The Valhalla Prophecy (15 page)

Another silent countdown—then he turned the handle and darted inside.

Natalia was still unconscious on the table. But she was not alone.

The red-bearded man, wearing a white lab coat, was taking a blood sample from her arm. He looked around, annoyed at being interrupted—then his expression flashed to fear as he saw the two armed intruders. He whirled, rushing for a walkie-talkie beside the computer—

Chase shoved open the sliding door and thrust the Kalashnikov at him. “Freeze!”

Hoyt took aim at the Russian’s head. “You heard him. Don’t move.” The man hesitantly retreated.

“Watch him,” said Chase, entering the inner chamber to check on Natalia. The syringe that had been inserted into her arm was slowly filling with dark blood. Even asleep, the young woman’s expression was one of discomfort. He rounded on the Russian again, frowning. “What’ve you done to her?”

Hoyt stepped closer, hefting his weapon threateningly. “Answer him, Ivan. Or don’t you speak English?”

The man blinked.
“Vy Amerikanskya?”
he said, before following it with a rapid-fire protest in Russian. Chase had no idea what he was saying, but the man’s fear was mixed with anger—or outrage.

Hoyt’s response was to shove him hard against the wall. “Just stay there and shut the fuck up,” he said, holding his AK with one hand while he started to open the drawers and cabinets with the other. “She okay, Chase?”

“No fucking clue, I don’t know what they’ve been doing.” The bruises on her arms stood out clearly under the harsh overhead lights. He turned angrily to the—doctor? Scientist? “What’s in those drips? Will it hurt her if I take them out?” The man regarded him uncomprehendingly, so he took hold of one of the plastic intravenous lines as if to pull it out. The Russian’s expression changed, but not to the worry Chase would have expected of a doctor faced with a threat to his patient;
more a dismay that he was about to lose something important. “I’ll take that as a no.”

He peeled away the tape holding the needle in place, then pulled out the IV feed. A small bead of blood swelled at the center of the exposed bruise. The scientist objected; Hoyt thumped him in the stomach with his rifle butt, the Russian collapsing to the floor. Chase removed the other lines, then carefully extracted the little syringe from Natalia’s arm and tossed it away. “Natalia?” he said, leaning closer. “Can you hear me?” Her eyelids twitched slightly, but she was a long way from being conscious. “Bollocks. We’ll have to carry—What’re you doing?”

Hoyt had shrugged off his backpack, sliding the laptop inside before resuming his search of the drawers and stuffing handfuls of what Chase guessed were research notes in with the computer. “Finding out what they’re working on.”

“That’s not why we’re here. Help me get her up.”

“In a minute. She ain’t going anywhere.”

“She won’t be if you don’t give me a fucking hand,” Chase complained, but the American was still rifling through the cabin’s contents. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered before turning back to the young woman. He gently patted her cheek, but there was no response.

She was still connected to the medical monitors. Chase glanced at them, hoping they would show some change in her condition.

Hoyt was reflected in one of the screens. His gun swung toward the Russian, who was trying to push himself back upright—

The Kalashnikov’s thudding bark was almost deafening in the small space as it unleashed a three-round burst. The scientist’s white coat erupted with splashes of deep red as the bullets tore through his chest.

“Jesus
Christ
!” Chase yelled, his ears ringing. “What the
fuck
are you doing?”

“He was coming at me,” Hoyt replied.

“No he wasn’t—he was just sitting there, you fucking
psycho! Now the whole fucking camp knows we’re here—”

The smoking AK swung around on a new target: Chase. “Drop your gun,” the American ordered coldly. “Do it, or I’ll put you down too.” Chase reluctantly let his rifle clatter to the metal floor. “Okay, you’re gonna be my pack mule. Pick her up. Now!”

The Englishman lifted Natalia off the table. She moaned faintly, but was still limp. “You bastard,” he growled as Hoyt closed his backpack and reshouldered it. “You knew they were doing this to her, didn’t you?”

Hoyt ignored his question, instead gesturing toward the exit. “Okay. Get her outside, and we’ll—”

The door opened. The man with the feeble mustache rushed in, rain-soaked hair draped over his forehead. He started to say something in Russian, only to halt abruptly as he took in the scene. Hoyt’s gun locked on to him. The new arrival stared at the American, watery blue eyes wide—then with a startled gasp he stumbled backward down the stairs into the storm.

Hoyt watched him run, then snapped his gun back to Chase. “Go.”

Chase carried Natalia to the door and looked outside. The gunfire had roused the camp, people scrambling from the tents. The running man reached one just as another Russian emerged. Chase recognized him as the lean-faced man who had been with the scientist earlier. He was not just the leader of the Russians; from the responses of the Vietnamese as he shouted orders, he was in overall charge of whatever was going on.

“Move it!” Hoyt shouted. Chase descended the stairs to the waterlogged ground. Natalia was instantly soaked by the lashing rain, her thin medical gown sticking to her skin. “Get to the trees!”

Two of the “bandits” ran toward the cabin, their AKS-74Us raised—but an urgent command from the head Russian stayed their fire. Hoyt, however, had no such restraints. He unleashed a swathe of bullets that took down both men, then leapt from the doorway to follow Chase into the undergrowth.

Shouts came from the big tent. Chase saw a Vietnamese man rush from its entrance, waving frantically. He wasn’t one of the guards: that meant Sullivan, Castille, and the others had already got the prisoners out without being seen.

But they couldn’t have gone far in so short a time. He expected some of the kidnappers to start after them—but instead their entire focus was on the two men and one woman who had just left the cabin.

They want Natalia back—but why?

Chase had no time to dwell on the thought. Squinting as the wind sent stinging rain into his face, he ran deeper into the jungle. Behind him, Hoyt stopped and took something from a pocket. He lobbed it through the cabin’s open doorway. A couple of seconds later there was an explosion, followed by a swelling, crackling roar. An orange light washed over the encampment. The grenade was an incendiary, setting the laboratory—and everything still inside—aflame.

The American set off after Chase. But the gap between them now gave the camp’s inhabitants a chance to fire without risking Natalia’s life. More yelled orders, the Russian commander’s voice joined by angry calls in Vietnamese. Shots ripped through the trees. Chase looked back. The spreading blaze provided enough light to show Hoyt ducking into cover before returning fire. A scream came from the camp as another man was hit.

The Englishman also saw others spreading out, trying to cut off his escape. He changed direction, weaving between the swaying trunks. Getting away from Natalia’s captors was now his primary objective—but escaping from Hoyt was a close second. He didn’t doubt for a moment that the American would kill him to protect his secret.

Hoyt and the Vietnamese exchanged more shots. Chase kept running. He had lost his bearings in the confusion, pounding across a steepening slope, but couldn’t do anything more than head away from the camp. No way to tell where Castille and the others were …

The radio
. He could warn Sullivan about Hoyt!

Chase raised his arms, clumsily shifting Natalia’s weight as he tried to switch on the walkie-talkie. He finally found the dial and turned it, hearing a click from the headset. “Hal! Can you hear me? This is Eddie, do you read me? I’ve—”

The ground disappeared in front of him.

With a yelp, Chase threw himself onto his back just in time to avoid careering over a near-vertical drop. Natalia was not heavy, but she still weighed enough to wind him as she landed on top of him. He dug his heels into the mud and pushed himself away from the precipice. He was at the edge of the valley he had seen on the map, the dark chasm below ready to swallow the unwary.

He struggled back to his feet. The radio crackled, Sullivan’s voice barely discernible. “Chase? Where are you? Are you okay?”

He set off again, angling up the slope. “Hal, I’ve got Natalia, but Hoyt—”

The crack of a gunshot and the thud of a bullet hitting a tree right beside him were simultaneous.

Chase spun, adrenaline and fear surging. He expected to see Hoyt, but the shape approaching through the rain-filled murk was smaller. A woman—one of the Russians—took on form, a white coat partly visible under her rain gear and a pistol in her outstretched hand. She shouted at him, but he didn’t understand the words.

Sullivan spoke through the headset again, but Chase didn’t answer. The woman advanced, aiming at his head. She almost stumbled as a gushing rivulet caused mud under her foot to slip away, but with Natalia in his arms Chase couldn’t do anything to take advantage.

The Russian repeated her demand, flicking the gun toward the ground for emphasis.
Put her down. Now
. She was easily close enough to shoot him without risking injury to Natalia; the only reason she hadn’t done so already was that if he dropped her, she might roll down the slope and go over the edge.

They were determined to keep her alive, then. But that wouldn’t help him without a major distraction …

One arrived—from an unexpected source.

A hissing rumble came from uphill, growing louder every second. The streams of water running down the slope suddenly became torrents, spray bursting up from rocks and roots. Chase and the Russian woman both looked around—

For a moment he thought the whole hill was melting … before realizing he was staring into a mudslide.

Part of the waterlogged hillside had given way under the relentless force of the tropical storm, and now it was thundering straight at him. The sludgy wave front was only about eight inches high, but that was more than enough to sweep the muddy ground out from under his feet.

Still clutching Natalia, he toppled and slithered helplessly down the slope—and fell with the screaming Russian over the edge into the blackness below.

Nina read through Tova’s translation of the Valhalla Runestone for what felt like the millionth time. The words may have been in English, but by now they seemed to have lost all meaning.

Following the thwarted kidnap attempt on the historian, she and Eddie had been taken to the headquarters of Stockholm County Police. Despite Tova’s statement on their behalf, the couple had been threatened with arrest for crimes ranging from grand theft auto through possession of illegal firearms to murder. To avoid being charged, Nina had reluctantly been forced to draw a big gun of her own: legal immunity. As the director of a United Nations agency she had the de facto status of a senior diplomat, and the same privilege was automatically conferred on her spouse. She had as a result endured an uncomfortable telephone discussion with Oswald Seretse the previous evening, the normally calm and urbane official sounding as close to apoplexy as he ever got before she explained the circumstances, and had no doubt that more questions would come when she returned to New York.

But for now, she and Eddie were both free and able to work. She was working, at least, her laptop linked to
the IHA’s database and trawling for any information that could suggest why Russians might want to steal a runestone or kidnap a historian. That kind of research was not Eddie’s forte, so he had left her to it.

For that matter, where
was
he? She had been so engrossed that she only belatedly realized he was no longer in the hotel suite. Trying his phone got no reply, the call going straight to voice mail.

He might just have forgotten to turn it on, but the fact that he had left without telling her where he was going—or even saying good-bye—perturbed her. She turned back to the laptop, the thought still nagging.

Several minutes later, her phone rang. But a glance at the screen told her it wasn’t Eddie. “Hello?”

“Hello, Nina?” It was Tova. “Are you okay?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“I am fine, thank you. But I am still worried about you and Eddie. I told the Ministry of Justice that you were trying to rescue me, but—”

“That’s okay,” Nina told her, not wanting to relive the diplomatic debates. “Are you at home?”

“Yes—and there is a police car outside, to watch for the kidnappers if they try again.”

“Good.” While Tova seemed calm, Nina could sense the stress in her voice. It was a feeling she knew herself, from unwelcome personal experience. “What can I do for you?”

“I have, ah, been trying to take my mind off what happened by concentrating on work.”

“I know that feeling,” Nina told her with black humor.

“Yes—I said I had been inspired by your work, but I did not expect to have the same kind of experiences as well! I am happy to stay in the lab or my study. But after you told me you were going to look again at all the information about the Valhalla Runestone, I decided to do some more research of my own—about the clue in the runes to the location of the second stone.”

“You said you thought it was at the bottom of a lake?”

“Yes, but before, I did not look any farther. There did not seem to be any point. Now I have gone back to my research and I think I have gotten closer to its exact position. It is remarkable how bad things can focus the mind.” An attempt at a laugh. “But I do not have access to information that would help me confirm if I am right—not easy access, I mean. I would have to search for it in archives, it will take time.”

“What kind of information do you need?”

“Maps, mostly. Old maps of Norway—not only from Viking times, but from one or two centuries ago as well.”

“The IHA database should have that kind of thing. I can access them from my laptop. You can have whatever you need.”