Valhalla (27 page)

6 December
Manana Island
Maine

Barnaby came ashore in the leather sling of the breeches buoy, his massive body dangling over the roiling sea as the motorized zip line hauled him along the cable from the crash boat to the anchored position onshore.

He had heard the sounds of sporadic gunfire in his cabin, but its porthole was sealed. He had no conception of the carnage that had taken place until the zip line carried him past the line of dead men in white thermal suits waiting to be ferried back.

When the leather sling had returned to the crash boat, Johannes Prinz Karl Erich Maria von Falkenberg emerged from his stateroom dressed in hooded arctic-weather gear. The faithful Steiger helped him into the breeches buoy.

Only his ashen face peered out from the warm protective clothing as he rode in the sling over to the island. On the next trip, Steiger joined him ashore, followed by Hjalmar Jensen.

Aside from the Lynx, only two commandos were still alive from the contingent that had boarded the crash boat from the
Leitstern
the previous evening. Barnaby watched as they carried another white-uniformed corpse down the slope from the crest of the ridge.

The Lynx had rigged a canvas sedan chair with two short poles. After settling the prince in the chair, he and Steiger hoisted the poles and began to slowly make their way up the slope. Barnaby followed along behind them with Jensen. The two remaining commandos came last, their weapons trained forward.

As they neared the ridgeline, Barnaby passed the first body that wasn't wearing a white thermal suit. He was lying facedown on the gorse, the man's shoulder-length blond hair matted with blood and at least a dozen bullet wounds stitched across his broad back. Barnaby didn't recognize him.

A short sword lay next to the man's body. Barnaby felt a jolt of excitement when he saw the inlaid carvings on its hilt and blade. It would have been carried a millennium ago by an exalted leader.

As they crossed the crown of the ridge, he visibly grimaced at the next corpse. Lying on its side, the body was unmarked, but Barnaby recognized him from his clothing and boots. Beneath the rain-soaked hair, a mask of congealed blood covered what had once been Steve Macaulay.

Farther down the opposite slope, Barnaby saw the partially elevated stone slab rising above the surrounding formation of bedrock. It was exactly as he had pictured it, roughly five feet square and fitted into position by the Norse stonecutters a thousand years ago with astonishing precision.

He could only assume that Macaulay and the other man had found Eriksson's tomb and died protecting it. But where was Alexandra? The thought she might have been killed in the gun battle made him sick with anguish. He took momentary comfort in there being no more bodies along the opposite slope.

“Die Wikinger waren hier,”
said the prince to Steiger as he arrived at the stone slab. The Vikings were here. Von Falkenberg stood facing the knife edge of the wind and surveyed the barren landscape around him. It was almost unchanged after a thousand years. It would be the last time he would ever gaze at the earth's austere beauty.

The Lynx ordered one of the commandos to descend first; then Steiger helped the prince to climb under the brow of the slab and into the narrow passageway. Jensen went down next, his agitated eyes full of eagerness at what lay below. With a flick of his pistol, the Lynx motioned Barnaby to go down after Jensen.

He ordered the last commando to remain on guard at the opening.

“Vaer arvaken,”
he said before following Jensen down. Be vigilant.

At the end of the passageway, two battery-powered tungsten-halogen lights had been erected in the catacomb for the prince's arrival. Von Falkenberg slowly stepped into the brilliantly lit chamber with the same joy of anticipation as a priest entering the Holy See.

Steiger assisted him in removing his arctic-weather gear. Underneath it, he was dressed for the most important occasion of his life in a formal black grosgain silk tailcoat over striped trousers, a white waistcoat and shirt, and a white pique bow tie.

Two rows of ribbons and medals adorned his right breast, all of them bestowed by the elders of the Ancient Way for his services to the church. A large golden Mjolnir pendant hung from a red silk sash in the center of his chest.

When Barnaby reached the opening, the first thing he saw was Alexandra on the other side of the chamber, standing alone and unharmed near an enormous riveted chest, her hands bound behind her back. When she looked up and saw him, a smile of relief lit up her face.

She had felt so powerless after the sounds of gunfire ended. There had been no place for her to hide. When she finally heard someone coming, she prayed it would be Steve.

It wasn't. She recognized him right away, the blond commando leader who had murdered Thorwald and Dr. Callaghan in cold blood before destroying their base camp on the Greenland ice cap.

She shuddered involuntarily, recalling the pleasure he had taken in searching her in the catacomb before binding her hands. Then Barnaby was embracing her. He held her close.

“Where are Steve and Chris?” she asked urgently.

“I'm sorry, Alexandra,” he whispered.

When he stepped away from her, silent tears were running down her cheeks.

“Is it necessary for Dr. Vaughan to be bound like a slave?” he called out to the prince, amazed at seeing him in white tie and tails.

“Release her at once,” said von Falkenberg. He turned to glare sternly at the Lynx as one of the commandos released her.

Oblivious to the centuries-old carpet of guano covering the cavern floor, Jensen knelt in front of the riveted chest containing the Norse armor and weapons, gazing in awe at its contents.

“These were his own,” said Jensen. “Like the Egyptian custom, Norse tradition was that the greatest warriors' weapons were buried with them to be carried into the next life.”

He picked up the broadsword and watched the inlaid carvings dance in the light.

“Leifr is here then,” he said.

“Where?” replied Barnaby.

“Yes, where, Professor Jensen?” demanded the prince.

“I do not yet know, Your Grace,” replied a nervous Jensen, immediately getting up to search for clues along the jagged rock ceiling and walls.

“His tomb is here,” said the prince. “He is here. . . . I can feel his presence in my soul.”

“I'm surprised to learn you have one,” said Barnaby.

Von Falkenberg tottered toward him. Barnaby could see the old man's end was very near. He had visually shrunk in just the hours since he had first met him in the socialite's mansion.

“How can I convince you and Dr. Vaughan to help me?” he said, clearly doubting Jensen's ability to solve the mystery.

“You can give me your solemn oath that Dr. Vaughan will be spared when this is over,” said Barnaby.

“I pledge to you upon my sacred faith that this will be so,” he said, his voice barely audible. “And I offer you the same dispensation.”

“You will allow us to live?”

“Certainly,” he replied. “Others who choose not to subscribe to our faith are allowed to live and work in our facilities.”

“As prisoners you mean,” said Lexy, “for life.”

“The day is coming when there will be no reason not to release you,” said von Falkenberg, “and sooner than you think.”

Barnaby looked at her, waiting for a signal.

“Must I demonstrate the alternative if you do not assist us?” said the prince.

Lexy had no doubt that he would follow through on the implied threat. The man had only hours to live and would stop at nothing to realize his dream. And there was something else. All her adult life, she had nurtured the chimerical hope that she might someday prove that the Norsemen had arrived in America first.

“I accept your pledge,” she said.

Each picking up a lantern, she and Barnaby ignored the two riveted chests and spent fifteen minutes systematically scouring the walls of the voluminous catacomb, and then every foot of the jagged roof.

“Metamorphic,” he said while examining the rock striations in the center. “Look here.”

Her eyes followed his to the small carved rings in the jagged stone ceiling before she led Barnaby to the small mound of irregular-sized chunks of black stone she had noticed during her own search. He trained the lantern on the two strips of animal hide lying next to it, along with its small metal hinges and the nearby fragment of worm-eaten wood.

He picked up one of the black stones and turned it over in his hands.

“What do you make of this, Hjalmar?” he said, handing it to Jensen.

“Charcoal?” he said, and Barnaby nodded.

“One of the most ancient of man-made fuels,” he said.

He turned to von Falkenberg.

“Charcoal was used by the Norsemen as their principal heating source during their travels. It was nearly as efficient as wood with only twenty-five percent of the weight.”

“But why here?” asked Jensen. “To what purpose?”

“That is indeed the question,” said Barnaby, grinning almost cruelly at him. “I'm surprised you would not know the answer, Hjalmar. Prince von Falkenberg deserves better from his pet archaeologist.”

Jensen stared at him with open hatred before throwing a wary glance at the prince and then at the Lynx. When Lexy began studying the tanned leather object, Barnaby came over to join her.

“What is a flexible bag comprising two boards with handles enclosing an airtight cavity with a valve to allow the expending of forced air?” she asked.

“A bellows or a blast bag as it was once known,” said Barnaby, “employed to fast-start a fire.”

“To what purpose?” repeated Jensen, unable to restrain himself.

Lexy went over and picked up a shovel along with the satchel of digging tools that Chris and Macaulay had carried down to the cavern earlier. Returning to the area near the disintegrated bellows, she carefully scraped away the coating of bat feces from two square feet of the stone floor. Kneeling, she began probing the cleared area with her fingers, poking and rubbing the uneven striations in the veined bedrock.

“Here it is,” she said finally.

It looked like nothing more than a tiny circular discoloration in the rock. She used Chris's chisel to scrape up a small chunk of it. She held it close to her nose and began kneading it with her fingers.

Picking up Chris's mallet, she set a small chisel above the discolored material and gave it one hard blow. The material disappeared below, leaving a circular hole about two inches in diameter.

“A beeswax plug,” she said, smelling the rush of cold dead air from below. “They used the bellows to start a fire in the chamber below this one. Then they cemented the edges of the tomb with beeswax and used this hole to evacuate most of the remaining air with a hand pump. When the fire consumed all the oxygen in the lower chamber, they had an airtight seal around the remains of the man buried below us.”

“But how can we enter the tomb?” asked the prince as he sagged wearily against Steiger.

He could feel himself going, his will to live and his strength nearly depleted. Standing in this hallowed place, he could only pray that he would live long enough to cast his eyes on the exalted being below him.

“Remove the riveted chest from the center of the catacomb,” she ordered.

When the two commandos attempted to move it, the chest disintegrated. Jensen helped them to remove its contents from the pile of debris before they swept away the thick layer of guano.

In the center of the catacomb was another stone slab, almost exactly the same size as the one that covered the outer passageway.

Over and under,
remembered Lexy from the rune inscription.

6 December
Manana Island
Maine

The Norsemen had carved two small depressions at the far corners of the slab, each with a shallow stone bridge to permit a rope purchase. Lexy pointed at the cavern roof directly above them.

“You will find matching stone rings directly above those,” she said. “We will need two coils of heavy rope.”

The Lynx and the commando secured the ends of two lines to the carved bridges on the slab and then ran the other ends through the rings in the roof. When they pulled together on the ropes, the end of the slab slowly separated from the surrounding cavern floor. Lexy heard a sustained crackling sound as the solid seal of hardened beeswax parted from the stone.

When the slab was elevated to a height of four feet, the Lynx and the commando anchored the ends of the lines to the rings on the roof. Barnaby called for the lanterns to be trained into the crypt.

The prince issued a loud groan when he saw that it was empty.

The stone floor of the lower chamber was at least nine feet below them. Lexy went over to the pile of tools that Chris and Steve had carried down earlier and uncoiled the rope ladder.

The Lynx anchored one pair of rope ends of the ladder to the edges of the slab and dropped the rest into the lower crypt. Lexy slid over the edge and slowly descended to the stone floor.

“The chamber extends farther in this direction,” she said, pointing the lantern ahead of her and disappearing from view.

“I must go down,” said von Falkenberg.

The Lynx descended first, assisting the prince after he arrived at the bottom. Von Falkenberg walked off into the darkness after Lexy, who had finally reached the far wall of the crypt. Lifting her lantern, she trained it on something that extended well out from the end of it.

“Mein Gott,”
said von Falkenberg as he took it in.

The stone sarcophagus had been constructed out of smooth gray shale. It was about six feet long and two and a half feet wide. The head section lay against the end wall, the rest perpendicular to it. Lying on the stone floor at the foot of the sarcophagus was something equally massive and wrapped in what looked like cured leather.

Steiger, Jensen, Barnaby, and the Lynx came up in single file, each carrying a lantern. In the radiant glow, Lexy saw that the lid of the sarcophagus was two inches thick and rested on top of the side panels. Like the slab above, it was sealed with hardened beeswax.

There was an engraved head of a Viking warrior on the lid, surrounded by smaller engravings of Odin's horn, the Mjolnir symbol, and the wolf's cross. The Viking image had a helmet of dense hair and a short beard.

“You may recall the reference in the rune inscription to the strange and powerful being that was fought and vanquished by Eriksson,” said Lexy. “We can assume that it is wrapped in those cured animal hides at his feet.”

“I wish to see it,” said the prince.

Jensen located the outer seam of the leather panels and used a knife to slit one end of it open. The Lynx started at the other end. When they came together in the middle, Barnaby carefully tugged the cured skins apart.

The skeleton was black and powdery with age but surprisingly intact after a thousand years. The first thought that ran through Lexy's mind when she saw it was the giant in
Jack and the Beanstalk
.

Based on the skeletal structure, the man had been nearly seven feet tall.

Lying alongside his body were the remains of the warrior's longbow and some arrowheads inside what had once been a leather quiver. Lexy was reminded of the ancient arrowheads she had seen at the Monhegan museum.

“He was a Skraeling,” she said.

“A Skraeling?” repeated the prince, confused.

“That's what the Norsemen called the indigenous people who were here a thousand years ago,” said Barnaby. “To the Norsemen, his size and strength would have made him both strange and powerful.”

“And buried like a dog at the feet of the victor,” said Jensen with an arrogant grin.

“Please remove the lid covering our exalted one,” said von Falkenberg. “I must see him—without further delay.”

The Lynx and Jensen used their knives to slit the beeswax seal around the rim. They then stood at one end of the sarcophagus while Steiger and Barnaby assumed positions at the other end. Very slowly, each lifted his respective corner. When the slab was clear, they walked it across the floor of the crypt and set it down along the stone wall.

Returning to the sarcophagus with their lanterns, they trained them inside the slate coffin. Von Falkenberg gazed down at the mortal body of Leif Eriksson and gasped aloud.

*   *   *

Macaulay came up out of the blackness to a searing bolt of pure agony. His head was a white-hot furnace of pain and he was blind. His breath came in short irregular gasps and someone nearby was moaning.

He realized it was his own voice.

He remembered where he was, or at least his last memory. It was on the yew-covered ridge above the stone slab. He had been trying to get up when the blond commando had shot him in the head.

But how could he still be alive? He willed his left hand to move and it headed clumsily toward his head like the hand of a mechanical toy. He felt for his pulse on his carotid artery. Its steady beat convinced him he had to be alive.

He moved his fingers to his face and tried to find his eyes in the viscous mess that was already there. His eyes were covered with a congealed mass of blood. He wiped some of it away.

A ghostly presence slowly came into focus as a single tendril of a yew bush just inches away from his nose. It was drenched with the harsh smell of the salt sea. When he slowly turned onto his back, he felt the pitiless rain on his face. He raised his head from the ground and felt the warmth of new blood flowing over his eyes.

The bullet had hit him at a rising angle in his forehead, but instead of penetrating his brain, it had creased the skull. He gently probed the area above his eyes and discovered that a large flap of his scalp was hanging loose.

He found the side pocket of the snorkel coat and managed to remove the cotton rag he had used to clean his pistol on Chris's boat. After resting for a few moments, he rolled the rag into a bandanna and then reached up to tie it around his head. It held the flap of skin in place and halted the flow of blood into his eyes.

He had to find Lexy. The last time he had seen her had been in the cavern. When he tried to turn over onto his stomach, he fainted. The wind and rain brought him around again. He had no idea how much time had passed. He knew he needed to get going.

He began crawling on his hands and knees down the slope toward the stone slab, keeping his head down in order to see what was right ahead of him, creeping inch by inch over the gorse and rocks, moving left or right to avoid the deep crevasses that loomed up along the way.

When he looked up again, it seemed he was no closer to the stone slab than when he had started. Even worse, he was starting to tire. The cold rain continued to sap what little reserves of strength he had left.

He paused to rest as a rolling clap of thunder filled the air. It was followed ten seconds later by a bolt of jagged lightning that momentarily lit up the leaden sky. He felt the insane urge to laugh. As if the wind and snow hadn't been enough. He briefly considered the bizarre notion that the Norse gods were truly angry.

The stark image of Lexy waiting for him in the cavern spurred him to move on again. Scuttling slowly along, he saw that the distance to the underground passageway was finally decreasing. He thought how good it would feel to be under the slab and out of the weather.

When he was no more than twenty feet away from it, he smelled a wisp of cigarette smoke. It was only a hint on the wind, but he was sure of it. He stopped and stared at the dark opening under the slab. As he watched, a brief curl of smoke rose out of the hole and disappeared in the wind, followed a few moments later by a helmeted head.

The commando was facing away from Macaulay and looking down the slope, his Skorpion submachine gun resting beside him on the rock ledge. If he turned around to look up the slope, Macaulay would be easy prey.

Macaulay began crawling toward him, desperately looking around for something to use as a weapon. He picked up one of the stones that Chris had collected to use as stops for the slab. Silently praying that the commando would remain in his shelter, Macaulay closed the remaining distance and crawled onto the base of the slab, slowly inching his way to the top.

When the commando poked his head out again to survey the landscape below, Macaulay was ready. As the man's helmet reached the top of the slab, he slammed the rock as hard as he could into the back of the man's neck.

He dropped out of sight, and Macaulay crawled around the side of the slab and slid down into the opening of the passageway. The commando was dead, his head dangling at a hideous angle from his shoulders. Macaulay was too weak to even lift the machine gun. He started down the tunnel headfirst.

*   *   *

“You must know better than anyone outside our faith, Dr. Finchem,” said von Falkenberg, “why this secret cannot be shared with the world.”

“You have plans for his DNA,” said Barnaby, “and you probably don't want this place to become another hideous version of Disney World.”

“Correct on both counts,” said the prince.

Lexy was still gazing down into the sarcophagus, stunned to see how remarkably preserved Leif Eriksson was after a millennium in the airtight chamber. He had lost most if not all of his blood in the battle with the Skraeling, but his condition was also a testament to the steps taken by his men to protect his remains.

His face looked as if it had been fashioned from brown leather, but it was still quite handsome, with an aquiline nose, full lips, blond hair and beard. It must have been a David-and-Goliath battle, she thought. Leif Eriksson wasn't more than five feet seven inches tall.

“In the centuries to come, this will become the most sacred place of our faith,” said the prince, “set aside for pilgrimages of those who are worthy, and those who share his blood.”

“And where will you be?” asked Barnaby.

“Right here beside him,” said von Falkenberg. “I will not be going back with you. . . . I will remain here always.”

“I wish to be with you,” said Steiger, stepping forward, his eyes moist with tears.

“So be it,” agreed von Falkenberg. “Dr. Vaughan, I would be grateful if you and Dr. Finchem might leave us now.”

Barnaby and Lexy walked back toward the rope ladder as the prince motioned to Jensen to join him next to the sarcophagus.

“You will inform Dr. Larsen upon your return to the
Leitstern
that we have accomplished our task,” he said softly. “When it is safe to return, he is to oversee the DNA extraction. He already has my instructions on how it is to be employed in the future. I have also made arrangements with regard to the small cairn that will house my own remains and those of Korporal Steiger.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“God be with you,” he said. “Now we wish to be alone.”

“But what about them?” asked Jensen, pointing to Barnaby and Lexy.

“I gave them my personal oath,” he said. “Perhaps they could be useful in our underground facility at Tromso. See to it.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said.

The prince suddenly hunched forward as if he had a terrible stomach cramp, and collapsed to the stone floor. Steiger rushed to assist him to his knees. Together they began to pray.

Von Falkenberg could finally let himself go. The vision of Einherjar came to him, pure and glorious, the heavenly resting place of Valhalla. He had accomplished everything he had set out to do.

Jensen joined the others at the rope ladder.

The Lynx was already planning what to do with the two archaeologists after they resealed the tomb. Especially the woman. Unlike the prince, he had made no pledge and Jensen would not care. Jensen was a coward.

The Lynx sent the commando up the rope ladder first. When he disappeared into the cavern above, he turned to Barnaby. This one wouldn't get out of the upper cavern, he decided, motioning him to go.

Barnaby looked into the blond man's eyes. He knew with certainty what was going to happen to them once the prince was sealed into his tomb. He slowly began to climb up the rope ladder.

“You next,” said the Lynx, placing his hand on Lexy's hip as she waited for Barnaby to clear the ladder.

The Lynx removed his short-range pocket transceiver from his belt.

“Horst, we are coming up,” he radioed to the commando he had left standing guard at the outside entrance to the tunnel. Jensen stood beside him, waiting for his turn to go up next.

The Lynx waited for the radioed acknowledgment as Lexy made her way up the rope ladder. There was only silence. Something had gone wrong. As always, he could sense it.

“Halt!” he shouted to Lexy as she approached the top of the nine-foot ladder.

Launching himself from the stone floor, he leaped to the fourth rung; from there he reached up and grabbed her left ankle. She screamed as he pulled his Glock from its holster and vaulted up the rest of the way.

As the Lynx climbed over the edge, he saw the commando lying on his side, his dead eyes staring back at him. The man the Lynx thought he had killed on the ridgeline was kneeling on the stone floor with a blood-soaked bandage around his head, holding on to the woman's arms and dragging her away from the opening to the crypt.

Still clutching the woman's ankle, the Lynx leveled his pistol at the man's head for a second time and smiled. He would not miss again.

Standing behind the inverted stone slab, Barnaby swung Leif Eriksson's broadaxe in a wide arc and slashed the two lines that held it suspended four feet above the opening.

The four-thousand-pound slab slammed home.

Sobbing with joy at the discovery that Macaulay was still alive, Lexy folded herself into his waiting arms as the Lynx's severed head rolled across the cavern floor and came to a stop, his vacant blue eyes staring into oblivion.