The Norse Directive (29 page)

Helsingor, Denmark

The sculpture of Holger Danske was impressive. Standing over six feet high and three to four feet wide, the image of the sleeping hero was a massive tribute. Originally, the sculpture created by Hans Peder Pedersen-Dan in 1907 was made out of plaster, but was replaced in 1985 by one made of concrete since the plaster one had been damaged by moisture. In spite of the piece not being the original artwork, it was still something to behold.

Sean stared at the sleeping Viking on his throne, now illuminated by electric lamps that poured an orange-cream glow onto his countenance. A round shield with Nordic symbols adorning it rested against one of the huge legs, the traditional sword he would have used lay across both thighs. Holger’s helmeted head bowed permanently forward, his long flowing locks of hair trickling off his shoulders to mingle with his thick beard. Holger’s arms wrapped across his chest, his hands tucked under the biceps.

“What are you looking for here?” Dufort asked as the group huddled around the sculpture.

Adriana stood close to him, a wild fire springing from her eyes. Sean could tell she was beginning to think crazy thoughts, like bending down and pulling out her weapon and then killing every last one of the men holding them captive.

He knew she’d never get past her own kneecaps before they iced her though. He passed her a subtle glance and shake of the head that begged her to be patient.

“Well, nothing has changed since the last room we were in,” Sean said, wittingly. “So I still have no idea. I had hoped this statue would yield some kind of clue. Maybe the Nordic symbols on his helmet or the shield?” He pointed at the round object and the strange emblems that rose from its surface.

“Do you know what those mean?” Dufort asked.

“No,” Adriana said. “Perhaps if we took a picture, we could analyze it.”

The man watching her from behind grabbed her wrist.

“I’d rather you not reach in your pockets,” Dufort said insistently. “Perhaps I take the picture and see what I can find.”

The Frenchman dug a smartphone out of his jacket and snapped a few pictures. “We can take a look at those later. For now, let’s keep moving.”

“No, wait,” Sean stopped him. He studied the Viking's face for another ten seconds. He shifted his gaze to the rest of the sculpture, looking for something, anything that might give them a chance to find what the Frenchman was looking for, not sure what he would do with it if he found anything worth mentioning.

The truth was, Sean was grasping at straws, and he knew it. The sculpture they were looking at was created much too long after the time of Jonathan Stuart to have any connection whatsoever.

He spun around slowly so as not to startle Dufort’s men, and started walking slowly up the ramp and into the upper basement.

“Where are you going?” Dufort was incredulous.

One of his men stayed with Sean to make sure he didn’t try anything rash.

Sean didn’t look back as he spoke. “It’s not there. There’s nothing about that statue that will help us. Got to keep looking.”

Dufort appeared puzzled, but motioned for the others to follow. He gave a last look back at the sculpture before walking up the ramp with his men.

The underbelly of the castle was a tribute to the architectural wonders of the Renaissance. The massive structure was supported by smooth, arched domed ceilings. Passageways shot out in different directions throughout the basement. There were several areas where dummies had been propped up, dressed in Renaissance-era military garb, next to shooting windows to demonstrate the duties a soldier might have carried out four hundred years ago.

Making one’s way around the area beneath the castle would have been a spooky venture, even with torches of the time. Dark chambers, dungeon cells, and hidden passages could easily bring an imagination to life in the shadowy recesses.

Sean doubted there would be anything worth finding down here, but it was worth a passing glance. The man who’d captured him in Copenhagen stayed close by. They made their way past a dark cell that was connected to another passageway. The corridor looked as if it shot off east, toward the coast. He needed a distraction, something that would take the bodyguards off alert and give him the slimmest of windows to exploit.

A blast of thunder erupted outside, startling the group. They’d not seen any other tourists for the last half hour, probably because everyone was turned away by the weather.

Dufort went to the front of the group and accompanied Sean as they strolled through the castle’s footprint. “You know, Sean, it would be much easier if you would quit this silly ruse and tell me what I want to know.” His prying words bounced off the smooth, white ceilings and gray stone walls.

“Well, I’m starting to think that even if I knew where the next piece to the puzzle was, I probably wouldn’t tell you.”

A flash of lightning streaked through the dimly lit passage from one of the narrow windows in the exterior wall. A snap of thunder came just after.

Sean’s eyes narrowed. He’d seen something moving in the dark but couldn’t be sure what. Dufort and his head man were close by, leaving the other three with Adriana, one bringing up the rear alone. That last guy seemed to be lagging back.

“And why is that? We are not so different men. I seek an ancient treasure, just like you have done so many times before with your friend.”

“We didn’t do it for the money or the prestige,” Sean said through clenched teeth.

His face brightened again in the flash of another bolt of lightning. The thunder cracked again, and this time, he knew he saw something move quickly behind the last guard. A second later, the man crumpled to the ground, and a new figure, silhouetted by low wall lights, ducked back into the shadows.

Sean didn’t need to see the face to identify the mystery man. Tommy had caught up to them, and he was trying to level the playing field.

“Your judgment seems a bit old fashioned, Monsieur Wyatt. And I do not only do it for prestige or money. In fact, I don’t need the money. I appreciate the history behind a piece like the Holy Lance. Wars have been waged for it. People’s lives have been spent in search of it. Something like that is not just for the prestige.”

“Oh, so you’re just a collector who believes you should keep it safe instead of sharing it with the world in, say, a museum?” Sean kept the conversation going, trying to buy time for his friend. He moved into the next section of the cellar where several jail cells were maintained for the tourists to see.

Adriana and her two guards rounded the corner into the next corridor. To get through the narrow opening, one had to go in front of her and one behind. Another bolt of lightning seared the basement with light. The thunder crackled once more, and suddenly the man who was behind her dropped to the floor.

She sensed the movement at her back and twisted her head to see Tommy stepping over the body. The other guard started to turn toward her to continue his watch when he saw Tommy approaching with a sound suppressed gun in his hand. His eyes opened wide as he tried to react and spin around with his own weapon, but Adriana chopped down on his wrist with her forearm and knocked the gun to the hard floor.

Tommy tried to squeeze off a shot, but the bodyguard kicked up too quickly with his foot, striking the target hard in the hand and sending his gun flying through the air into one of the dark corners.

Sean and the other two spun around at the commotion. The reaction by Caron was too slow, however, and Adriana was already flying through the air with a black boot aimed at his face.

The heel struck true, crashing hard into Caron’s jaw, causing him to shuffle a few steps backward. He still held his gun, though, and turned it on the woman, intent on ending the little revolt here and now. Adriana anticipated his move and rolled at him. She grabbed the hand that held the gun and twisted it sideways. A low pop reverberated off the walls, and the bullet sparked around wildly as it ricocheted dangerously through the dark. She yanked the man’s arm forward and pulled it backward across her hip in an attempt to break the elbow. The bone didn’t give, but Caron yelped and dropped the weapon to the floor. He recovered and spun around, smacking her across the face with his knuckles.

The commotion had caught Dufort off guard, which gave Sean enough time to get in the first punch. He landed it squarely on the man’s jaw, which certainly sent a jolt of pain through the Frenchman’s face. Sean’s moment of victory was short lived, however, and Dufort struck back, landing a blow to Sean’s ribs and chin before he was able to block the third punch.

At the other end of the ruckus, Tommy had been pinned on the floor by the man he’d attacked. He’d got too close, and the larger fellow grabbed him and dropped him to the ground, using his weight to his advantage. He could feel the man’s big biceps begin to wrap around his neck, going for the kill by choking him to death. Tommy’s throat began to close as the huge muscle tensed and squeezed his airway shut. He grasped at the man’s skin, clawing at it and desperately trying to make the killer release. But it was to no avail. He could feel his eyes beginning to bulge.

Tommy did the only thing he could think of. He reached his thumb back and pressed around on the man’s face until he found the soft spot that was the eye socket. He pushed backward as hard as he could until the man screamed and his grip released. Tommy fell forward and gasped for air, taking it into his lungs in huge gasps. His chest heaved, and his throat burned. He crawled across the rough floor to the wall nearest to him and pulled himself up. He was still bent over when the henchman lumbered over and brought his foot up hard, kicking Tommy in the gut. Tommy grunted and collapsed again, doubling over and grabbing his abdomen in pain.

The man turned away and headed for the weapon that he’d dropped. It was somewhere in the shadows of the farthest corner, but it was nearly impossible to see along the edges. Tommy pushed himself up, fighting through the aching pain in his belly, and charged at the man’s back.

Adriana ducked a kick from Caron, but he was too fast and chopped down into her back with his elbow. She huffed in pain, but was able to roll out of the way as he tried to bring the heel of his shoe down on her face. He stomped a second time, narrowly missing her again. The third time, she reached up and grabbed his foot, twisting it at an awkward angle and using the momentum to spin him in midair and send him crashing to the ground.

She pushed herself off the ground and took a step back, preparing for his next attack. It came harder this time. Caron launched a furious assault, throwing one punch after the other at her face and torso. Adriana deflected one after the other with her forearms and blocked with her hands. With each attack, Caron’s anger grew. A sloppy jab at her nose was met easily as she swiped the arm down and head butted Caron squarely on the nose. Blood spewed out of it, and he reached up instinctively to tend to the damage. As he did, Adriana took two huge steps and leaped through the air.

Dufort easily wiped aside Sean’s attacks. Every kick, every punch, everything he tried was blocked and knocked away. The slender Frenchman had obviously taken jujitsu at some point, and his expertise at close-quarters combat was daunting.

Sean reached with one hand and grabbed at the man’s wrist in an attempt to use a judo flip and get him on the ground, but Dufort’s reaction was too fast, and he reversed the motion, twisting his arm and grasping Sean’s. He brought Sean toward him in an instant, and Sean felt the man’s elbow crunch into his ribs where the bruise from the bullet still lingered.

He involuntarily grunted from the pain, but his moment to hurt was short lived as Dufort chopped the base of his head where it met the neck. Everything suddenly became blurry and darker. Sean stumbled forward for a moment and landed on all fours, barely able to keep his balance. Another shot of pain rang through his abdomen as Dufort kicked him hard with the tip of his pointy shoes. Sean’s arms gave out, and he collapsed, his face smacking against the cold, hard stone.

Dufort had reached down and grabbed Sean’s ankle to drag him across the floor when he realized what was attached to Sean’s leg.

Tommy lunged at the bodyguard’s back and landed on top of him, driving the man’s head forward toward the jagged stone wall ahead. The man tried to put out his hands to stop his momentum, but he couldn’t react in time, and his head slammed into the wall at a horrific pace.

There was a sickening smack and crunch as Tommy drove the man’s skull into the wall again. The bodyguard went limp and dropped to the floor. Tommy didn’t know if he was dead or unconscious, but at the moment, he didn’t have time to check.

He crouched down and ran his hand along the wall until he found what he was looking for: the cold, familiar shape of his pistol.

Adriana flew through the air, aiming her boot’s heel at Caron’s chest. His vision was blurred from the nose injury, but he still had enough presence left to take a side step and grab her leg in midair. He used her inertia against her and flung her against the wall behind him, her shoulder and face smacking against it hard before she fell to the floor.

Caron wiped his nose with his forearm and stalked over to her as she rolled back and forth, trying to regain her bearings. Her left temple throbbed where her head had struck the wall’s hard surface, and her shoulder screamed with pain. Caron reached to his belt and pulled a five-inch-long hunting knife from its sheath. He flipped the blade around in his hand and held the tip over her chest. He leaned down and was about stab when a loud bang roared through the corridor.