The Valhalla Prophecy (30 page)

Beyond that, however, he had not been forthcoming with further information. “So you’ve decided to talk now?” Nina said. “Why?”

He smiled. “I do not like it when a husband and wife fight. It reminds me too much of my parents. So. What do you want to know?”

She eyed him coldly. “Everything. Starting with: Who the hell are you?”

He straightened, giving her a salute. “I am Colonel Grigory Alekseyevich Kagan, commander of operations for
Sekcija dvesti odin
—or as it is called in English, Unit 201.”

“And just what
is
Unit 201?”

“On a normal day, if I told you I would have to kill you. It is a state secret. Today, though … I believe that you need to know. So I will tell you, and not kill you.” Another sly grin. “For now.”

Nina was not amused. “So? Get on with it.”

Kagan turned to Eddie. “She is impatient, yes? Red hair, it is like fire in a woman. I like it.”

“Just tell her, Yuri,” the Englishman grumbled.

“Grigory. As you wish.” He looked back at Nina. “Unit 201 was created during the Cold War. It is a biological counterwarfare agency.”

“
Counter
warfare?” said Nina.

“Yes. Over fifty years ago, the Soviet Union discovered
something deep within the earth, a poisonous substance—something first found more than a thousand years earlier by the Vikings.” Nina and Tova, now fully awake, exchanged surprised glances. “At the time, the Soviet leaders thought to turn it into a weapon. That was a mistake. As they found out, it was too terrible to use, ever. So Unit 201 was created to make sure that no one ever did. It worked on ways to deal with the substance, but it was also authorized to take … direct action.”

Nina’s eyes narrowed. “Direct action like killing anybody who might find more of it?” Behind her, Tova stiffened in resurgent fear.

Kagan shook his head firmly. “We are not murderers. We would not have killed you, Dr. Skilfinger. But our enemies had already stolen the runestone, and your research. They would use them to find the second runestone, and from there, Valhalla. We could not allow that to happen, so our intention was to use what you had learned to find and destroy the second stone before they reached it. My apologies.”

Nina was already making connections. “According to the text on the runestone, the Vikings would only travel to Valhalla to prepare for Ragnarök—the final battle. The end of the world.”

“It will be the end of the world if our enemies find it,” said Kagan, nodding.

“But who
are
your enemies?” asked Tova.

“I am afraid, Dr. Wilde, that they are from your country,” the Russian told Nina, who reacted with shock. “In 1961, a Russian scientist tried to defect to America, taking this terrible weapon with him.”

“Natalia’s grandfather,” Eddie said quietly. Kagan nodded again.

Nina regarded her husband quizzically. “Who’s Natalia?”

Kagan answered for him when it became clear he was unwilling to reply. “A young woman, an innocent. Eight years ago, we learned that the Americans had taken an interest in her. Her DNA, her very blood, could give
them what they needed to re-create this scientist’s work. We found her in Vietnam—”

“You
kidnapped
her,” Eddie cut in. “And all the people with her.”

“We had to do it. We could not let the Americans get her. Our plan was to use her DNA to create a neutralizing agent. She and the others would then have been released—the story would be that the Vietnamese police had rescued them. But then”—he gave Eddie a sharp look—“you and your mercenary friends interfered.”

“We were hired to find them,” Eddie told Nina. “Me and Hugo, and some others.”

“But you did not know who had hired you, did you?” Kagan clucked his tongue. “Or that one of your team was a spy working for our enemies. And because of that, two of Unit 201’s best scientists were killed, their research destroyed. And an innocent woman—”

Eddie interrupted again, much more forcefully. “I know what happened.”

The pilot’s voice came from a loudspeaker. Kagan listened, then told the other passengers: “We will be landing soon. The Academician will explain everything.”

“Good,” said Nina, peering back out of the window. The snowy landscape was indeed getting closer. “It’s about damn time somebody gave me a proper answer.” She directed this last at Eddie, who looked apologetic but still said nothing.

Soon the plane crossed over a wide river with towns on both sides, descending toward a long runway beyond the settlement on the east bank. Their destination was not inviting. The surrounding land was a flat expanse of frozen marshes, crisscrossed by concrete taxiways. As the business jet landed and slowed, Nina saw lines of parked aircraft: large, lumbering old beasts whose brutally functional designs, very different from the sleek modernism she associated with American military planes, gave them an almost alien feel.

Eddie looked past her. “It’s Engels air base.”

Kagan reacted with suspicion. “How do you know that?”

“ ’Cause Russia’s only got two active nuclear bomber bases, and the other one’s way, waaaay over in the far east.” He indicated some of the aircraft, these long and menacing jets resembling winged hypodermic syringes rather than the hulking turboprops they had just passed. “And the Tu-160 is a nuclear bomber.”

“You know a lot about the Russian military, Mr. Chase.”

Eddie grinned. “Part of my old job. We never knew when we might be sent to blow up all your planes, so we had to be prepared.”

“You will not be blowing any of them up today,” said Kagan sourly.

Nina sighed. “Oh God. Someone always has to tempt fate, don’t they?” Her husband’s grin widened, while the Russian’s expression became even more disapproving.

The jet trundled along the taxiways, finally powering down outside a squat concrete blockhouse with a rack of large metal tanks along one of its side walls. The travelers disembarked. Nina couldn’t read the Cyrillic text painted on the side of the grim and ugly building, but numbers were the same in Russian and English:
201
. “Follow me,” said Kagan, leading the group toward a broad and very solid-looking set of sliding metal doors.

Three uniformed men came out to meet them, the leader—a stocky officer with dark hair and a rather feeble mustache—engaging Kagan in a brief and somewhat agitated conversation in Russian. The commander made a dismissive gesture before turning to his guests. “This is Captain Slavin,” he announced. “He is in charge of security here at the bunker.”

Eddie frowned at the new arrival. “I remember him. He was in Vietnam.” It was the man who had encountered him and Hoyt in the cabin. The look of surprise on Slavin’s face told the Yorkshireman that the recognition was mutual.

“He was,” Kagan confirmed. “But he has found that his place is standing guard rather than intelligence work. Is that not right, Kolzak Iakovich?”

There was a condescending tone to his words, which Slavin did not appreciate. However, he did not rise to the bait. “Sir, Academician Eisenhov waits for you and your guests,” he said instead, his English rendered almost comical by his placing of emphasis on the wrong syllables.

Nina held in her amusement, but Eddie couldn’t resist. “Thank
you
ve-ry
much
, we’re look
ing!
forward to meet
ing!
him.”

Slavin scowled and gestured toward the doors. “This way.” He reentered the building, his two subordinates marching behind him.

Tova hesitated; Kagan gave her a reassuring smile. “It is all right. Please?” She reluctantly followed the three men into the bunker, Nina and Eddie behind her. They found themselves in a large steel-walled elevator. Nina shivered at the sight of a biohazard warning symbol, a claw-like trefoil of black on yellow, with a long and stern warning sign beneath it. Kagan came in after them and pushed a button. The doors closed, shutting out the cold daylight with a deep clang. There was a distant rumble of machinery building up to speed, then the elevator jolted and began its descent.

“How deep down are we going?” Nina asked.

“The facility is thirty meters underground,” Kagan replied. “It is designed so that in an emergency, it can be completely sealed off from the surface. And if necessary, sterilized.”

Eddie regarded him dubiously. “What do you mean, sterilized?”

The Russian indicated the warning sign. “If there is a biohazard alert, any contaminated section of the bunker can be locked down and everything in it incinerated by acetylene jets. You saw the gas tanks outside the bunker.”

“Have you ever had to do that?” Nina asked, nervously scanning the elevator’s ceiling for said jets.

“Not here,” replied Kagan. “But there was once an … incident, in another place. It is why Unit 201 was created—to make sure it never happened again.”

The elevator came to a stop. The heavy inner doors rumbled open again, another equally thick set parting beyond them. Unlike the weathered barrier on the surface, these were polished metal. The walls and floor of the area past them were covered by stark white tiles. Slavin’s boot heels clicked on them as he stepped out. “The Academician is in his office,” he announced, ushering everyone out.

“There’s your gas jets,” Eddie said quietly as he and Nina emerged into a wide lobby area. She followed his gaze to see a squat black dome in one corner of the ceiling. Other domes overlooked the rest of the bunker’s interior, covering every square inch.

Slavin led them down a broad central passage. There were rooms on each side, all accessed via thick metal sliding doors. Some had windows; Nina glanced in as they passed to see various laboratories, though only a couple were in active use. The occupants gave the new arrivals curious looks from behind goggles and haz-mat suits. More doors obstructed the corridor itself every few dozen yards, the Russian officer using a keycard to open them. As well as the panel for the card lock, each door also had another control board containing a lever behind a glass shutter, ominously bordered by yellow and black warning stripes and marked with the biohazard symbol. She realized the latter system’s function: Anyone activating it would seal the section behind them and fill it with fire.

Side passages branched off between the laboratories, but the group continued along the main corridor until they reached its end. The last door was, incongruously, made of dark, thickly varnished old wood rather than metal. Slavin knocked respectfully upon it. A muffled reply came from within. He opened it and stood back to let the others through.

Even with the out-of-place door as prior warning,
Nina was still taken aback by the room they entered. It was much warmer than the bunker outside, almost stifling. Far from the harsh, sterile tiling of the rest of the facility, this was paneled in wood, overstacked bookshelves occupying much of the wall space. Soft music came from a portable CD player; she belatedly recognized it as Frank Sinatra’s “The Best Is Yet to Come.” Small potted plants were dotted seemingly at random on tables and shelves. There was a musty scent, one that immediately brought back memories of academia, of libraries and lectures.

The room’s occupant perfectly matched his surroundings. The old man was seated in a well-worn wing-back chair, a little round table by its right arm bearing a steaming cup of tea. His suit was slightly too large for his age-shrunken frame, giving him an oddly child-like appearance. She guessed him to be well into his eighties. One of his eyes was milky, but the other was still a piercing blue.

Kagan spoke to him in Russian. The old man nodded, then waved a gnarled hand at the other chairs facing him. “Please, sit,” Kagan told the visitors.

Eddie waited for Nina and Tova to do so before joining them. “Nice place,” he said. “Love how it totally matches the décor outside. Bit hot, mind.”

Their elderly host chuckled throatily. “When you are as old as me, you too will keep your room hot!” His command of English prompted an exchange of surprised looks from his guests. He spoke in Russian; Slavin’s two men departed, though the captain stayed in the room, watching the three Westerners balefully. “Dr. Wilde, Dr. Skilfinger, Mr. Chase: I am Academician Dmitri Prokopiyevich Eisenhov, the director of Unit 201. I have to admit that my feelings are mixed about meeting you, but I am glad that Grigory Alekseyevich”—he waved a finger toward Kagan—“was able to bring you here alive and well.”

“Not everyone on my team was so lucky,” Nina said, anger over events at the lake returning. “Nobody is giving
me straight answers about what the hell is going on. I think it’s time that changed.” She looked directly at Eddie as she spoke; he shifted uncomfortably.

Eisenhov nodded. “You are right. It is time, Dr. Wilde.” He switched off the music, then leaned back. “In the Cold War, the Soviet Union chose to use Novaya Zemlya in the Arctic as a test site for nuclear bombs. To prepare, they surveyed the islands. They found something.” His one clear eye turned toward Tova. “A Viking runestone, marking a deep cave. It held a warning of what was found inside.”

“A warning of what?” Tova asked, intrigued.

Eisenhov spoke in Russian to Kagan, who went to a filing cabinet and took out a folder. He handed it to the old man. “Of death,” said Eisenhov, extracting a large and yellowed photograph. “Of the end of the world.”

He held out the photo. Tova took it, the two women examining the image. Bleak, treeless tundra stretched away into the distance behind a rocky hole in the ground, nothing but blackness visible within. In front of the sinister chasm was a runestone, much like the one from the bottom of the Norwegian lake.

“We in Russia know of the Norse legends,” Eisenhov went on. “The Vikings are part of our history too. But we did not believe there was any truth to their stories of gods and monsters—until we explored the pit.”

Tova peered intently at the photo, but it was too grainy for her to make out any details on the runestone. “I cannot read what it says …”

“I can tell you,” said Eisenhov. “They say the pit is the home of Jörmungandr—the Midgard Serpent.” At the group’s surprise, he continued: “And it is, in a way. I once saw it with my own eyes, a long time ago. It is not a real serpent, but I know why the Vikings would think it was. It was an impressive—and frightening—sight. But it is not the serpent of which we should be afraid. It is its venom.”