She had done some thorough research on Dr. Nina Gould. Val was certain that Nina would be the right keeper for the vial. The historian was known for her integrity and her immense knowledge of the subject Now that she was a consultant, free to move as she pleased, Val was convinced that Nina Gould would be sharp enough to unravel the imminent threat on the world. The historian had a reputation for being relentless in her passion and pursuits and she questioned anything that even smelled of corruption. For this, at least, Val was grateful. It was a colossal burden on her that was now lifted. She had entrusted the most deadly secret of all time to a very responsible and intelligent person.
What Val did not know was that Nina was in fact following her in Purdue’s 4x4. Now and then, when stopping at a traffic light or junction, the huge off road vehicle would catch up with Val, remaining far enough behind her not to be discovered. Nina was out to confront Val once and for all. She wanted to know what was going on. She had to find out why Val was implementing these raids and for what she was looking. A good hearty threat of Interpol would do the trick, the pretty historian reckoned.
It was late afternoon when the Kawasaki pulled into the large grassy parking area in front of Denton House, where The Brotherhood was resident until they had enough intelligence on the whereabouts of Lita Røderic. The wealthy genius moved premises whenever she felt necessary and was virtually impossible to keep track of most of the time. Her reputation preceded her. Her reckless and deadly actions in obtaining what she coveted and her fierce loyalty to the modern Germanic society of powerful tyrants, hidden in areas of commerce, arts and politics.
She was a danger to the free world and some speculated that her insatiable lust for knowledge and the never ending study of a myriad of academic subjects had driven her insane. Already a genius, her mind had encapsulated all her knowledge with her ambition until, with her unlimited financial resources, she had ultimately become an unstoppable juggernaut of boundless capacity. With the wrong people on her side, those equally hungry for dominion, she could devastate the entire world and implement the most fearsome system of governance ever enforced upon mankind. In fact, its doctrines would defile the very principals it was born from, centuries before in the Northlands and Scandinavia. Lita Røderic’s brilliant mind had betrayed her into becoming as warped as her views on social structure and religion.
The Brotherhood was as old as these ancient principals, vowed in the infancy of the past millennium to guard the world against such corruption. It was, like the Nazis, covertly established within all sectors of the world as it developed into modern civilization. In all guises and capacities, The Brotherhood had infiltrated all walks of life to watch over the wisdom of the past, the secrets of history that came from the old gods — and which was too powerful for the feeble minds of mere men. They understood that some teachings were simply too destructive for the fallible lusts of mankind and so these mysteries had to be kept interred in the vaults of ancient history and made into myths and legends so that the human race would think them folly, too absurd to believe in, let alone pursue.
But on occasion throughout history, there were those who saw past the dismissal of these tales and instead of believing them as mythos, endeavored to excavate their powers and implement their secrets in a perverse quest for power. Hitler was but one of the many; his tyranny bringing him infamy and shedding light on what he knew to exist. Others, like Lita Røderic, astutely remained inconspicuous while chasing after the ultimate trump card over all.
Now, she had become a threat they could no longer ignore. Especially, now that she was bold enough to send her goons after Val and the only real family she ever knew — the Sleipnir Motorcycle Club.
Chapter 14
Sam was home alone, worried about Nina. He was more worried about Nina’s obsession with her new friend. After the two women had returned from the restroom at The Tower, the entire atmosphere had changed. Even the way they spoke to one another was more personal, more intimate. The juvenile part of Sam imagined all sorts of bonding between the two very attractive ladies taking place in the restrooms while he was having a healthy helping of Pavlova that was about to introduce him to a life of insulin shots. The manner in which they behaved told him that they had shared something he was excluded from. His intuition and ability to read people from years as an investigative journalist taught him to see such things at a glance.
It was clear that Nina was even more bent on getting to the bottom of Val’s involvement in the museum lootings, while Val appeared a bit more relaxed than she had been after she resurfaced after the robbery. He did not want to ask Nina about it.
Convinced that the priceless gift she was given was stolen from some hoard in one of the robberies, Nina did not want to have it on her person. Her paranoia (or vigilance, as she referred to it) told her that Val may well have given it to her so that she could frame Nina for the theft and would call the police, just to get the suspicious historian out of her way. Therefore, she entrusted the piece to Sam for safekeeping until she could find out what it was and where it came from.
When he got home, he placed it in the drawer with his canteens and the two silver alcohol flasks he inherited from his great uncle Harry, the family alcoholic who died, not surprisingly, of a fall. Harry enjoyed fly fishing and drinking. One day, he went fishing at the gorge after a bottle and a half of Famous Grouse and lost his footing. That is how Sam came into owning the two silver flasks.
Bruich was lying on his favorite chair, grooming. Sam told him about Nina’s new friend, but the cat ignored him.
“Don’t ask me to play chess with you again, Bruich. You suck as a roommate,” Sam moaned and fell on the couch with a lit cigarette. He savored every drag of tar that filled his hungry lungs and stared at the ceiling, trying to decide for himself what he really thought of Val Joutsen. As much as he wanted to believe that she was sincere in her friendship with Nina, as much as he played the Devil’s Advocate in the matter, he could not deny that Nina was right about a lot of things. Inadvertently, the smell of her hair in his hands came to mind and he tasted her lips for a brief moment, sending a jolt of electric exhilaration coursing through his body.
“What?” he asked Bruichladdich, who gave him a fixed stare as if he knew what Sam was thinking. “Mind your own business.”
He got up to shake the reminiscence and concentrate on important things as he walked to the kitchen. From the fridge door, he got a beer and decided to help Nina with her investigation. His laptop screen blinded him in the dusk of his living room and he quickly flicked the switch on the desk study lamp. For over two hours, he searched all the sites on archeology, ancient history, museum collections, artifacts and religious iconography.
Too many beers later, he still could not find the flask anywhere on the Internet. Perhaps Nina just had to accept that this was a legitimate gift from Val’s family and not some stolen artifact. Sam felt nauseous and dizzy. Not eating was his weakness and he had once more forgotten to go grocery shopping. The cat was well taken care of in way of food, but Sam neglected himself. All this drinking had made him curious. Sam Cleave always became dangerously inquisitive when alcohol took him. With a silly grin on his face he walked over to the drawer and looked at Nina’s flask.
“I wonder what the men of old drank to deal with missing the scent of their women,” he asked Bruich, but the feline was fast asleep and never heard Sam’s inebriated thought process take form in words. All of a sudden, it was very funny to inspect the antique vial for traces of alcohol. Feeding his curiosity, he removed the cap of the ornate item with quite a bit of effort. Obviously it was very difficult to pry loose after so many years, but he was adamant to find out what was inside. He could feel the weight of the contents shift when he shook the flask, so he knew it contained something. No thought of how putrid any contents of such an old container would be, passed through Sam’s common sense. He gave it a smell and expected the vilest odor, but to his surprise it smelled remarkably like absinthe.