The Norse Directive (9 page)

“We have some more information on that coin of yours.”

“Awesome. Is it okay if I put you on speaker phone?”

“Sure.”

Sean set the phone on the counter and pressed the speaker button. “Okay, you’re on.”

Tommy took his cue and began. “So, it took quite a bit of digging, but we were able to find out some interesting information about the face on the coin and on Francis Jackson. Tara and Alex stayed here until one in the morning working on it.”

“And they’re already back to work, aren’t they?” Sean asked, already sure he knew the answer.

“Yep. I can’t keep them away. Anyhow, the face on the coin was harder to figure out. We ran it through every piece of facial recognition software we could find. It took a few hours, but we’re pretty confident we have a match. Have you ever heard of a Danish warrior named Holger Danske?”

Sean thought for a second and then shook his head and glanced at the other three people in the room. They all did the same. “Nope. None of us have ever heard of him.”

“I figured. He’s not a prominent player in world history. Holger Danske is more of a local legend in Denmark, particularly the area surrounding Copenhagen.”

No one said anything, so Tommy went on. “As the story goes, several hundred years ago, there was a great Viking king who roamed Scandinavia, pillaging, warring, and basically wreaking havoc.”

“Doing what Vikings did,” Sean added.

“Right. As a result, the king amassed a vast number of enemies. When he returned home from his travels and decided to settle down, the people he’d pissed off began to come for him. The Swedes were the most persistent and constantly invaded Zealand. That’s the Danish island where Copenhagen is located.” He wasn’t sure whether or not his audience knew that. “Anyway, the king sent out his mightiest warrior, a general who had led some of his foreign campaigns, to meet the threats.”

“And that general was Holger Danske,” Sean interrupted.

“Right again. Holger was, apparently, the Viking equivalent to Goliath, minus the debilitating gigantism. The legends say he was a massive man, and unmatched on the battlefield. Long story short, Holger defeated the enemies of Denmark every time he faced them.”

Coop and Charlie listened intensely at the breakfast table, as did Adriana.

When Tommy paused, she spoke up. “That’s a lovely bedtime story, Tommy. But what does any of that have to do with the coin Coop showed Charlie?”

“Glad you asked. I’m getting to that. After sorting through the myths and legends, it’s hard to find any definitive ending to the tale of Holger Danske. Truthfully, most people don’t give the story any credence and pass it off as fantasy. We did find one interesting piece that might give us a clue as to the reason behind the coin’s existence.

“When Holger had reached a ripe old age, he knew he would soon go to his eternal rest. The problem was that he had established such a reputation with the Danes that they had come to believe he was immortal. Even the king had declared Holger was sent by the gods.”

“He was basically their version of Hercules,” Sean cut in.

“Exactly,” Tommy said. “And this must have gone to Holger’s head. He didn’t want the reputation he’d built to come undone by dying, so he did the only thing he could think of. He ran away. Before he did, he planted the seed that he was going to sleep and would only return when Denmark needed him again.”

“Sounds like a comic book story line,” Charlie grunted.

“Indeed. But then it gets deeper. Holger believed that there were lands far to the west – lands that he’d heard other Vikings talk about. It was his wish to see those lands before he returned to Denmark to die.”

Sean’s curiosity picked up. He’d heard stories of Vikings visiting North America long before Columbus was born. There had even been some evidence of their presence from as far northeast as Newfoundland to the American Midwest. “Ah. Any idea where he may have gone? Any relation to the rune stones that were found here in the U.S.?”

“Maybe,” Tommy sounded uncertain. “The story trails off after that. All we know is that Holger disappeared and was never seen or heard from again.”

Something was bothering Coop at this point. A piece of the story didn’t quite fit. “I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Browning Cooper. I’m the owner of the coin. Who is the source of this story?”

“Great question, Mr. Cooper,” Tommy answered. “The tale was handed down by Holger’s second in command, a captain in his army. He was a man by the name of Asmund. We believe that he created the coin. On top of that, from the accounts we could find, it seems there are probably more than one of them. It seems that Holger’s captain created the coins as a way for Holger to find his way back to Denmark when he awoke from his slumber.”

“So there is more than one coin?” Sean asked. He glanced over at Coop and Charlie, waiting for the answer.

“Yep. It was tricky to find any definitive information since we really are dealing with legends and myths at this point. According to the tale passed down by Asmund or someone close to him, he helped Holger leave before he died, to protect his reputation. Asmund alone knew the location of Holger’s final resting place.” Tommy took a deep breath after relaying the information.

Silence sank into the kitchen as the four soaked in the details.

“You said you were able to find something on Francis Jackson too?” Sean asked suddenly, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“Right. Glad you reminded me. This entire thing is quite the rabbit hole. It seems Francis Jackson found the first of Asmund’s breadcrumbs.”

Atlanta

Before falling into a semistate of sleep during the night, Petrov made a phone call to Paris. This time, however, it wasn’t to Dufort. He preferred not to allow his employer to know everything he was doing. Wealthy men, men of privilege, didn’t understand the subtle blend of art and science behind his skill set.

The phone only rang twice before a tired French voice picked up on the other end. “What do you want?” The man on the line was clearly irritated and tired. Petrov knew that would be the case, given that it was four in the morning, Paris time.

“I need you to find out all you can about an American in the picture I’m about to send you, along with any of his associates.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. Petrov imagined the man groggily grabbing a pen and a notepad to jot down the request.

“Anything else?” the voice rasped through the earpiece.

“I need it immediately.”

“In hurry, eh? Very well. I will call you back shortly.”

Petrov’s research guy was top notch. He’d found the man through the intelligence underworld. Alain had worked for the French Central Directorate of Interior Intelligence. After being charged with various crimes, none of which could be proven, Alain had gone rogue, selling his talents to various people who needed information – and had the money to pay for it.

Though he went by the name Alain, Petrov assumed that was an alias. Not that it mattered. All he cared about was that the Frenchman could be called at any hour of the day and would produce quick, reliable results. In the case of getting information on Sean Wyatt, Alain delivered again.

The phone rang less than an hour later, just as Petrov’s eyes were getting heavy.

“Yes?” he answered the phone expectantly.

“What is it you want with this man, Sean Wyatt?”

The question came as a surprise to the Russian, as did the name. It wasn’t like Alain to ask something like that. Typically, he just did as told, happy enough to get paid handsomely for his services. “You let me worry about that. What do you have on him?”

Alain drew in a deep breath. “He’s dangerous. Worked for an American agency for several years.”

“CIA? FBI?”

“Non,” Alain replied in French. “It was something else. The reports I have on him say he is rumored to have worked for Axis.”

“Axis?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

Petrov went silent for a moment, digging deep into the recesses of his memory. “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know much. Mostly just rumors. From what I understand, no one really knows who works for them and who doesn’t.”

Alain went on. “The small amount of information I was able to find on him suggests that he did work for Axis. If that is the case, he is someone you must handle with extreme caution.”

The Russian let out a short snicker. He wasn’t one to be frightened of anyone, in spite of the fact that Wyatt had got the drop on him earlier. “He’s just a man.”

“Perhaps.” Alain didn’t sound convinced. “After he left the United States government, he went to work for the International Archaeological Agency in Atlanta. There are several documented instances where he used extreme measures to escape difficult situations.”

Petrov knew what that meant.
Extreme measures
was a tempered way of saying Wyatt had used lethal force. “So he is accustomed to killing. That’s good. So am I.” He’d heard enough about Wyatt. “What about his associates?”

“He has a lot of them. Where do you want me to start?”

“With the closest to him.”

The sound of papers shuffling rippled through the earpiece. Alain let out a long sigh and then spoke up. “Thomas Schultz is his longest known associate. He runs the IAA, where Wyatt worked until recently. It seems he has retired from international activities.”

The Russian had doubts about that, especially given the current situation.

Alain continued. “Schultz founded the IAA when his parents died in a mysterious plane crash. There are some peripheral characters he’s been known to interact with. A Joe and Helen McElroy, both of whom work for IAA now. After that, there’s a list of people but no one special.”

A question remained in Petrov’s mind. “What about a woman?”

The papers shuffled again through the earpiece. “I don’t have anything about a woman. Is there a woman with him?”

“Yes.”

“Did you get a picture of her? I could dig around.”

“No. But if that need arises, I will let you know.” Petrov thought for a minute. The fact that there was nothing on the woman in Wyatt’s house didn’t set off alarm bells in his head, but it didn’t make him at ease either. Usually, when someone was an unknown, it was because they kept off the radar on purpose.

“Will there be anything else?” the Frenchman yawned as he asked the question.

“Not right now. I’ll be in touch.”

He ended the call without thanking Alain for his diligence. Petrov didn’t have to thank him. His money did that.

Atlanta

“How much do you know about the Battle of Copenhagen?” Tommy asked through the speaker.

Sean looked around the room to see if someone else would answer before he spoke up. No one said anything, each passing questioning glances at one another. “Which one?” he asked finally.

A short laugh popped through the phone. “Very good,” Tommy responded. “I’m impressed. The second battle, to be more specific. The first bombardment of Copenhagen in 1801 was an attempt to secure the shipping lanes to the Baltic, which Great Britain needed to maintain trade with that region. There were fears among the British leaders that if the Danes aligned themselves with the French, new defensive positions could be set up, thus blocking the trade routes.”

“That was around the time of the French Revolution coming to a close, correct?” Adriana chimed in.

“Correct. The crown prince of Denmark was trying to keep the French at bay to the south. Napoleon had not fully taken command of the French forces yet, but that was only a short time away. France knew how important Denmark was. They’d been trying to bully the Danish leadership into an alliance for some time, as had the British. All King George needed was an excuse to attack the Danes and force submission to terms. When a rumor floated back to England about a potential alliance between Denmark and France, that was all he needed.”

“Funny how those rumors pop up just when people in positions of power need them,” Sean quipped.

“Indeed,” Tommy agreed. “Anyway, to shut off the alliance with France, King George sent a large contingent of his navy to bombard Copenhagen. Initially, they were met by some resistance from the Danish fleet in the straits near Helsingor, before going on to rout the Danes at Copenhagen. After the defeat and loss of many ships, the Danish government conceded.”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Charlie piped up. He’d been quiet for too long, and Sean knew it. “But what does this have to do with Coop’s stone and the diary?”

“Diary?” Tommy asked.

“We’ll get to that,” Sean explained briefly. “Go on.”

“Right. Well, as it turns out, a man named Jonathan Stuart was onboard one of the British vessels that came under attack near Helsingor. He ended up marooned on shore with some of his crew. The accounts say that while they were running for their lives, they stumbled into an ancient Viking tomb. Safe from the Danish patrols, the men hid there in the crypt until dawn. The men were able to hail a British frigate that was returning from Copenhagen, and they were taken safely back to England.

“Once there, Stuart relayed his tale to Francis Jackson, who had a keen interest in things of a historical nature and was one of the king’s principal advisers. Jackson was fascinated by the discovery, and after a few years of research had determined that Stuart and his men had stumbled onto a burial site of someone significant. Jackson read the stories of Holger Danske and believed that Stuart had unwittingly found the great warrior’s grave. According to the legends Jackson read, whoever possessed the sword of Holger Danske would never be defeated in battle.”

Another still silence pervaded the room for a minute. Before Tommy’s voice cut it, “You said you have a diary?”

“Yeah,” Sean answered. “We think it belonged to Jackson. We’re going to bring it by and let you take a look at it. There are some strange symbols in it, and a riddle. I know how much you like those.”

He was right. Tommy loved trying to figure out ancient mysteries. It was a big part of why he did what he did. It could be frustrating at times, but it was worth it to figure out something no one else was able to. “Guilty as charged. We’re all ready here, so head over when you’ve had enough coffee.”

Adriana shook her head. “You two know each other a little too well,” she joked.

Sean ignored her. “We’ll head over as soon as we finish breakfast. Thanks, buddy.”

“No problem. This is an interesting tale to say the least. I’ll see y’all in a bit.”

Sean ended the call and turned to face the two men at the table. “Sounds like we’ve got ourselves a little mystery to solve.”

Charlie shook his head. “Not me, my friend. I’m too old to run around chasing after treasure on one of your little adventures. I’ve heard the stories about what happens when you and Tommy get to sniffin’ around. Besides, I’ve got a store to run.”

It was a response Sean had expected, and Charlie was right, he would only slow them down. But he didn’t like the idea of his friend going back to his store just yet. “Charlie, I know you need to run your shop, but it still might not be safe. That guy is still out there, and if I know the type, he or one of his cronies is probably camped outside the store right now.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do then? Just sit around on my keister and close up? I ain’t one to live in fear, Sean. You know that.”

“I’m not asking you to close the shop. Just saying you should maybe lie low for a day or two. Call your buddy Dale, and see if he can run it for you.”

Charlie grumbled something under his breath about Dale and not wanting to call up people to run his store. It was a trait Charlie hadn’t been able to let go of since Sean had met him. He always wanted to do things himself.

“What was that?” Sean asked in a snappy tone.

“Nothin’,” Charlie shook his head. “I’ll call Dale. But I’m going back to work tomorrow.”

“I’d be happy to tag along and meet your friend at IAA,” Coop piped up. “This all sounds fascinating.”

“Good,” Sean said. “We’ll get this cleaned up and head out in a few minutes. We can take my car, Charlie.”

“Finally. I don’t like driving Sally around too much. She’s already been workin’ too hard going to Knoxville and now here.”

“Sally?” Adriana asked.

Sean rolled his eyes. “He named his Mustang Sally, after the song ‘Mustang Sally.’ He thinks he’s being clever. Not super original, by the way.”

Charlie beamed a proud and awkward smile. “I like it. So screw you.”

Coop burst into laughter and the others joined in.

SSSSS

Outside the house, hidden in the giant shrubs surrounding the exterior wall, Petrov listened to the conversation. He’d managed to follow the group to Atlanta the night before. When he discovered his targets were going to stay put, he returned to his stolen vehicle and made a few phone calls before falling into a fitful sleep in the back seat.

Sleeping in a car wasn’t a big deal to him. He’d slept in far worse. Cold winters in Russia taught him how to endure almost any uncomfortable circumstances. It wasn’t the makeshift bed that kept him waking up every few minutes. Years of constantly staying on high alert caused him to be wary of any sounds or movements. While he had been confident his targets wouldn’t leave, there was no guarantee.

The phone calls he made were to mercenaries he’d worked with before. One was an American, a former Army Ranger gone rogue. The other two were European, one from Serbia, the other Petrov wasn’t exactly sure. Not that he cared. The only thing Petrov needed was for them to perform, and in the times he’d used these men before, they always had.

They’d been alerted to what was going on earlier, and were waiting in a hotel in New York. Once the call was made, they flew to Atlanta and met up with Petrov in the early morning hours.

Now the three men waited patiently to see what they were to do next, their guns held tightly at their sides, ready to strike.  

Petrov turned around and faced his men. “They are going to midtown to a research facility. One of them is in possession of a diary. We need that book. He also has the coin. They must not reach the facility alive. You must be careful not to damage the book. Our employer will need it intact.”

The three men nodded.

“We’ll wait until they leave. Then we kill them all.”