She immobilized him with a palm strike to the nose, but she intended on lodging the cartilage nice and deep under his brow with a few more before she said goodbye with a bullet.
“You won’t get out alive!” Paddy shouted to distract her from making quick work of an innocent civilian.
“Oh please, Paddy,” she said as she picked up her firearm and shoved her foot onto the bleeding pilot’s throat to keep him still for the aim.
“There’s something you did not take into account,” he persisted to keep her attention divided, away from the flight captain.
“What’s that?” she asked as she squeezed the trigger. Before she could pull it back, Paddy blessed her with a chisel fist, landing it squarely where her throat bent into her jaw. Severing her windpipe instantly, he watched as she fell to the ground, kicking like a slaughtered pig at his feet. Maggie’s airway would not allow air in and Paddy watched her asphyxiate in just over a minute before her spasms abated.
Captain Hayward was incapacitated, but alive.
“This is Special Agent Patrick Smith, onboard the Bombardier Challenger, GHVRP, off Runway 4. I need emergency medical assistance and airport security immediately!” he roared over the speaker to the air traffic controller.
Paddy had a bit of time before help would arrive at the aircraft and he sat down on the floor next to the wheezing pilot.
“Well done, Captain Hayward. You are a hero, my friend,” Paddy said, tucking the item safely away again.
“Ta,” Captain Hayward forced.
Paddy knew that he could not tell anyone about the generator. It was his duty to keep it secret. Now he had to hope it was not combustible in the next 96 hours because it had just become his property.
Chapter 13
Helsinki was freezing. Purdue, Nina, and Sam arrived just before midnight and started looking for a suitable guest house close to the railway station. In the morning they were going to take a rental car to seek out the relic dealer who sold the arcane cross to Purdue. On the faded provenance they could hardly make out anything of importance, apart from the date 1939 and some illegible numbers written in two rows, one above the other. It was filled out in iron ink in bad lettering conveying information in the same language Nina could not identify before. Jari’s address was scribbled on the back, so they knew where to start looking.
But for tonight they were famished and sought out some low-profile accommodation that would be inconspicuous should any of their old acquaintances think to find them. Although they felt paranoid for thinking like this, they knew full well that such worry was perfectly founded where it concerned the enemies they have made in the past few years.
“So the Hilton is a no,” Sam lamented.
“Aye, anyone could find us there,” Nina said as they waited for Purdue to procure their transportation at Green Wheels Car Rentals. They would not be using the usual Avis or Hertz branches, just in case.
“I’m fucking freezing up here. You know, we think Britain is cold — and places like Germany and the Czech Republic — but not until you go farther north do you realize that hell always has more faces than you thought you knew,” Sam sniffed, hugging himself as the wind bit his cheeks.
“And it’s not even full winter yet,” Nina exacerbated it a little deliberately, standing strategically behind her companion to evade most of the punishment.
“Thank you, Nina, for that,” he coughed, shaking like a reed.
“Hey, this is nothing compared to the Himalayas,” she remarked. “The last time I was there with Neville… I cannot recall ever being that cold.”
“Mongolia? That was bloody insane,” Sam rejoined as Purdue came skipping across the narrow one-way street that led to the parking bays.
“Come, friends!” he challenged the din of the wind. “Our chariot awaits.”
In the sedan it was wonderfully temperate and the green lights from the dashboard and radio display brought Nina to a tranquil state. After the last week she had to endure she was happy for the small recess between the flight and the next travel stretch, wherever it might lead. She sat in the back while Sam rode shotgun and Purdue took the wheel. They were talking about football, the Highland games, beer draughts, and cats; everything but the looming business they were in Finland for.
It was lovely, she thought, to see the two men she had relationships with to be so amicable. By the words of both in confidence she knew that they were in furious competition for her affection, but that was the beauty of the male gender. Unlike females, men could be in harsh contrast and engage in open combat over something until the matter became outdated for the time. Then opponents and foes could go out for a beer as if nothing was ever amiss, saving their bouts for the next round announced by the bell.
“Sampo,” Purdue said. “I think it’s the perfect guest house for tonight. Apparently the kitchen is open 24 hours too. The place is not too small, so they have revolving staff working shifts. Got to love the Finns.”
“Never been here, actually, but these people reportedly invented the sauna and that puts them on the first page of my Little Book of Awesome,” Sam smiled, looking out the window at the passing streetlights on the main road.
The radio reception was crystal clear and the silence that accompanied the breaks in songs lulled Nina to a peaceful sleep in the backseat. Purdue and Sam’s conversation was even-toned and relaxed, only aiding her tranquility as they traveled over the smooth road through the black of night.
Sam suddenly frowned, “Why would this artist only leave some of the chain inside the cross?”
“How do you mean?” Purdue asked. “I suppose he did not want anyone to find his gold.”
“No, I mean, why would he not have used it through his life? If I had such a ransom in my possession I would use it to enhance my life, to be rich. I would not hide it from the world. Do you think he stole it?” Sam asked. He could not help but employ his journalistic cynicism like a bloodhound. It was part of his efficacy as investigative journalist to think beyond the obvious and assume the worst, because, well, that was usually where the truth lay.
“Maybe he did steal it,” Purdue reckoned. “It is quite logical to think so, considering the clandestine treatment of it, not to mention the fact that he seems to have remained nameless, faceless, except to Jari.”
“The only thing that throws me off is the markings of Odin. As far as I know Odin is Norse, not Finnish. Is there a Finnish version of him?” Sam asked.
Purdue raised an eyebrow and gestured toward his coat pocket, “Get my tablet and have a look.” Sam pulled the tiny gadget from Purdue’s coat pocket.
“Jesus, how do you operate this thing? I need a pilot’s license just to make it expand,” he scowled, clumsily imitating Purdue’s swift movements in order to drag the unique technology into a larger-size device. After a few muffled cuss words, the contraption obeyed Sam’s attempts, while Purdue smiled quietly in amusement.
“Ukko is the Finnish version of Odin, Purdue,” Sam reported, looking more impressed as he went. “But hear this, he also exhibits properties of the Norse god… Thor.”
Sam paused dramatically, waiting for Purdue to affirm the information.
“Very interesting,” he told Sam, “that Odin’s symbols would be on the chain when the Fins have their own Allfather. I wager the reasons for that would be deliberate, in fact, I venture that there must be something in Odin that Ukko does not possess. And that directly pertains to the chain.”
“From what I see here the only difference is that Ukko had no Nazi followers. The Finns were hardly Aryan in the eyes of the Third Reich. I bet you that is where the significance lays. Nazi connections, not mythology,” Sam hypothesized.