Valhalla Rising (52 page)

“We may never have a totally accurate translation,” she said, “but six runologists from here and Scandinavia agree that the inscription reads …” 

Magnus Sigvatson passed this way in year 1035 and claimed the lands this side of the river for his brother, Bjarne Sigvatson, leader of our tribe. Helgan Siggtrygg murdered by Skraelings.
 

“
Skraelings
translates to barbarians or lazy heathen, or in the old vernacular, wretches. We must assume that Siggtrygg was killed during a clash with local native Indians, the early ancestors of the Sioux and Ojibway.”

“Magnus Sigvatson.” Pitt spoke the name softly, accenting each syllable. “Brother of Bjarne.”

Marlys sighed thoughtfully. “There is a saga that mentions Bjarne Sigvatson along with several boatloads of colonists setting off from Greenland toward the west. Later sagas claim Sigvatson and his people were swallowed up by the sea and never seen again.”

“The other thirty-four stones,” said Pitt. “What do they reveal?”

“Most of them seem to be boundary markers. Magnus was quite ambitious. He claimed a quarter of what became the United States for his brother, Bjarne, and his tribe.” She paused to scan another highlighted inscription mold on the monitor. “This one reads …” 

Magnus Sigvatson came ashore here.
 

“Where was this stone found?” inquired Giordino.

“Bark Point, which sticks out into Siskiwit Bay.”

Pitt and Giordino exchanged amused glances. “We’re not familiar with the names,” said Pitt.

Marlys laughed. “I’m sorry. Siskiwit Bay is on Lake Superior in Wisconsin.”

“And where were the other rune stones found?” asked Kelly.

“These Norsemen were quite wordy when you consider that probably fewer than a quarter of the rune stones they carved have been located and translated. The first and last was discovered at Crown Point on the southern end of Lake Champlain.” She paused and looked at Pitt with a sly grin. “That’s in upstate New York.”

Pitt smiled back courteously. “I know.”

“From there,” Marlys continued, “three stones are found at different sites in the Great Lakes, suggesting that they sailed the waterway north to the St. Lawrence River. They then came through the lakes until coming ashore at Siskiwit Bay. Once there, I believe they portaged their boats from one body of water to another until they reached the Mississippi River, where they began their journey south.”

“But Bertram Lake is not on the river,” stated Kelly.

“No, but we’re only two miles away. My guess is the Norsemen would come ashore and conduct short treks into the countryside before continuing downstream.”

“How far did they reach?” asked Giordino.

“Stone inscriptions were found on a meandering course through Iowa, Missouri, Arkansas and Kansas. The farthest stone was found by a Boy Scout troop near Sterling, Colorado. Then we estimate they trekked back to the Mississippi where they had left their boats. A stone was uncovered on the west bank of the river across from Memphis, which read …” 

Boats stay here guarded by Olafson and Tyggvason.
 

She continued, “From that point they must have sailed up the Ohio River and into the Allegheny River, where they made their way to Lake Erie before retracing their path back the way they had come to Lake Champlain.”

Kelly looked puzzled. “I’m unclear as to what you mean by the first and last stone.”

“As close as we can tell, the Lake Champlain rune stone was the first inscribed at the beginning of the expedition. There must be others, but none have been found. When they returned nearly a year later, they made a second inscription on the stone below the first.”

“May we see them?” Pitt asked.

Marlys typed on her keyboard, and a large stone appeared on the monitor. Judging from the man sitting on top of it, the height looked to be ten feet. The stone sat in a deep ravine.

Above ten rows of inscriptions was carved the petroglyph of a Viking ship, complete with sails, oars and shields on the sides. “This is a tough one,” said Marlys. “None of the epigraphists who studied the stone have agreed one hundred percent on the message. But the translations are fairly similar in text.” She then began to translate the lengthy inscription. 

After six days travel up the fjord from our families at the settlement, Magnus Sigvatson and his 100 comrades rest here and claim all the land within sight of the water for my kinsman and leader of our tribe, Bjarne Sigvatson, and our children.

The land is far larger than we knew. Larger even than our beloved homeland. We are well provisioned and our five small ships are stout and in good repair. We will not come back this way many months. May Odin protect us from the Skraelings.
 

She went on, “I must warn you that the translations are very vague and probably do not convey the original meaning. The second inscription carved on the return reads …” 

Fourteen months after leaving our families, we are but a few days’ sail down the fjord to the cave below the high cliffs to our homes. Of the 100, we are now 95. Bless Odin for protecting us. The land I claimed in my brother’s name is larger than we have known. We have discovered paradise. Magnus Sigvatson.
 

“Then there is a date of 1036.”

“Six days’ sail down the fjord,” Pitt repeated pensively. “That would suggest the Norsemen had a settlement in the United States.”

“Has a site ever been discovered?” asked Giordino.

Marlys shook her head. “Archaeologists have yet to find one below Newfoundland.”

“You have to wonder why it disappeared so completely.”

“There are ancient Indian legends that tell of a great battle with strange wild men from the west with long chin hair and shiny heads.”

Kelly looked confused. “Shiny heads?”

“Helmets,” Pitt said, smiling. “They must be referring to the helmets the Vikings wore in combat.”

“Strange that no archaeological evidence of a site has ever been discovered,” said Kelly.

Pitt looked at her. “Your father knew where it was.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Why else would he become so fanatical in his search for the rune stones? My guess is that your father was searching for the cave mentioned in the final inscription. The reason he suddenly dropped his research is because he must have found it.”

“Without his files and papers,” said Giordino, “we have no direction. Without a ballpark in which to launch a search, we’re floundering in the dark.”

Pitt turned to Marlys. “You have nothing from Dr. Egan that might give us a clue to what data he was accumulating?”

“He was not a man into correspondence or E-mail. I don’t have so much as a scrap of paper with his signature. All our sharing of information was done over the phone.”

“I’m not surprised,” Kelly murmured resignedly.

“And rightly so,” Giordino said. “Considering his problems with Cerberus.”

Pitt’s eyes stared into the vague distance without seeing anything. Then they focused on Kelly. “You and Josh said you searched the farm for your father’s hidden laboratory and turned up nothing.”

Kelly nodded. “True. We searched every square inch of our property and those of the neighboring farms on both sides. We found nothing.”

“How about the palisades facing the river?”

“One of the first places we looked. We even had rock-climbing clubs come in and check the rocky bluffs. They found no sign of caves or a path or a stairway leading across the face of the cliffs.”

“If the only inscription about a cave was on the first rune stone, why run around the country beating the bushes searching for more inscriptions that revealed nothing?”

“He didn’t know that when he launched his search,” Pitt surmised. “He must have hoped that other stones might give him more clues. But his quest turned up dry, and the trail always came home to the first rune stone.”

“What inspired him to search in the first place?” Giordino asked Kelly.

She shook her head. “I have no idea. He never told my mother and me what it was he was looking for.”

“The cave in the high cliffs,” Pitt said slowly.

“You think that’s what he was looking for?”

“I do,” Pitt came back positively.

“Do you think he found it?”

“I do,” Pitt repeated.

“But there is no cave,” Kelly protested.

“It’s a question of looking in the right place. And if we find it, too, it will open the door to a closetful of mysteries, including your father’s secret project.”

“You might take a new direction in your search,” said Marlys.

“What are you suggesting?” asked Pitt.

“I believe it would be helpful if you consulted with Dr. Jerry Wednesday.”

“And he is …”

“A leading expert on the ancient Hudson River Valley Indian tribes. He might be able to throw some light on contact with the Norsemen.”

“Where can we reach him?”

“Marymount College in Tarrytown, New York. Dr. Wednesday is a professor of cultural history.”

“I know Marymount,” said Kelly. “A Catholic women’s college just across the river from Dad’s farm.”

Pitt looked at Giordino. “What do you think?”

“When searching for a historical treasure, you can never do enough research.”

“That’s what I always say.”

“I thought I heard it somewhere.”

Pitt turned and shook Marlys’s hand. “Marlys, thank you. Thank you for your hospitality and for being so helpful.”

“Not at all. You’ve given me gossip for the neighbors.”

She stood and watched, hand shielding her eyes from the sun, as the NUMA helicopter rose into a cloudless sky and set a course northeast to Duluth. Her thoughts traveled back to Elmore Egan. He’d been a true eccentric, an oddball but lovable, she recalled. She fervently hoped that she had given them a direction for their search, and that Dr. Wednesday might provide the final clue to the adventure.

I
nconspicuous-looking, dusty four-wheel-drive Jeeps, Durangos and a Chevy Suburban cruised down the private road to the Cerberus-owned lodge beside Tohono Lake. None of the SUVs were new, and none were younger than eight years. They were chosen by design to blend in with the vehicles driven by the local residents of the county. As they passed through nearby towns on their way to the lake, no one paid the least bit of attention to their passengers, who were dressed as fishermen.

They arrived ten to fifteen minutes apart and entered the lodge, carrying fishing tackle boxes, rods and reels. Oddly, none gave the slightest glance at the dock or the boats that had been tied to the mooring cleats. Once they disappeared into the lodge, they stayed inside and made no attempt at baiting a hook or casting a plug. Their mission went far beyond the solitude and joy of fishing.

Nor did they gather socially in the main hall with the huge moss-rock fireplace and high log ceiling. There would be no relaxing in the chairs and sofas draped with Navajo rugs amid the Western decor enhanced by Russell and Remington paintings and bronze sculptures. Rather, they assembled in a large basement room beneath the lodge, a room separated by a massive steel door from an escape tunnel that traveled more than two hundred yards into the safety of the forest. From there a path led half a mile to an open field, where helicopters could be called in at a moment’s notice. Security systems with alarms watched over the road and grounds around the lodge for intruders. The setting was planned to look unobtrusive and ordinary, but every precaution had been taken against surveillance by government agents or state and local law enforcement.

Down in the lavishly furnished basement room, six men and two women sat opposite one another around a circular pine conference table. The ninth person, Curtis Merlin Zale, was seated at one end. He passed out several leather-bound folders and leaned back in his chair, waiting for the others to study the contents.

“Commit what you read to memory,” he directed. “When we leave tomorrow evening, all paperwork and notes will be destroyed.”

It was vital to the interests of the Cerberus empire that the strategy planning session be held in the strictest secrecy. The men and women seated at the table were CEOs of the largest oil companies in the Northern Hemisphere and had congregated to map strategy for the coming months. To the economists, the officials at the Commerce Department and reporters of the
Wall Street Journal,
these giants of the oil industry directed only the day-to-day operations of the autonomous corporations under their independent control. Only those present knew that they were linked behind the scenes to Curtis Merlin Zale and the long arms of Cerberus. A monopoly had been created unlike any attempted in the past. The parameters were rigid.

The oil tycoons had all made billions with their clandestine alliance with Cerberus, and none were about to go to jail for criminal business dealings. Though an extensive Justice Department investigation was sure to uncover the most enormous cartel formed to corner an oil market since Rockefeller and Standard Oil, precautions were taken to halt any such investigation before it got off the ground. The only very real threat was that one of them might sell out and inform the Justice Department of the criminal actions of the cartel. But potential deserters knew well that they and members of their families would quickly disappear or die in unfortunate accidents once word of their defection was out. Once in, there was no escape.