“Which ones — Thor and so on?”
“Sure.”
“Thor, Loki, and Idun — there were many more, and of course, Idun was the keeper of the sacred apples which imparted eternal youth…”
“I’m hearing that expression an awful lot these days,” Scarlet said, sighing.
“None of those Ry,” Lea said. “You said another name.”
“Was it Frigg, maybe?”
“Frigg… that’s the one.”
Martha saw a terrible mix of uncertainty and fear color Lea’s slim face.
“What is it, dear?”
“What’s the matter, Lea?” Hawke asked, gently placing his hand on her shoulder.
“Frigg — that was one of the names in my father’s research files.”
A short silence fell upon the room, the only sound now was the meditative crackling of the apple-wood fire. Hawke squeezed Lea’s shoulder. “I guess we now know for sure that all this is connected with the attack on you in Ireland, in that case.”
“I agree,” Scarlet said. “This is way too much of a coincidence otherwise.”
“And I don’t believe in coincidences,” Hawke said, frowning.
Lea looked confused and scared. “But what does it all mean?”
Ryan sighed. “That’s exactly what we have to find out, but somehow the attack on you in Ireland, the murder of Bill Smith and Nate Derby here in Newfoundland and the attack on us down in Florida are all connected for sure, and the common denominator seems to be invisibility.”
“And Thor,” Victoria reminded him. “Don’t forget Nate talking about Thor’s Hammer just before he died and how it could be some kind of Tesla coil.”
Martha watched the young man in the Batman t-shirt flinch at the mention of the word Tesla.
“So this is all pointing to Vikings, in other words,” Hawke said.
“And if it is,” Martha said with a gentle authority, “what you need is one of them experts on Norse mythology. You can take the bead. I won’t be needing it for much longer.”
All eyes turned to Ryan, but for once his usual confidence had gone. “I think this is going to need someone who knows more than me.”
Lea looked at them for a moment, and then pulled out her phone. “I’m pretty sure Rich knows someone — an old friend from university years ago. He studied archaeology before moving into Norse legends. He lives in Iceland. Let me give Rich a call and see if he can get us an address.”
“And I’ll call the newspapers,” Scarlet said. “The world needs to know Ryan Bale doesn’t know everything after all.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Their private jet touched down on Runway 13 of Keflavik International Airport and taxied through the drizzly half-light to a gate on the north side. After a short conversation en route between Lea and Sir Richard Eden they had made the decision that Hawke, Lea and Victoria would drive into Reykjavík and meet with his old friend, a Dr Gunnar Jónsson, while Ryan and Scarlet stayed with the plane and refuelled ready for whatever came next.
On the flight, Eden had briefed them that Vincent Reno had identified the images of the man taken by Ryan back in the Florida Keys. He confirmed his name was indeed Leon Smets, a former French Foreign Legion Warrant Officer thrown out of the service for brutality against junior ranks, including Vincent when he was a raw recruit. The other men were assorted corporals all of whom were now out of the Legion and working as mercenaries alongside Smets.
Vincent, who was making amends with his wife in Marseille, was unable to help them with the shaven-headed woman, but Alex had worked her magic on that score and identified her as one Dasha Vetrov, the younger sister of Maxim Vetrov, the man ECHO had dispatched in the Tomb of Eternity. It looked like she had joined with Smets and whoever was pulling his strings to get her revenge on Hawke and the others. Eden was certain they would both be working for someone else, but for now that person was unidentified. He also thought it significant that she hadn’t killed them all when she had the chance in the Florida Keys.
Now, Lea was thinking Reykjavík looked a lot like St John’s in Newfoundland — both cities were around the same size and the brightly colored clapboard houses added to the feeling of similarity as their taxi cruised the short distance into Miðbær, the downtown district. This was as far north as civilization got — a first-world state with an advanced economy of fish-processing and metals exports, all tucked away in a country whose north coast skirted the Arctic Circle. As they got closer to the center, she watched the sun skim the horizon out on the Westfjords.
“Nearly two in the morning and the sun’s still up.”
Hawke opened one eye and looked at her for a second before closing it again. “Fascinating.”
“Heathen.”
They reached Dr Jónsson’s address and Lea told the cab driver to pull over. Victoria paid him in American dollars and he grumbled before trundling away into the midnight sun. Then they walked up the steps to the professor’s front door and rang the bell.
“If you weren’t the one showing me this, Lea,” the middle-aged academic said quietly, “I would think it was all some kind of joke.” Gunnar Jónsson stared at the glass bead for a long time, mesmerized by it as it gave the effect of being able to look through his own hand. “Look! I can see the sheepskin rug right through my own hand — like it wasn’t even there!”
“Not like it wasn’t there,” Hawke said. “It’s there all right — but it’s invisible.”
“It’s… amazing.”
“I felt the same thing back in St. John’s when I first held it in my hand, too,” Lea said, peering over Jónsson’s shoulder at the strange, sparkling bead.
Jónsson looked away from the bead for the first time and fixed his eyes on Lea. “This is an absolutely huge discovery, and of course I would do anything to help you, but what exactly is going on? Richard was vague, as usual.”
Hawke stepped forward. “We need to know all you know about Norse mythology.”
Gunnar laughed. “It has taken me twenty years to know what I know, but I’ll do my best.”
“You can start with what you think this bead is.”
Gunnar looked at them, astonished. “Looking at the hook on the rear, which is obviously designed to fix it to something, it can only be one thing — a small bead from the legendary Tarnkappe!”
“The legendary what now?” Lea asked.
Gunnar looked up at them one at a time and smiled. “We’re going to need some coffee — please, make yourselves comfortable by the fire while I make some and then I will tell you all about it.”
Victoria peered around the door and watched Gunnar as he banged and clattered around in his old kitchen in the pursuit of fresh coffee and loftkökur while loudly whistling a bombastic classical tune.
Hawke turned to Lea. “Is this guy for real?”
She nodded and smiled. “Sorry, but yes. Gunnar is one of a kind, for sure. According to Rich, he knows more than anyone on earth about Norse mythology, but if you think you can bundle him around the planet in search of treasure and adventure then think again. He’s a great guy and all but he has only one gear, and that’s slow.”
“Excellent,” Hawke said, sighing. “That’ll come in handy when we’re being chased and shot at… and what is that bloody awful tune he’s whistling?”
Victoria looked at Hawke shocked. “Why, it’s Wagner of course — Götterdämmerung.”
“Eh?”
“Twilight of the Gods, Mr Hawke. He’s whistling the opening to it — as Siegfried emerges from the cave.”
“Do tell me more,” Hawke said sarcastically.