The trek through the forest to the waiting vehicles took about fifteen minutes. ‘Come on, hurry up,’ Lock called impatiently to his men, some of whom had been slowed by carrying their injured comrades. ‘Ragnarök’s waiting for us.’
‘You know Ragnarök’s an event and not a place, right?’ Nina said.
‘Pedantry will get you nowhere, Dr Wilde,’ he replied as he went to one of the trio of 4x4s. The large Volvo XC90 SUV had been converted to an all-terrain vehicle; its wheels were mounted on a roof rack, replaced by compact Mattracks caterpillar track units fitted to each of the hubs. ‘Hoyt, you come with me — make sure Dr Skilfinger stays out of trouble.’
Hoyt pulled Tova with him to the off-roader. ‘What about her?’ he said, nodding at Nina.
‘Better that we keep them apart. I’m sure she’d spend every minute of the journey trying to convince Dr Skilfinger not to translate the runes.’
‘We could just gag and hogtie her, then throw her in the trunk.’
‘Try it, and I’ll bite your damn fingers off,’ Nina growled.
‘Just put her in one of the other SUVs,’ Lock said impatiently. ‘I want to get out of here. The sooner we leave Sweden, the sooner we can find the eitr.’ He opened the Volvo’s door and climbed into the driver’s seat.
‘Treynor, Tarnowski, keep an eye on Red,’ Hoyt ordered two of his men, gesturing for them to put Nina in the back of the second 4x4. ‘Wake, you drive ’em. Wounded go in the other SUV, everyone else packs up and grabs a vehicle. We’re moving out.’
The mercenaries divided amongst the various transports. The still of the forest was soon shattered by first the rasp of the snowmobiles, then the piercing buzz of the two icerunners as their propellers wound up to full speed. Lock was first to move; Nina gave Tova a last despairing glance through the window as his XC90 set off, then her own SUV pulled away behind it.
Engines roaring, the convoy headed back down the frozen river.
‘Yes!’ Eddie gasped as he squeezed free of the hole and rolled on to his back in the snow, panting from the exertion. ‘I’m through.’
Berkeley peered up from below. ‘Well, come on, then! Help me out!’
The Englishman’s grateful breaths were cut short as he heard a distant rumble through the trees. ‘Shit!’ he said, sitting up. ‘You’ll have to get yourself out — Lock’s already moving.’
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Kagan.
‘Go after ’em, what do you think? Chuck the gun up.’ He holstered the dirty Wildey, then collected the P90 as Kagan raised it through the hole. ‘Once you’re out, go back to the snowmobiles and head for that village. I’ll meet you there.’
‘Good luck,’ called the Russian as Eddie ran off, heading for the waterfall.
He descended the rocks as quickly as he dared, jumping from fifteen feet up to a hard rolling landing at the base of the frozen falls. The tracks his group had left on their way to Valhalla led back along the stream bed; he angled away from them on what he hoped would be a direct route to the great stone bridge of Bifröst.
It was not long before the trees thinned out, marking the top of the ravine. The sound of engines grew steadily louder. He saw that the rock crossing was off to his right and headed for it. The rope was still in place between the trees on each side; he took hold of it and made his way over, the coating of ice and snow forcing him to go slower than he would have liked.
A quarter of the way across—
The low thunder of vehicles abruptly rose to a roar.
He looked up the river — and swore as the convoy came into sight in the canyon below. One of the SUVs was in the lead by some distance, an icerunner following with the two other 4x4s trading positions behind. The pair of snowmobiles flanked them, the second icerunner bringing up the rear.
Lock was in a rush. The vehicles were heading downriver much faster than they had come up it. They would be long gone by the time Eddie reached the parked snowmobiles.
He had to get down to the river. But how?
The idea was crazy, he knew the instant it came into his head, but it was all he had.
He gripped the rope with one hand, bringing up the P90 and putting the muzzle against the line. Bracing himself as best he could on the treacherous surface, he pulled the trigger.
The rope jerked in his grip as the bullet tore through it, flames scorching the ragged strands, but the shot hadn’t quite severed it. ‘Fuck’s sake!’ he muttered, repositioning the gun for a second attempt. One shot would be enough to alert the mercenaries to something unexpected; two would confirm it.
No choice. He fired again.
This time, the rope snapped — and he almost fell as the weight of the line, now unsupported, jerked him sideways. With a sharp gasp of fear, he dropped to a crouch to regain his balance.
The convoy was still coming down the icy river. He didn’t know if he had been seen or not; he would find out when somebody started shooting at him. Keeping low, he scuttled across the quartz bridge, bringing the slack rope with him. Would it be long enough for his plan to work?
It would have to be. He was running out of time. The lead SUV would pass below in twenty seconds, less, and the other vehicles strung out behind it would only take another twenty or so to go by.
He reached the halfway point. If the drivers stayed on their present course, they would go directly beneath him. The Volvo drew closer, kicking out a spray of ice from its four whirling sets of caterpillar tracks. The surface of the frozen river was thirty feet below. Did he have enough line to reach it?
Not nearly enough to loop it around the hefty rock bridge. And if he tried to descend on the severed rope, he would just swing towards the canyon’s side, away from the vehicles. He needed to go straight down…
There was only one way to do it. But it meant losing one of his weapons.
Again, no choice—
Eddie turned the P90 vertically, muzzle upwards, and forced its polymer stock as hard as he could into a crack in the rock until it jammed. He twisted the weapon to wedge it in place, then tugged at the barrel. The gun moved, but did not come free.
The first 4x4 roared under him. The other vehicles in the convoy were closing, not wanting to get left behind.
He gathered up the rope — then looped it around the gun and tossed it over the edge.
The rope fell, rippling as it uncoiled to hang with its end about ten feet above the ice. It swayed in the propeller blast as the first icerunner charged past. He grabbed the line with both hands and pulled at it. The stock creaked under the strain, but the gun stayed in place.
For now. In a moment, it would have to take his full weight…
The second tracked SUV roared below him, the snowmobiles on each side. The third Volvo was just seconds behind — then, after that, only the other icerunner—
Eddie jumped.
Friction burned his hands as he slid down the rope. He forced back the pain, ready to drop on to the roof of the last SUV — only to realise to his horror that he had left it too late.
The Volvo whipped past, having increased its speed to catch up with its companions. He tightened his grip to slow himself, twisting to locate the icerunner.
Its occupants saw him. The driver gawped in surprise at the dangling figure — then jerked the steering wheel to swerve away from the Englishman.
Eddie let go — just as the P90’s stock sheared apart under the strain and the rope cracked away from him like a whip. He dropped, the propeller at the icerunner’s rear carving through the air at him—
He landed with a crash on the icerunner’s port outrigger. The impact drove the steel skate-like runner at its end deeply into the ice, making the vehicle swing sharply around and throwing both mercenaries against the cockpit’s side.