“Slow down, slow down. Does it say anything about Odin’s Shield or his Horse?”
Ben shrugged. “Just that the Shield was one of the greatest archaeological finds of all time. And that around its edge are the words: Heaven and Hell are but a temporary ignorance. It is the Immortal Soul that sways towards Right or Wrong. Apparently it’s Odin’s curse, but no-one in living memory has ever been able to figure out what it’s trying to get at.”
“Maybe it’s one of those curses where you just have to be there,” Drake smiled.
Ben ignored him. “Says here that the Horse is a sculpture. Another sculpture, ‘Odin’s Wolves’ is on show in New York right now.”
“His wolves? Now?” Drake’s brain was starting to fry.
“He rode two wolves into battle. Apparently.”
Drake frowned. “Are all the nine parts accounted for?”
Ben shook his head. “Several are missing, but…”
Drake paused. “What?”
“Well, it sounds daft, but there are bits of a legend building up here. Something about uniting all of Odin’s pieces and starting a chain reaction that will bring about the end of the world.”
“Standard stuff,” Drake said. “All these ancient Gods have some ‘end of the world’ fable attached to them.”
Ben nodded and looked at his watch. “True. Look. Us internet wizards require sustenance,” he thought for a second. “And I think I can feel some new band lyrics coming on. Croissants and Brie for brunch?”
“When in Paris…”
Drake cracked the door, checked around, then motioned Ben out. He saw the smile on his friend’s face but also read the terrible strain in his eyes. Ben was hiding it well, but was floundering badly.
Drake went back into the room and stowed all their belongings in the backpack. As he was securing the heavy strap he heard Ben say a subdued hi, and felt a heart stopping jolt of fear for only the second time in his life.
The first was when Alyson left him, citing that irreconcilable difference — you’re more soldier than a friggin’ boot camp.
That night. When the endless rain filled his eyes like tears, like never before.
He ran for the door, every muscle in his body coiled and ready, then saw the old couple toiling their way along the corridor.
And Ben noticed the stark terror that filled Drake’s eyes before the ex-soldier had a chance to mask it. Stupid mistake.
“Don’t worry.” Ben said with a pale smile. “I’m okay.”
Drake took a shuddering breath and led them down the staircase, constantly alert. He checked the lobby, saw no threat, and stepped out onto the street.
Where was the nearest restaurant? He took a guess and headed towards the Louvre.
The fat man from Munich with the brain-surgeon’s touch saw them straight away. He checked his photographic likeness and recognised the well-built, capable Yorkshireman and his long-haired dweeb of a friend in two heartbeats and fixed them in his cross-hairs.
He shifted his position, not liking the high vantage point or the white chippings that were digging into his fleshy extremities.
Into a shoulder-mic he whispered: “Got them on a hair trigger.”
The answer was surprisingly immediate. “Kill them now.”
FOUR
Three bullets were fired in quick succession.
The first deflected off the metal door frame beside Drake’s head, then ricocheted down the street, striking an old woman in the arm. She twisted and fell, spraying a question mark pattern of blood through the air.
The second parted the hair on Ben’s head.
The third hit the concrete where he had been standing, a nano-second after Drake tackled him roughly around the waist. The bullet glanced off the pavement and smashed the hotel window behind them.
Drake was rolling and roughly crab-walking Ben behind a row of parked cars. “I’ve got you.” He whispered fiercely. “Just keep going.” Staying low, he risked a glance through a car window and saw movement on a roof top, just as the window shattered.
“Shite shooting!” His Yorkshire accent and army slang thickened his voice as the adrenalin pumped. He surveyed the area. Civilians were running, screaming, causing all sorts of distractions, but the problem was that the shooter knew exactly where they were.
And he wouldn’t be alone.
Even now, Drake recognised three guys he’d seen earlier on lock-picking duty step out of a dark-coloured Mondeo and start purposefully towards them.
“Time to move.”
Drake crab-walked them two cars down to where he’d already spied a young woman crying hysterically in her car. To her surprise, he cracked open her door and felt a quick rush of guilt at her terrified expression.
He kept a poker face. “Out.”
Still no shots. The woman crawled out, fear icing her muscles to dead slabs. Ben slithered inside, keeping his body mass as low as possible. Drake followed him in a hurry and then turned the key.
Taking a breath, he jammed the car into reverse, and then shot forward out of the parking space. Rubber smouldered across the road in their wake.
Ben cried: “Rue de Richelieu!”
Drake swerved in anticipation of a bullet, heard the metallic twang as it bounced off the engine, then floored the accelerator. They passed the surprised lock-pickers on the pavement, saw them hurrying back to their car.
Drake flung the wheel into a right, then left, and left again.
“Rue Saint-Honore.” Ben shouted, craning his neck to see the road name.
They entered a flow of traffic. Drake made haste as best he could, zipping the car — which to his delight was a Mini Cooper — in and out of the lanes and keeping a steady eye on the rear-view.
The rooftop shooter was long gone, but the Mondeo was back there, keeping pace.
He turned right and then right again, got lucky at the lights. The Musee Du Louvre shot by on the left-hand side. This was no good: the roads were too crowded, the lights too frequent. They needed to get the hell away from central Paris.
“Rue De Rivoli!”
Drake frowned hard at Ben. “Why the hell do you keep shouting out street names?”
Ben stared at him. “I don’t know! They… they do it on TV! Is it helping?”
“No!” he cried back above the roar of the engine as he zoomed down a slip road and away from the Rue De Rivoli.
A bullet ricocheted off the boot. Drake saw a passer-by crumple in agony. This was bad; this was serious stuff. These people were arrogant and powerful enough not to care who they hurt, and could obviously live with the consequences.
Why were the Nine Pieces of Odin so important to them?
Bullets struck concrete and metal and zinged patterns all around the Mini.
At that moment Ben’s mobile rang. He made a complicated shoulder-wrenching manoeuvre to twist it out of his pocket. “Mum?”
“Christ!” Drake cursed quietly.
“I’m fine, ta. You? How’s Dad?”
The Mondeo powered its way up to the Mini’s boot. Glaring headlights filled the rear-view, along with the faces of three jeering Germans. The bastards were loving this.
Ben was nodding. “And sis?”
Drake watched as the Germans pounded the dash with their guns in frenzied excitement.