn’t much more than a notepad, but there was no question of its age. Sean wanted to say something about keeping an important piece of history like that somewhere safe and not around six kinds of barbecue sauce, but he decided to keep it to himself. The diary belonged to Coop. He could do with it what he wanted.

Charlie, on the other hand, was less discreet. “Why in the world would you have that thing on you? And why would you bring it here?”

“I wanted to show it to you two, and I didn’t want to wait,” Coop explained innocently. He handed the little journal over to Sean, who accepted it reverently.

He’d seen his fair share of those sorts of things. Whenever he found something so old, so personal, he couldn’t help but feel a connection to the history and life of the person who’d created it. Over two hundred years ago, someone had been making notes in the book he held at the moment. Sean wondered what trials and journeys the diary had made through the last few centuries to end up in his hands.

Carefully, he opened up the leather as if it would tear asunder. Inside, the pages were still in good shape. Vellum, he thought. Paper would likely have not survived that long, at least not with the owners of the diary taking it out to restaurants and exposing it to the elements.

The writing on the pages had been done in dark ink that was still easily readable. The dramatic cursive lines demonstrated that the person who’d written it was well educated.

Sean started reading, warily making sure he didn’t do any damage to the book.

I managed to convince the king to let me and my men go to Denmark on a secret mission, one of utmost importance.

After learning about Jonathan Stuart’s fascinating encounter with the hidden Danish tomb in 1801, I set about learning all I could about the location of it. The details were hard to come by at first, especially considering the fact that Stuart and his men discovered the burial mound quite by accident.

Our ship let us go ashore before the main bombardment of Copenhagen began. We only had a small amount of time to complete our task before our rendezvous with the fleet on the return trip.

One of my men discovered the burial mound, not far from the famous castle Kronborg near Helsingor. It was just as Stuart had remembered, a fact that surprised me given that he had to recount the events of his discovery through the fog of six years. On top of that, they’d found the tomb in the middle of the night, so seeing landmarks must have been nearly impossible. I suppose Stuart must have taken in the lay of the land during his escape the following morning. 

Getting into the burial mound took a bit of work. Fortunately, we brought the tools necessary for the job, including picks and shovels for digging. The task of uncovering the entrance took less than an hour, due to the fact that it had been opened only six years prior.

Once inside, we were greeted by a stone sarcophagus in the center of the chamber, but upon investigation, it proved empty. In spite of some paranoia and superstition from my men, we spent the night in the tomb, thinking it far more prudent than venturing unwittingly into an enemy encampment in the dark.

We left early the next morning. As my men evacuated the mound, I lingered for a few moments and took a closer look at the inside of the sarcophagus. That was when I discovered the shard.

It was a small piece of stone, no larger than the palm of my hand. On the surface of the object were strange markings, like none I’d ever seen before. I now know these odd lines and shapes are the language of the ancient Norsemen.

Sean turned the page, his eyes wide with fascination. Charlie impatiently tried to shift into a position where he could look over Sean’s shoulder.

My men and I found a frigate flying the king’s colors, hailed them from shore. The ship was returning from the bombardment of Copenhagen with the rest of the fleet. Once back in England, I began my work in earnest to discover what secrets the shard was hiding.

Deciphering the code of the old Viking language took a great deal of time. It did not help that the shard was incomplete. There was enough information, however, to afford me the opportunity to begin my journey.

The shard, as it turns out, was part of a map. What it leads to, I still do not know and fear I never will. My health has taken a turn for the worse as of late, and I fear my days in this world are numbered.

I write these words for the future generations. My son is but a boy at the time of writing this. If you are reading this, Stuart, I hope you will carry out this last of my missions. If you do not, I forgive you, but ask only that you pass this logbook down to your child, that generations of our family may keep it safe.

Along with the journal, I ask that you do the same with the first of what I believe is a set of four golden coins.

Unfortunately, I was only able to complete a quarter of the journey. But you, future generations of Jacksons, may take the difficult path and finish my mission. To date, I do not know the face of the bearded man on the coin. I likely never will. I have searched through books and scrolls, pouring years of my life into this endeavor. Still, I cannot find a clue as to who the man is. I believe him to be an old Viking king or god, but that is mere speculation.

The language on the back is different from the other Norse verbiage I found on the shard. I continue to attempt to decipher it.

Good luck on your journey. The southern gate opens the way for those who pay the toll.

Sean’s wide eyes narrowed as he finished the last passage. The southern gate? That was a strange way to end the entry. He thought for a minute before looking up at Coop. The bushy bearded man stared across the table, his eyes full of wonder.

“Well, Sean, what do you think?”

He didn’t respond for a second, reverently flipping through a few more pages of the diary first. There were strange symbols and more notations from Jackson on the latter pages. Coop’s ancestor had begun a quest to find something. What it was, none of the men at the table knew for sure, but whatever it was, had been important enough that it had consumed Francis Jackson until the day he died.

“It’s interesting stuff,” Sean said finally.

Coop gaffed and leaned back in his chair. “I was hoping for something a little more substantial than a baseline answer like that, Sean.” His barb was only partially serious, though he crossed his arms after saying it.