“Nah. Nothing much. Umm…what noise?” He paused. “Oh… Xbox.”
Drake floored the accelerator. The engine responded speedily. Tyres squealed, even at sixty miles-an-hour.
The next shot destroyed the back window. Ben scrambled down into the front crawlspace without being asked. Drake allowed a moment of assessment, then bounced the Mini up onto the empty pavement before a long line of parked cars.
The Mondeo’s occupants fired recklessly, bullets shattering through parked car windows to strike and glance off the Mini. After a few seconds he tramped on the brakes, reversed with a screech, threw the little car into a quick 180, then raced off back the way they had come.
It took the Mondeo’s occupants precious seconds to realise what had happened. That car’s own 180 was sloppy and dangerous, and took out two parked cars with an awful crunch. Where in God’s name were the police?
No choice now. Drake threw the car around as many corners as he could. “Get ready, Ben. We’re gonna run.”
If Ben hadn’t been there he’d have stood and fought, but the priority was his friend’s safety. And getting lost was the prudent move now.
“Ok Mum, catch you later.” Ben flipped the mobile closed with a shrug. “Parents.”
Drake rode the Mini up the kerb again and braked hard half-way across a manicured lawn. Before the car stopped they flung their doors wide and jumped out, heading for the nearby streets. They had mingled with home-grown Parisians before the Mondeo was even in sight.
Ben managed a little croak and blinked at Drake. “My hero.”
They hid out at a little internet cafe near a place called Harry’s New York Bar. To Drake this was the wisest move. Inconspicuous and cheap, it was a place where they could continue their research and decide what to do about the Louvre’s imminent break-in without concern or interruption.
Drake set up the muffins and coffees whilst Ben logged in. Drake hadn’t been affected by the trauma so far, but guessed Ben had to be a little disturbed. The soldier in him didn’t have a clue how to handle him. The friend knew they should talk. So he slid the young man’s food and drink across, settled into the cosy booth, and held his gaze.
“How you doing with all this crap?”
“I don’t know.” Ben said truthfully. “Haven’t had time to take it in yet.”
Drake nodded. “That’s normal. Well, when you do…” he gestured at the PC. “Whatcha got?”
“I logged back onto the same website as before. Amazing archaeological find… nine pieces… yada, yada, yada… ah yes — I was reading about Odin’s spectacular ‘end of the world’ conspiracy theory.”
“And I was saying…”
“It was a load of bollocks. But not necessarily, Matt. Listen to this. As I said, there is a legend, and it has been translated into many languages. Not just the Scandinavian ones. It seems pretty universal, which is highly unusual according to the crusties who study this sort of thing. It says that if Odin’s Nine Pieces are ever assembled at Ragnarok they will reveal the way to the Tomb of the Gods. And if that Tomb is ever desecrated… well, sulphur and brimstone and all Hell breaking loose is just the start of our problems. Notice I said Gods?”
Drake frowned. “Nah. How can there be a tomb of the Gods? They never existed. Ragnarok never existed. It was just the Norse place for Armageddon.”
“Exactly. So what if it did exist?”
“So imagine the value of a find like that.”
“A tomb of the Gods? It would be beyond everything. Atlantis. Camelot. Eden. They would be nothing compared to that. So you’re saying that Odin’s Shield is just the start?”
Ben bit off the top of his muffin. “I guess we’ll see. There are eight other Pieces to go for, so, if they start disappearing,” he paused. “You know, Karin is the brains of the family, and sis would love making sense of all this internet crap. It’s all in bits and pieces.”
“Ben, I feel guilty enough involving you. And I promise nothing’s gonna happen to you, but I can’t involve anyone else in this.” Drake frowned. “I wonder why the bloody Germans kicked this off now though. Surely the other eight parts have been around a while.”
“Less with the football analogies. And they have. Maybe the Shield was special in some way? Something about it made everything else worthwhile.”
Drake remembered taking close-up snaps of the Shield, but they could save that investigation for later. He tapped the screen. “It says Odin’s ‘Horse’ sculpture was found in a Viking longboat, which is actually the Louvre’s chief exhibit. Most people wouldn’t even notice the Horse sculpture itself whilst walking around the Louvre.”
“The longboat,” Ben read aloud. “Is a mystery of its own — it’s constructed of timbers that predate known Viking history.”
“Just like the Shield,” Drake exclaimed.
“Found in Denmark,” Ben read on. “And see here,” he pointed at the screen, “it focuses on the other Pieces of Odin I mentioned earlier? The Wolves are in New York, and the best guess is that the Spear is in Upsalla, Sweden, having fallen from Odin’s body when he climbed down from the World Tree.”
“So that’s five.” Drake settled back into the comfy seating and sipped his coffee. Around them the internet cafe buzzed with restrained activity. The pavements outside were filled with people zig-zagging their way through life.
Ben had been born with a steel-lined mouth, and downed half of his hot coffee in a single gulp. “There’s something else here,” he tapped away. “Jeez, I don’t know. It looks complicated. About something called a Volva. Which means — Seeress.”
“Maybe they named the car after her.”
“Funny. No, it seems Odin had a special Volva. Wait — this could take a while.”
Drake was so busy switching his attention between Ben, the PC, the stream of information and the bustling pavement outside, that he didn’t see a woman approach until she stood right next to their table.
Before he could move she raised a hand.
“Don’t get up, boys,” she drawled in an American accent. “We need to talk.”
FIVE
Kennedy Moore had been evaluating the pair for a while.
At first she’d thought it harmless. After a while, analysing the younger man’s scared but determined body language and the older dude’s vigilant demeanour, she’d come to the conclusion that trouble, circumstance, and the Devil had snagged these two in an unholy trinity of danger.
She wasn’t a cop here. But she was a cop in New York, and that relatively small island with its big concrete towers was a tough place to grow up. You developed cop’s eyes before you even knew your destiny was to join the NYPD. Later, you honed and recalculated, but you always had those eyes. That hard, calculating stare.
Even on vacation, she mused bitterly.
After an hour of sipping coffee and surfing aimlessly, she couldn’t help herself. She might be on vacation — which sounded better than forced leave to her — but that didn’t mean the cop in her just gave it up quicker than a Brit surrendered his virtue on his first night in Vegas.
She sidled over to their table. Forced leave, she thought again. That put her glittering NYPD career in perspective.
The older guy appraised her fast, raising her antennae. He weighed her up quicker than a U.S. Marine would assess a Bangkok brothel.
“Don’t get up, boys,” she drawled disarmingly. “We need to talk.”