The Norse Directive (22 page)

Atlanta

During the short walk into the lobby, Sean explained everything Emily had told him so far about Dufort, his underworld business, and the collectors club. He could tell Tommy had a few more questions, but by the time Sean was finished relaying the information, they’d reached Coop’s room.

Inside, Charlie was sitting in a vinyl taupe chair, reading a newspaper. His face appeared as grumpy as ever.

Coop was in the hospital bed. He had it propped up so he could see the television more easily. The volume was at a fairly low level, mostly coming from the bedside speaker.

He turned his head upon seeing the three enter. Charlie lowered his paper, peering over the top of it with weary eyes.

“Hey, guys,” Sean said, leading the way into the room. “Coop, how you feelin’?”

The bearded man smiled. His skin was a little pale, but he appeared to be recovering.

“I’ve worn nicer things than this,” he said and gave a tug on the nightgown. “I hate this silly thing. But other than that, I’m doing much better.”

Charlie cut into the conversation, setting the newspaper on the seat next to him. “Docs say he should be able to go home tonight or tomorrow. Said he was real lucky the bullet missed his vitals. Another inch either way, and old Coop might be in the morgue right now.”

“Thank you for that,” Coop joked, shaking his head.

“Just tellin’ them what the doc said is all.”

Coop ignored him. “I’m fine. I think I will be able to leave tonight, but the doctor may want to keep me for observation, which I believe is a sneaky way to get another night’s rent out of patients.”

The three visitors chuckled at the comment.

Then Coop’s face turned serious. “Tell me. Were you able to find out anything more about the coin?”

Tommy made his way over by the window and stood near Charlie while Adriana and Sean stood under the television. Tommy answered the question first. “Yeah. It looks like the coin is tied to an ancient Viking legend.”

“Vikings?” Coop’s eyebrows lifted as if given a shot of renewed energy.

“Mmhmm,” Tommy murmured. “We went to Southampton, England, and found the grave of the man who is said to have discovered the clues to this ancient treasure.”

“We ran into some trouble along the way,” Sean jumped in. “But we found a missing piece to the puzzle.”

“You did? Well, that’s fantastic.” Coop pondered what he’d heard and then said, “You mentioned you ran into some trouble? Was it the men from before, the ones that did this to me?”

“Yes, but nothing we couldn’t handle,” Tommy said confidently.

Adriana spoke up. “The clue we discovered suggests the next waypoint is the Helsingor Castle in Denmark.”

“We’re heading to Copenhagen this afternoon,” Sean added.

Coop was dazed by the statements. “You were just in England yesterday? And this afternoon you’re flying to Denmark? When do you people get any time to sleep?”

“You get used to it,” Tommy lied. “We intend to see this through to the end. Whatever your ancestor was looking for was important enough to keep hidden for several centuries.”

“And it’s important enough to kill for, apparently,” Charlie chimed in for the first time.

“Right,” Tommy agreed.

Coop’s eyebrows lowered. “Do you have any idea what it is you’re looking for?”

Sean looked at Tommy, then at Adriana. They also exchanged the same wondering glances. Finally, Sean spoke up after the other two gave him the go-ahead nod.

“This may sound a little crazy, but we’re pretty sure that what Francis Jackson was looking for was the lance that pierced the side of Christ.” He let the words sink in and watched Coop’s reaction.

The man’s eyes grew wide as he considered the possibility. Before he could say anything, though, Charlie spoke up. “Are you serious? The Holy Lance? You know that thing is in the Vatican, right?”

“Yes,” Tommy answered. “Under Saint Peter’s Basilica.”

“We don’t believe that is the original spear,” Adriana explained.

Coop looked bewildered. “I’m sorry. You said something about a Viking legend, and now you’re talking about the Holy Lance? I don’t see how the two connect.”

Sean relayed the story of Holger Danske and what they’d learned from Tara and Alex about the Jonathan Stuart diary. Tommy explained that Holger served Charlemagne for the sole purpose of stealing the lance for his king, but upon taking it, didn’t feel comfortable relinquishing it to anyone.

“So he fled?” Coop asked after listening to the entire story.

“It seems that way,” Sean said. “Holger might have believed that the lance was too powerful a weapon for any one man to possess.”

“So he took it somewhere to hide it?”

“We think so. He had a captain, his friend, Asmund, that made the journey with him.”

“Fascinating,” Coop said. “And you think that at this castle you will find another clue?”

“Actually,” Tommy answered, “we hope to find Asmund. It could be that the grave Jonathan Stuart found, and that Jackson discovered several years later, was where Asmund was buried. Maybe they missed something that will give us a hint as to where the two Vikings went.”

“You said Asmund’s grave. What about this Holger…whatever his last name was?”

“Danske,” Sean said. “We don’t know the answer to that question yet. The grave Stuart and Jackson found couldn’t belong to Danske because the legend would be moot if there were a body. Danske would have to be buried far away. Asmund, on the other hand, could have returned to his homeland. If he did, and left clues along the way, we might just be able to find the final resting place of Holger Danske, and possibly the lance as well.”

A knock came on the door, and everyone turned to see a nurse in pale-blue scrubs standing there with a small cup and a Sprite. “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s time for Mr. Cooper to take his pills.”

“We have to be going anyway,” Sean said to the young woman. “We’ll get out of your way.”

Tommy stood and offered an apology to Coop. “Sorry we couldn’t stay longer. If we want to beat these guys to whatever the finish line is, we have to move quickly.”

Two muscular men in dark blue windbreakers stalked toward the open door and stopped short. They spun around and faced out toward the nurse’s station.

“Who are those guys?” Charlie asked with narrow eyes.

Sean noticed them too. “We took the liberty of bringing in a few bodyguards. They’ll make sure you two are safe until all this settles down. We don’t think you’re in any danger now, but you can never be too careful.

Charlie resisted. “I don’t want any babysitters.

“It’s really for the best,” Tommy urged. “They won’t be any bother and it’s just for a few days.”

Coop threw up a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. We’ll let those guys take care of us for a couple of days. Now don’t let me hold you young people back. I’m fine, and I’ve got my trusty friend, Charlie, here to keep me company. Besides, I want to know if you’re right about this legend. I can’t wait to hear what you find.”

Charlie stood up, shook Tommy’s hand, and waved to Sean. “I’ll follow you into the hall,” he said, making like he wanted to leave Coop alone with the nurse.

Once he and the other three were in the hall, Charlie eased the door shut. He had a serious look on his face. Down the corridor, a doctor in a white lab coat was busy talking with a nurse, going over another patient’s chart.

“You all need to be careful,” he said in a warning, fatherly tone. He paid particular attention to Sean. “Those guys you’re up against aren’t Boy Scouts. They’re trained killers.”

“I appreciate your concern, Charlie. We’ll be careful. I promise.” Sean put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. It wasn’t like the older man to be worried like that. Maybe seeing his friend in a hospital bed changed his perspective on things.

“I know how you are, Sean. You worked for the government and did all kinds of crazy things. You might think you’re invincible, but you’re not. No one is.”

“Trust me. I know I’m not invincible. But we’ll be careful.”

Charlie stared through him for another thirty seconds as if searching for the truth. Finally, he seemed satisfied and gave a nod. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

The door to the room opened, and the nurse stepped out, a broad smile revealing pearly white teeth.

“I better get back in there,” Charlie said, twisting his head and glancing into the room through the open door. “Not sure how he’d get by without me.”

“I’m pretty sure I could manage,” Coop’s voice came from inside the room.

Sean and the others laughed. “We’ll let you know what we find when we get back.”

Paris

Emily stood under the awning at the entrance to the enormous stone mansion. The gray, soupy clouds overhead spat rain from the sky, soaking the streets and sidewalks. Pedestrians shuffled along under umbrellas, trying to keep as dry as possible on their way to offices, homes, cafes, and bars. It was a terrible day for tourism, one that would keep visitors to the old city locked up in their hotel rooms, watching television they didn’t understand.

She’d only hit the button on the doorbell once before a butler arrived in a black suit and matching tie. He said something in French to the effect of asking how he could help her. Emily responded in kind, having learned enough conversational French to get along.

“I need to speak with Monsieur Dufort,” she said as politely as she could. On the rare occasion she spoke the language, she felt like she almost sounded rude.

“Please state your name and business. Monsieur Dufort is a very busy man,” he responded in almost perfect English. The butler must have assumed she was an American.

“Oh, you speak English. Good. My name is Emily Starks. I work for a branch of the United States government, Special International Division.”

The butler allowed a smug grin to creep onto his face. Though he was older, his white hair had been neatly cropped. He must have been in his sixties, but the man’s face didn’t look a day over forty. “As you can see,” he put out a hand, displaying the city behind her, “we are not in the United States, Miss Starks.”

She ignored the smart-aleck answer and pushed on. “I’m here with the authority of the French government as well.” She held out a piece of paper, which he scanned briefly. Before he could say anything else, another man’s voice drifted through the entryway.

“She may enter, Baston. I can carve out a little time to speak with the lady.” The accent carried an aristocratic tone and clearly a nasal French accent.

Baston let out a sigh and reluctantly stepped aside. “Please, do come in.” Even his invitation was lathered in resentment.

Emily passed through the doorway and into a grand foyer. A stairway to the left ascended up four steps before turning sharply to the right and climbing all the way to the second floor. Directly above, a chandelier with hundreds of gleaming crystals hung from the ceiling, illuminating the immediate area. The walls had been painted in flaked gold over a navy blue base. To the right, a bust of a Roman emperor stood on a pedestal between a painting of Napoleon Bonaparte and one of a king she didn’t immediately recognize. The walls ahead were lined with similar paintings of kings and leaders from history, along with several more busts of various people. History wasn’t exactly her area of expertise, so she only recognized a few.

“The one closest to you is Charles the First. Some called him Charles the Great. Though most of history has referred to him as Charlemagne, the last great emperor to unify nearly all of Europe.” The same voice from before came from a thin man standing at the top of the stairs. He rested both hands on the railing for a moment before letting go and making his way elegantly down the stairs.

“Baston, please take the lady’s coat. I doubt she wants to visit my home in a damp rain jacket.”

The butler begrudgingly offered a hand, which Emily accepted. She removed her wet coat and hung it over the man’s forearm. “Thank you,” she said in a mocking, cheerful tone.

Baston nearly rolled his eyes but resisted, instead taking the coat over to a hanger in an adjacent waiting room where he hung it carelessly on one of the lower rungs.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” he asked.

The other man had finished his descent down the staircase and stood on the main floor only a few feet from Emily. “No, that will be all. You may leave Miss…” he turned to her again and asked the question with his eyes.

“Starks,” she filled in the gap for him.

“You may leave Miss Starks and me alone.”

Baston gave an elaborate bow and backed out of the room.

Once he was gone, the owner of the house turned to face Emily. “I do apologize for his attitude. He has been quite the pill as of late. I believe he is growing tired of servant work.”

“I could see how it would be a drag.”

The man shrugged. “I pay him very well. He gets four weeks of vacation every year and never has to work holidays. I don’t understand what the problem might be.”

“Maybe he just wants to do something else with his life.”

“Perhaps,” the man cocked his head to the side. “My name is Gerard Dufort.” He extended his hand.

Emily grasped it firmly and shook it a few times before letting go. “Emily Starks, United States government.”

Dufort’s eyebrows peaked slightly. “Yes, I heard you mention that to Baston a few minutes ago. I was in the room to the right upstairs when you introduced yourself. You said you are also working with the French government?”

“That’s right.” She eyed him suspiciously. Emily had been in the field long enough to know when someone was full of BS. And this guy had it oozing out of his ears.

“By all means,” he said, motioning with a hand toward the vast corridor, “make yourself comfortable.”

He escorted her down the hall, past busts and elaborate paintings, and toward the dining room located through an archway at the other end.

“Who are all these people?” she asked, pointing at one of the paintings.

“Ah,” Dufort said, walking with his hands folded behind his back. “This is a collection of some of the greatest leaders in world history. At one point or another, these men had the vastest kingdoms of their time.”

“What about that one?” she asked, pointing to specific painting at the end of the wall.

It featured a man with a wreath wrapped around his head. He brandished a short broadsword, and men in Greek military garb from the Bronze Age surrounded him.

“That is Alexander the Great, one of the most brilliant military tacticians of all time.”

“You must have a great deal of admiration for men of power.” She kept the thoughts to herself about what that usually meant. Typically, she felt it meant the person was hungry for power themselves. Emily doubted Dufort was any different.

“They are all deserving of respect and admiration,” Dufort answered. “Each one of these men had certain characteristics that I aspire to incorporate into my own life.”

“You mean global domination?” Emily asked the question and waited a moment before allowing a narrow smile to cross her face, a look that said, “Just kidding.” Even though she wasn’t.

He held up a finger at her and smiled. “I like a woman with a sense of humor, Miss Starks. No. I do not seek to conquer the world. Nothing even remotely close to that. I simply hope to enjoy the finer things in my life and perhaps help someone in need when I am able.”

The last part of his speech nearly made her vomit. She retained her stoicism, though, and continued. “Yes, your charitable deeds are very well documented. One might wonder as to the reason why they are so well documented.”

“What do you mean?” Dufort asked with a puzzled look.

“Oh,” Emily shrugged. “It just seems like your good deeds get an awful lot of publicity. I’ve noticed you donate a great deal of money to several charitable organizations, all of which is highly publicized in the local and national media. You must have a shrewd public relations person.”

He held out his hands as if to say, “You got me.” A glimmer of cynicism escaped his eyes. “Seriously, though, is it wrong to take credit when doing something good for someone?”

She pursed her lips before speaking, as if considering the question. “No. I don’t believe so, unless you’re trying to exploit someone. Although you don’t seem the type to do something like that.”

Dufort cocked his head to the side with a “who me?” look on his face. “A good Samaritan deserves some credit. Besides, I need all the good press I can get. There are a great many people in the world who try to damage my reputation. At this very moment, I fear there are those attempting to conspire against me.” He took on a crestfallen demeanor. “I wish it were not the case, but it is, like I said, the price I pay for being a high-profile citizen.”

He turned at the end of the hall and motioned to another chamber at the end of the next corridor. “Please, step into my sitting room. We can discuss whatever you like, although I am quite curious as to what the American government wants with me. I don’t believe I have ever crossed a line with your country.”

“I work with a special unit within the U.S. government,” she said, following the host down the hallway. She gave a quick glance back. Habits from years in the field died hard. Emily was thankful for her desk job, but it made her weaker, less alert. A big part of her actually liked the rigor of fieldwork. It kept her sharp.

“Yes, I believe you mentioned that,” he said and motioned for her to enter the sitting room ahead of him. He left the door open, whether on purpose or not, she wasn’t sure.

A nineteenth century fireplace adorned the far wall, surrounded by a granite frame. The mantel matched the gray stone, and featured a few pictures of people Emily immediately recognized as Dufort’s parents. She’d done her homework on the man before beginning operations to figure out what he was up to.

The rest of the room was as elegant as anything she’d ever seen. Luxuriously upholstered chairs faced each other, with ebony drink stands sitting next to them. A cigar ashtray rested in the center of a square coffee table, nearest a two-seat, chocolate-brown leather couch. The maroon drapes were speckled with various golden emblems, likely symbols from Dufort’s family crest. At the top of the window dressings, golden tassels hung from matching ropes.

Dufort motioned for her to have a seat and made his way over to a bar made from deeply stained poplar. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked in a welcoming tone.

“No, thank you,” she said, and looked around uneasily. “I never drink on the job.” Even though a team of special agents knew where she was, there was an overwhelming sense of danger that came with going behind closed doors with a known criminal at the level of infamy Dufort had achieved.

“I don’t blame you,” he said, pouring himself a glass of light-brown liquid from a crystal decanter. “I enjoy a bit of cognac myself. Clichéd, I know, but what can I say? I’m French, and I like to indulge in local things.”

Emily didn’t care what he drank. What she did care about was where her missing agent was. And every second she spent listening to this guy BS his way along was a second her agent could be moving farther and farther away.

After she sat down in one of the club chairs, Emily crossed one leg and folded her hands over her knee. “I’m going to cut through the bull, Monsieur Dufort, and get right to the point of why I am here.”

“Good,” he said, replacing the top of the decanter. He took a sip from the clear glass and winced slightly as the quick burn of alcohol eased down his throat. “I don’t like to waste time.”

Emily didn’t wait for him to go on. She decided a bit of a ruse might be the best plan of action to extract the information she needed. “My team is here in Paris to investigate a possible nuclear arms purchase, and we need information. Sooner rather than later would be better, to say the least.”

Dufort’s face turned puzzled. “Nuclear arms? What would I know about such a thing? You think I am a smuggler of some kind? Or perhaps a terrorist?” His voice expressed offence with the latter two questions.

“No,” she quickly defended. “Nothing like that. But as a man of, as you put it, a high public profile, we believe that you may know one of the people involved with the deal. It could even be someone you consort with on a regular basis.”

Dufort was genuinely surprised at the suggestion, but after she explained her angle, he seemed more at ease. “I see.” He took a seat across from her and crossed a leg over the other knee. “I have to say, Miss Starks, I do not believe I have heard anything of that sort in my inner circles. And I keep my circles very tight, I assure you of that.”

“I’m sure you do.” Time to ramp up the pressure a little and see how he will react. She pulled a picture out of her inner jacket pocket and handed it to her host. “Do you know this man?” she asked plainly.

Dufort stared at the image for a few seconds, but his reaction was as bland as a professional poker player. “I don’t believe so.” He continued to peer at the glossy photo of a muscular blond man with steely-blue eyes. “Should I know him?”

He handed the picture back to Emily, who took it and put it back in her suit jacket pocket. “I hoped you would. His name was Nicholas Petrov. His body was recently found badly beaten with a gunshot wound to the head. I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that either.”

“No,” Dufort said coldly. “But again, I do not know this…Nicholas you speak of.”

“I see,” Emily responded. “We have reason to believe that he was one of the people trying to make the deal for the nuclear warhead. Rumor had it he was the connector for a few wealthier folks. Folks who have a tremendous amount of money, not unlike yourself.”

Dufort laughed. “Now, Miss Starks, what would I want with a nuclear device? I can’t imagine one reason why having one of those would help me in any way.”

She shrugged. “Well, you could make a lot of money with one. Or destroy an entire city.” Emily continued to lay it on thick. From the looks of it, he was taking the bait.