Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 04] (28 page)

Ragnor would have done all five of his required jumps that day if they’d allowed him to. He suspected his fellow SEAL trainees felt the same way. There was a bit of the adventurer in them all.

After the Jump School graduation ceremony at the end of the week at which they received their silver wing brooches, Sergeant Major Williamson surprised Ragnor by coming up to him and shaking his hand. “Good job, sailor,” he said.

Ragnor was too stunned to speak, despite being inordinately pleased.

But the thing that pleased him most was that he was on his way back to Coronado.

And Alison.

She’s got mail …

Ian was back in his own home as part of a combined FBI and Navy Intel plan to draw out the perps, but Alison was not so lucky.

Ian’s and Alison’s homes had been wired for sound and video. Snipers were now located surreptitiously around the two neighborhoods, but it was hoped no blood would be shed on either side; the military always said that in the most successful op no shots were fired. Ian himself wore body armor under his regular clothing, just in case, but only after he completed his regular duties at the SEAL Command Center at Coronado and returned to his home in San Diego.

Admiral MacLean had gone back to D.C., reluctantly. His presence could cause suspicion and extra caution on the part of those stalking the family. The last thing they wanted at this point was a cautious tango. Cautious tangos hid out in their hidey-holes, impossible to detect.

Meanwhile, Alison bristled at being out of the loop. Forced to continue living on base, she raged at anyone who would listen. The only promise she’d obtained was that she’d be bait, along with Ian, if they didn’t capture anyone this week.

Even while Alison stormed and railed, she had mixed feelings about the whole mess:

1) Here was an opportunity for her to finally engage in an active op involving possible terrorists. At the same time, she thought, placing a hand over her flat stomach, she had another life to consider now.

2) She wasn’t even sure if she wanted this baby. Well, actually, she was sure. There’d never really been any question about that.

3) Worried sick over the fanatics who had targeted her and her family, she floundered between rage and fear. She’d like to be the one to engage the cowardly weasels, to put a bullet between their beady eyes. But then, she was deathly afraid that she or Ian or her father would suffer the same fate as David. She knew too well that good didn’t always win out in the end.

4) She was mad at Max for getting her pregnant. Oh, the logical part of her brain argued that she was equally to blame. After all, she’d allowed him to lift her skirt. But who said pregnant women are logical?

5) The thing that confused her most was herself, and her constantly shifting emotions. Did she love Max … almost a perfect stranger? Did he love her? Did it matter in the scheme of things? She was a take-charge woman. She wanted to control her own destiny. But how?

Destiny?
Now, why did that word come to mind? Max always said that she was his destiny. Was it possible?

So many confusing thoughts! And so few answers!

Alison solved her dilemma the way pregnant women have since the beginning of time. First, she bawled for five minutes. Then she went to pee for the hundredth time that day. Then she ate everything in sight.

A tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered,
Why do you worry about things beyond your control? What will be will be.

Was it Max sending her a telepathic message?

Yeah, right!

Or God?

Hmmmm.

Either way, Alison felt oddly better. Besides, Max would be back tomorrow. Time enough then to resolve things … or get even more stirred up.

It was still early, too soon to go to bed, so she decided to get caught up on some paperwork related to her patients. When she was done, she went online to check her e-mail. To her surprise, the queue showed something from a . Oh, my goodness, it was the woman she’d e-mailed several weeks ago about her graduate thesis.

Quickly opening the e-mail, she read:

At first, Alison was stunned.

She reread the letter. What stood out was the fact that Max had brothers and sisters, despite his having said they were all dead, except for someone named Madrene back in Norway. The third time through, she homed in on the Blue Dragon connection. She hadn’t mentioned Kirsten Magnusson to Max the day she’d sent the e-mail, so Kirsten’s comment about that didn’t apply. Still, why would he have gone to the trouble of doing research at the library if he already knew all this stuff?

Very troubling!

Another quick read and she noticed something else. Kirsten had an AOL address, just as she did. On the remote possibility that Kirsten might be online right now, Alison sent an Instant Message:

Within minutes, she got a response:

To which she replied:

She had barely hit “Send” before there was a response:

Alison couldn’t believe that Max hadn’t told his family about the accident and his concussion. On second thought, maybe he wouldn’t.
Some of these Navy SEALs are so macho, they would consider a concussion a sign of weakness. It really isn’t that surprising that Max wouldn’t have told his family, now that I think about it. Besides, I don’t know what his relationship was to his family before the accident.

She put her fingers on the keyboard again and typed:

Kirsten agreed, although Alison could tell that she would have liked to ask more questions. They both said good-bye, then signed off.

Could my life get any more stressful than this? Do I really need to be involved with a man who has so many issues?

On the other hand, how can I not do everything to help him? Maybe meeting Kirsten will unravel some of the mystery surrounding Max.

So it was a hopeful Alison who crawled into bed that night … hopeful because Max was coming back tomorrow, hopeful that she would be meeting a person next week who might shed some light on the mysteries surrounding him, hopeful that the dark cloud that had been hanging over her head would suddenly burst forth with sunshine.

What a dreamer!

Her boyfriend’s back and they’re gonna be sorry …

The chieftain waved peremptorily to Ragnor the minute he stepped onto the airplane steps. Ragnor was pretty sure Ian wasn’t there to welcome him home with open arms.

“Wow!” Flash muttered. “Max gets his very own Welcome Wagon.”

To which Cody added, “Do you think he’ll give him a big ol’ kiss?”

“Just so it doesn’t involve tongue,” was Cage’s contribution.

“Sarcasm ill suits you knaves,” Ragnor observed with a laugh, adding his own conclusion: “He probably wants to give me another silver brooch, like my wings, for being such a good SEAL whilst away from the base … or just for being away.”

“The only time the master chief would relish
giving you any kind of decoration is if he could pin it on your ass,” Pretty Boy said. “Or another objectionable body part.”

“There is naught objectionable about
that
part of my body.” Still, he pretended to shiver and cross his legs at the prospect of any sharp object going there.

They all had a good laugh then at his expense, which they stopped abruptly when they got to the bottom of the airplane steps.

“Stay away from my sister, birdbrain,” the chieftain said to him right off, pulling him over to the side of the tarmac.

“You say birdbrain as if ’tis an endearment.” Ragnor smiled cheerily at the chieftain.

“Do I have to assign you to Gig Squad the minute you get back?”

So the chieftain is singing the same old song. Blather, blather, blather.
“Where is Alison?”

“She is none of your concern.”

Wouldst like to take a wager on that?
“She is very much my concern. Either you tell me where she is and why she does not answer her tell-a-fone, or I will get the answers myself.”

“Is that a threat, shit-for-brains?”

Ragnor inhaled and exhaled sharply for patience. Word insults need not pierce him. Finally he said, “Believe you me, a Viking with a purpose is a formidable foe. I do not make idle threats. And I do not want you for my enemy. In truth, you and I are on the same side of the shield when it comes to protecting Alison and having her best interests at heart.”

The chieftain’s eyes went wide at his words. “Un-be-freakin’-liev-able!” he muttered.

I think he’s starting to like me.
“Besides, once you
meet my sister Madrene, you will be sticking to me like burrs on a bull’s arse.”

“I am not interested in you. I am not interested in your sister. I am not interested in anything that comes out of your stupid mouth.”

“Not even if Madrene is a combination Julia Roberts and Charlize Theron?”

“You said she was a combination Faith Hill and Pamela Anderson. Make up your mind.”

Ragnor just grinned. Obviously, the chieftain had been paying more attention than he’d pretended.

Then, taking Ragnor’s forearm and following his teammates toward a nearby building, the chieftain disclosed, “A lot has been happening with the tango who’s been stalking Alison … and me, too. She’s moved into the bachelor officers’ quarters on base. An armed guard follows her everywhere. Me, too. She’s so stressed out, she’s eating chocolate by the bucketfuls. Now, will you leave her alone till all this is resolved?”

Alarm rippled over Ragnor. “Is she safe? Was she hurt in any way?”

The chieftain shook his head. “The attacks have been just verbal. So far. But this is no everyday weirdo making idle threats. This is bigtime serious. Do you understand?”

He nodded.

“So you’ll stay away?”

“Why would I stay away? I am no threat to her. I want to help.”

The chieftain groaned with frustration and probably would have pulled at his hair if he had some of any length. “You’ve got to give the FBI and Navy Intel room to work. Don’t distract them with your
presence. And, frankly, if I were you, I wouldn’t want to call attention to myself in any way … if you get my drift.”

Ragnor got the chieftain’s drift. That didn’t mean he would follow those ridiculous orders. Nothing would keep him away from Alison now that he was back in town.

Apparently the chieftain suspected his intentions, because he immediately ordered Ragnor and his classmates to the sleeping barracks, where they were to stow their gear and report to the Grinder within the hour. To make sure that Ragnor didn’t stray, he told the other seven members of his team, “If Magnusson leaves your sight for even one minute before reporting back for duty,
all
of you are going to be doing push-ups for the next twenty-four hours. Is that clear?”

They all, Ragnor included, stood at attention, then saluted the chieftain as he stomped away.

“Asshole!” Sly said, to which the rest of them concurred with simultaneous grunts.

Once they returned to duty, the instructors immediately launched into a discourse on what would be the final phase of their training for the next three weeks: SCUBA, which meant diving … all kinds of underwater diving. The whole purpose was to teach them ways to get from one point to another underwater without being detected. It meant they had to learn to exhale in one steady stream for a minute and a half, which turned out to be harder than anyone had anticipated. It meant they had to learn to swim with underwater breathing devices. It meant they had to understand the medical aspects of this type of dangerous work, which Ragnor hoped would be
taught by Alison. It meant they had to know which fish were friendlies and which were not; sharks and barracudas being in the latter category, both of which he had encountered in his previous life. It meant they had to become true frogmen, as comfortable in the ocean depths as they were in a jungle environment. Webfoot warriors!