Admittedly, she was as inept at medical terms as she was at the languages they were written in. Still, photographs needed no language to convey horror or explain the extent of the Nazi secret societies’ evil. This information was priceless. Erika scooped up all the photos, sketches, and personal reports on Lita Røderic and shoved them down the front of her bodysuit, securing them in the water tight compartment sewn in.
Footsteps hurried towards the room from the hallway and Erika quickly snuck around the large spark screen, soundlessly drawing her two identical blades. Forged from silver, bearing Norse runes of heathen magic, the 10 inch daggers held more than deadly efficacy. The ancient shamanist sorcery contained in the runes proved fatal to any flesh not ordained by rite to resist their potency. Flesh like Lita’s — Nazi meat. Erika smiled.
“Lita?” an old man spoke from the doorway. “Are you here? May I come in?”
Silence prevailed, save for the mad atmospheric chaos of the storm that had brought its fury inside the room. The floor was soaked by the downpour, wet almost halfway into the chamber.
“Lita, I think we should get out of here. I think you should come with me. There are strangers in the fortress and if we can make it to the courtyard we can escape,” he whispered loudly. “I… I had a vision of Valhalla. It was obscure, to say the least, but I know where to find the way…” he hesitated for a moment in the loud crack of the skies. “…I know you are in here. Lita, we need to go. Please. I don’t want to die.”
Erika kept hidden. If Lockhart was a traitor, he would have told Lita to expect The Brotherhood’s attack, would have warned her; but he kept his mask on as innocent advisor. She hoped he was mistaken about the red Dragon’s presence in the room, but she quickly realized the truth when she heard the disembodied rasp of the chain smoking she-monster emanate from somewhere in the chamber. “Hermann. Meet me at the helicopter. And get Slokin. Now!”
Without retort the old man nodded and took off into the corridor. Erika knew that Lita had her cornered. Her eyes widened into a bulging glare that bordered on exhilarated terror, had such a combination ever existed. Her fingers gripped the hilts of her knives as her mind shifted into the cold machine she became when engaging her opponent.
From the movement under the bed she recognized the tall, agile physique of her deadly foe. Still just a silhouette, Lita folded easily to accommodate her movement, much like a spider. Slipping out from under the cover of the bed, she groaned in boastful anticipation and her moan turned into a voiceless snicker as she dusted herself off.
“You may as well come out, darling,” Lita invited. “No use in hiding in a round room, is there?” Her words echoed as she spoke louder. Erika waited for her opponent to come to her, but the tall woman paced up and down in the same area. Both women held their tongue and only the thunder made its voice known. Suddenly one of Erika’s soldiers entered the room, short sword in hand, having no idea that the enemy was standing right behind the door. Erika was forced to act. She emerged from her hiding place, twirling both her blades menacingly as she moved forward.
Puzzled, her friend looked at her, but Erika was too slow in her confrontation. Lita lunged out from behind the door and locked her left arm around the girl’s neck, disarming her with the other in one smooth movement. The sword clanged on the stone floor as the barefoot monster placed her other arm around the neck of her prey and latched her hands onto her skull.
“NO! HANNAH!” Erika screamed and charged. She knew Lita was not the negotiating type and words of surrender or imploring would be futile. Again she underestimated Lita’s immense strength. The Nazi queen smiled gleefully as she twisted the girl’s skull sideways, upwards, slowly snapping her neck bone for bone as if she was cracking her knuckles. Erika would not see this as a reason for surrender. In fact, it was all the reason she needed to exact her wrath with everything she had in her.
As streaks of lightning spelled the name of God in the dark grey heavens, Erika roared in rage. By the thundering song of Thor, she readied her runic weapons to rip the heart from the red-maned daughter of Ragnarök… and bring the Order to its knees.
Chapter 31
From the comfort of his home, he traveled across Spain and through France to reach Germany. Carlos Oliveira had contacted his friend and colleague of old, Miro Cruz, asking to accompany him. They would meet in Frankfurt, and from there they would take a train to Bavaria, where they were told The Brotherhood was headed. Another bit of intelligence reached Carlos that morning as he waited for his friend — Lita Røderic’s stronghold in the Hebrides was under attack by the very same people he thought he was pursuing
“God, I hope I did not travel all this way for nothing. If I find out that I took this trip on a wild goose chase, Oliver, I will have your fucking head,” the old, Portuguese snarled into the phone. He coughed from the exertion, his heart flaring a bit too much at the disappointing news. From the distance, he recognized the more robust physique of his associate appear as he sauntered along the edge of the platform.
“I shall be waiting for your information. But you have no more than three hours to get back to me. I am almost 85 years old. I certainly do not have the luxury of wasting precious time on shit like this! Now, get the intelligence I want,” he scowled and hung up the call. He chewed his lips in vexation and waited for Miro to join him on the bench of the platform where they would catch the train together.
“Wife?” his friend asked, groaning under the strain of seating his old bones.
“Oliver. My informant on The Brotherhood in Edinburgh. You know, he had always been quite accurate, but this sounds like a huge mess to me. He says that the Templars are currently wiping the floors of Lita’s den on Loch nan Cinneachan with her staff, but here we are, on his tell that they were on their way to Bavaria,” he complained.
Miro took it all in, finding it all too strange at they would operate in two different places instead of employing their German faction to do the dirty work here. He nodded to himself as his mind sifted through the probabilities, explanations and reasons for their actions while his perpetually ill friend blew his nose loudly into a blue handkerchief already creased from the trip here. He looked up at the information board which announced in red lettering that their train was still on time. Another 10 minutes.
“Perhaps they divided to get more done sooner,” he finally suggested. “We know that that insufferable little prick who came to accost us in search of the Brotherhood and his madam Führer managed to get their hands on the Vision of Kvasir. I suppose that is what The Brotherhood is searching for in the fortress?”
“How the hell did they get the vial without crippling bloodshed? The Brotherhood would never relinquish that damned relic. We know this, you and I. How many years did we try to locate it and no matter how many of them perished, that artifact stayed elusive to the Order,” Carlos argued, his voice laden with bitterness.
“I don’t know, old friend,” Miro answered, “but if we encounter them in Regensburg, it is best we do not reveal who we are. I think we should befriend their leader and so find out where they are headed, find out where Valhalla is.”
“I agree. I agree,” Carlos nodded with weary eyes staring ahead of him into the crisp morning light. “We have been deceived too many times. This time we only follow them to Valhalla — the real location, not the mound in Iceland they use as decoy.”
“Yes,” Miro concurred. “Especially now that we know Lita Røderic is expendable.”
“She is?” Carlos asked, surprised.
“Yes, the order wants her to lead the way, but she can never be in power. You know that she is in no state to usher in the new world order. Her greed for power makes her dangerous, disloyal and corrupt,” Miro assured Carlos. “She would eradicate us all with the rest of the impure races for her own consolidation.”