The dark haired female agent, known as Number 8, took a small rotary blade out of her utility pouch and began cutting a hole in the fence. The task took less than twenty seconds as the saw made easy work of the soft metal. It was a tool Emily had requested from government weapon developers, something that would work much faster than bolt or fence cutters. The device was also quiet enough to not draw attention from any passersby.
Fortunately, in this part of the city, pedestrian traffic was scarce, if not completely nonexistent.
Emily looked back as the van’s driver stepped on the gas and zipped by them. She instinctively ducked down as the van crashed through the front gate and crunched to a halt into a telephone pole.
An alarm began blaring from somewhere near the corner of the warehouse. Emily watched through the cracks between the shipping containers as one of the guards instructed two others to run over to the gate and see what had happened. The men obeyed immediately, tucking their weapons under their armpits and jogging to the scene of the crash.
Number 8 crawled through the hole in the fence, and Emily followed closely behind her. They sprinted the twenty feet to the first red shipping container and stopped, pressing their bodies up against it next to faded white Chinese characters written on the side.
The other two agents joined them, taking cover behind the big object with weapons drawn. Before leaving the van, each one of them had attached silencers to their weapons. While the alarm would draw some attention, though doubtfully the police, Emily hoped the sounds of gunfire in the open was something that could be avoided.
She slipped around the container’s corner and down the long side between two of the big metal objects, toward the closest corner of the warehouse, careful to stay in as much shadow as possible. The guard that had been pacing around the front was staring at the van, trying to see what happened. He was also speaking on a radio to someone. Was it Dufort? Or was it reinforcements? She knew they would find out soon enough.
She risked a peek around the container next to her and saw the guards slowly approaching the crashed van. They surrounded the van’s passenger door and looked inside. A sudden spray of red shot out from the back of one of the guard’s heads, immediately followed by the same from the second. Both men collapsed to the asphalt, dead before they hit it.
Emily watched the third guard’s reaction. His eyes grew wide as he saw the other two men killed. He pushed a button on his radio, but the words he wanted to say, probably alerting reinforcements, never came. She stepped from between the two containers and fired four shots from her weapon, squeezing the rounds steadily as she crept toward the target. Three of the bullets found the man’s torso, sending him reeling backward. He stumbled and fell to the ground on his back, the radio still in his hand.
Emily hurried over to the body, motioning for the others to follow. They obeyed and met her by the dead man, each taking a wrist or ankle and dragging the body over to where they’d just been hiding between the containers.
The driver of the van exited the vehicle and rejoined the team.
“Front door?” he asked, just above the sound of the alarm.
“Yeah,” Emily nodded. “Front door.”
Chapter 38
Musty, damp air filled the nostrils of the group as they descended into the dimly lit foundation of Kronborg Castle. Several artifacts were featured in a museum-style setting, with glass cases, wall-mounted frames, and placards describing the various items and points of interest. In the middle of the huge area was the original structure built by Erik of Pomerania. Despite having another castle built over the top of it, the ruins of the first castle were still visible and gave a glimpse into what it must have looked like six centuries ago. Much of the brick and stone had been left in its original place.
A wooden rail wrapped around the area to prevent tourists from disturbing the location. Sean walked around the pathway slowly, stopping to read each placard as he did so. He wasn’t exactly stalling for time by reading the signs, but he wasn’t in a hurry either. In spite of Dufort’s threat to harm Adriana, Sean couldn’t be sure he would find anything that would help them in their search. He hadn’t lied to the Frenchman when he told him it could take days or weeks to find anything in a castle this size. Part of him believed his best bet was to wait for an opportunity to make a move and seize that advantage.
“Find anything of note?” Dufort said as Sean lingered near a sign that talked about the building of the first fortifications on the site.
Sean drew in a short breath and let it out. “No. There’s nothing here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.” He rolled his shoulders, “I mean, this is the oldest section of the castle, so that puts it here around the same time as the legend we’re chasing. But I just don’t see anything that jumps out at me.”
“Very well,” Dufort said. “We’ll keep going.”
“In the next area, I think there might be something that can give us a clue,” Sean said after a few seconds of thought. “The sculpture of Holger Danske could have a code embedded into it.”
“A code? In sculpture?” One of Dufort’s goons asked, obviously not a student of art history.
“Sure. Michelangelo weaved all kinds of different codes into his sculptures. A lot of people don’t really notice, but some of his works feature elements that were forbidden by the Roman Catholic Church. Some are far more obvious than others.” He was growing tired of educating someone he wanted to kill, and his voice carried an obvious tone to that effect. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to check it out now. Like you said: we’re on the clock.”
“After you,” Dufort motioned with his hand to lead the way.
One of the men jerked Adriana by the arm, pulling her along.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Sean warned.
The muscular man grinned. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Me? Nothing. It’s her you have to worry about.”
It was the second warning Sean had issued to that effect. He hoped the third time was the charm. But right now, it was looking more and more like they were going to need a miracle. A thought kept floating to the back of his mind as he walked toward the exit of the ruins and into the dungeon and basement area of the castle. Where the heck is Tommy?
Tommy’s feet made a sucking sound as he picked up one and then the other, making slow progress in what was becoming an increasingly soggy field. He’d made his way around the outer ramparts, an extension of the original castle defenses also called the crown work. It had been put into place after the Dano-Swedish War of 1658 when the Swedes managed to invade the castle after a long siege. The result was that the Danes increased the defensive perimeter as well as many of the interior defenses, effectively making Kronborg Castle nearly impregnable.
Thanks to the monsoon that had decided to dampen the day, Tommy couldn’t truly appreciate the magnificence of the castle and the massive amount of resources that went into its creation.
He reached the edge of the stand of trees and took meager shelter for a moment under some lower-hanging evergreen branches. The limbs and narrow needles did little to help keep him dry, but even the tiniest bit of relief from the wind made a huge difference.
Tommy glanced around at his surroundings, taking note of everything. Several large, jagged boulders were lying around on the grass. A few sat at the foot of the hill, imbedded for centuries. He wiped his eyes clear of rainwater and peered through the deluge. One rock looked different from all the others. It was flatter, and much smoother, as if it had been hewn by a human hand. The object measured around five feet long, if he had to guess, and at least three feet wide. Could it be covering something? From his place behind the tree, he looked around the thick branches and noticed that he was in direct line with one of the points of the fortress walls, as if it were aimed purposely in his direction.