“Aye, they are in a language I don’t know, but there are two symbols on here, the Triple Horn of Odin and his associative rune,” she deduced, “so I reckon the chain has some significance to him. From what I see there are no other runes or insignias representing any other deities whatsoever, just Odin.”
Sam smiled. Purdue smiled and clapped his palms together in glee. Nina dared not even ask what they were thinking.
“Can I see the rest of the cross?” she asked.
“In the rain?” Sam winced. “What if lightning strikes twice in one place?”
“That’s a myth, Sam,” she replied.
“So is Odin,” he retorted, adamant not to go out in the pouring rain again.
“Come now. You were with me in Russia when we helped The Brotherhood a few years back, Sam. You know that he…” she tried to remind him, but Sam would have none of it.
“I was tired. That old man probably just died in the skirmish at Valhalla and I thought, mistakenly, that he was Wotan, the chieftain,” he protested, referring to the time they discovered Odin’s earthly abode after helping the Knights of the Hammer — known as The Brotherhood — protect it from a fierce daughter of the Black Sun.
“I’ll have Franz and his boys pitch us a gazebo of sorts over it, so that you can go have a look and see if there is anything else you pick up. Looks like I missed some things,” Purdue offered.
“Oh, he will not be pleased,” Sam remarked. “That man must be livid for what your monument did to his garden work.”
Purdue agreed. “I will just fuel his fee a little, just over the benchmark where ‘wavering’ becomes ‘willing.’ That or I’ll give him the cottage in the back.”
After an examination of the heavy granite chunks and the head of the fallen cross, Nina was able to ascertain that the copper inlays and symbols were of a Nazi nature. More obscure than the obvious Swastika and the SS lightning insignias, the copper-inlay symbols covered the symbolism of the Vril Society, founded shortly before the Nazis emerged into power.
“I believe we are once more dealing with Nazi legacy,” Purdue announced, after Nina had presented her assessment of the origin of the cross.
“So what you want to do is find out where the rest of the chain is,” Nina speculated.
Sam nodded, “Probably.”
Purdue was taken aback by their apparent reluctance to find the rest of the golden chain and even maybe discovering what it was from, originally.
“Listen, if we could find out where the rest is, we will know what it was for. Don’t you think that would be historically momentous?” he argued. They could see he was his old self again — the flamboyant explorer who had a lust for knowledge and adventure. Sam stepped forward, “I must admit, investigating a criminal organization was a bit monotonous.”
“Thank you, Sam!” Purdue grinned.
“Sam! I thought you were tired of running for your life. Some support you are,” Nina chastised him.
“Choice words coming from a woman we had to drag from a snowcapped burrow in the Himalayan mountains… on a dangerous expedition,” Purdue issued his challenge categorically at Nina, to Sam’s amusement.
“You have no riposte, my girl,” Sam grinned. “You have nothing to worry about. We are not dealing with any cults or people with twisted ideologies this time.”
“Correct,” Purdue affirmed. “Nobody even has to know what we are doing.”
“That’s right. We’ll go look for this Jari person first, to find out who the artist was, and from there we just figure out where he kept the rest of the chain. Quick and simple,” Sam coaxed, appealing to Nina’s need to keep things simple of late.
She had no choice. They were right. She missed the adventure and the travel. Foremost, she always wanted to see Finland.
“When do we go?”
Chapter 12
Special Agent Patrick Smith was in a fix. Three people were dead and here he was locked in a standoff with a beautiful assassin who was in no way coy when it came to killing. In fact, she proved to be quite generous when it came to bestowing bullets on any target with lungs.
“Pass it over slowly. I can see it dangling in your inner pocket, so don’t try to fool me,” she told Paddy. “And hurry up. I have an appointment.”
Begging to ask who she had the appointment with, Paddy had to still his urges and remain completely calm for the sake of the remaining pilot and flight attendant who were still alive.
“The least you can do is tell me how you knew about it,” he said nonchalantly, as he reached into his pocket. “I won’t ask who you are or who you work for… any of that, all right?” He pulled out the flask so that she could see that he was not procrastinating.
“Tell me something, Special Agent Smith,” she rasped confidently, “what is it you and your employer deals in?”
“Intelligence, among other things” he replied quickly. Paddy did not want her to think he was playing games. His training taught him to keep an even movement in such situations, to keep showing the assailant what they want without actually handing it over and to answer firmly and accurately when questioned.
“Intelligence,” Maggie expressed the answer like a teacher congratulating a student. Then she dropped her sarcasm and continued, “So do we, only we deal in a different edition of the word. We are interested in intellect and the delegation thereof. But I digress. Do you really think that intelligence and covert operations are only reserved for the officially appointed nationals?” she asked, holding out her hand.
Paddy hesitated, thinking of a way he could divert her attention without getting one of her .44s as reward. “So MI6 has one of your moles,” he answered.
“No, my darling, our moles were operating right under your nose, in Bhutan,” she revealed, and motioned with her head that he should give her the item.
“The hospital,” he said softly. “And there just happens to be a flight attendant available to kill us all at such short notice? My, my, you are efficient.”
“Don’t patronize me, Smith. I could just plant you right here and take the gadget from you, so consider my generosity and give me the fucking generator!” she bellowed. “It’s simple to get a job like this. The other attendant called in sick. She had a case of death this morning and I happened to be available.”
Maggie’s body suddenly bent backward, as Liz whacked her in the small of her back with the serving cart. Paddy spared no time and lunged at Maggie before she could find her bearings. He relieved her of her weapon, but she did not need guns to beat him. Maggie wrapped Paddy in an arm bar and held him so that he could not move.
To Maggie, Liz was becoming an annoying little bug by helping the special agent subdue Maggie, as he reversed her lock to try to get out of her grip. Maggie turned to Liz and abruptly snapped her neck.
“There, that problem is solved,” she panted heavily from the exertion of the fight. Her opponent recognized her fighting style, yet he could not effectively counter her moves. Special Agent Smith relied mostly on his strength, mostly on the face shots he got in every now and then, but she was more resilient than he had bargained for. Paddy was trained in some meaner alternatives and it was when she landed a hefty kick to his groin that he decided to cut playtime short for Maggie.
“The Shanghai method is outdated, special agent!” she gasped, going for the flask while Paddy was trying to catch his breath and retain the use of his legs. She picked it up carefully, using her jacket as cover for her hands, just in case some of the fluid seeped out. When she turned, she walked right into a timid effort of a jab from Captain Hayward, still wearing his colleague’s brain matter like blush.