The Medusa Prophecy

by Cindy Dees

  A second white form was crawling along behind Anders, checking the wiring. That must be Aleesha, the Medusas’ explosive ordinance expert. Which meant the third figure, the one passing Anders the bricks of go-boom must be Misty. Anders disappeared around the far end of the cabin for several minutes, then made his way back down to the end nearest Karen and the remaining barrels of psychedelic powder.

  Ideally, they’d enter the cabin to drop the bulk of the improvised explosive. ANFO, ammonium nitrate/fuel oil, performed best when set off in a confined space, like, oh, a bedroom. The next part of the op was for Anders to enter the cabin and set the majority of the ANFO under one of the beds. To that end, Karen concentrated hard on the two bedrooms, both of which had a window facing this direction.

  “Both rooms clear,” she murmured. “Neither lit but ambient light is entering both from the hallway. The door to the southeast one is about halfway closed, the other door’s wide open. Neither appears occupied, but the top bunks in both rooms are obstructed from my view.”

  Which sucked for Anders. He’d have to go in on the assumption that the bed was occupied. And that meant he’d have to go in quickly. In this weather, an open window would be discovered within seconds.

  Anders was too close to the cabin to respond aloud. But Karen didn’t need him to tell her what he was up to. He stopped under the southeast bedroom window. Aleesha and Misty crouched on either side of it. Aleesha would jimmy the window open, Anders would dive in, Misty would pass him the duffel of ANFO and det cord, and Aleesha would close the window behind him. Done right, a silent, five-second maneuver.

  It took four seconds.

  Karen held her breath for too long, waiting for Anders to show up again. Her lungs burned, and then her entire chest ached with the suspense. He would’ve rolled under the bed, out of plain sight, to set up his toys. When the bag of ANFO was all wired to blow, he’d click his throat mike once. Aleesha and Misty would open the window at the same time he dived for it, and he’d be out of there in two seconds. Three tops.

  Two minutes passed. Three. Five. He ought to be more than ready to get out of there. Tension mounted in Karen’s gut, coiling tighter and tighter. It felt as though a python was wrapping around her chest, constricting by inches. With every breath she took, it got harder and harder to suck air into her lungs. Where was he?

  Something was wrong. He ought to have clicked by now. She couldn’t see anything that would stop him from leaving. What was he hearing?

  Vanessa murmured, “Python, report.”

  “All clear. No movement in the bedrooms or hallway. Anders is still in place, however. He’s been inside—” a quick glance at her watch “—six minutes.”

  Which was to say, since Anders was monitoring this frequency, too, get the hell out of there already!

  So focused on Anders was she that it took her a while to register the ever-so-faint vibration in the ground beneath her. At first, she put it down to her wildly pounding heart. But it got heavier, and then an almost subliminal noise began to accompany it.

  Shit! She rolled over on her back and looked behind her, down the snowmobile track. She peered between gusts of snow and made out a dark shape. Coming toward her fast.

  “Incoming!” she announced urgently.

  Oslo, Norway, Midnight Sun Lounge, March 11, 11:00 p.m.

  Astrid looked around the disco. They were all starting to blur together in her head. She and Ivo had been in and out of so many that she could hardly keep them straight. But the routine was always the same. They went in, staked out a place at the bar, sipped a soda, did a little dancing so she could have a look around at the patrons, and got friendly with the bartender and whoever looked like regulars in the place. Then Ivo casually dropped the name Izzy to see if he got any response.

  She still was intimidated by Ivo. And the more she got to know him, the more intimidated she got. He was just such a decent guy. A white-hat type all the way. So out of her league. She couldn’t help feeling like an immature teenager when she was with him. He talked about things like politics and theater—stuff she was interested in but had never talked about with guys before.

  “The usual?” he shouted in her ear over the pounding music.

  She smiled and nodded at him. Ginger ale with a twist of lemon. It looked like an alcoholic drink, but she could have a dozen and not be the worse for it.

  “I need to go to the toilet,” he shouted. “Will you be okay here for a few minutes?”

  She grinned back at him. “What would you do if I said no? Hold it or take me with you?”

  He laughed. “Tough choice. I think I’d take you with me. I like being with you.”

  Her toes curled into tight little knots of pleasure. “Go on. I’ll be fine by myself. And the rest of the team is still watching me.”

  She watched his tall, lean form weave around the edge of the dance floor toward the neon sign pointing to the restrooms. And, as her eyes followed him around the room, she noticed a cluster of people at tables in the back corner. She and Ivo hadn’t scoped out that area yet. She peered through the dim light. And started. For a second there, a man had waved his hand in the air sort of like Izzy did it.

  She squinted harder at the guy. She couldn’t be sure from this distance. A dark-haired man, maybe in his late thirties or early forties, sat at a table with several other people. Three girls and two more guys. A crowd of empty glasses filled the table in front of them. Even though the guy was dressed plainly, he had a vague air of, ‘I’m a rich guy who can afford to pay for all my friends, and the women hang all over me.’ Sort of like Izzy. Although the pimpish vibe had been much more pronounced in the drug dealer she recalled.

  Had she spotted their guy? How cool would it be if, when Ivo got back, she could tell him she’d found his man for him? It would go a long way toward proving that she could handle herself like an adult.

  She leaned forward to shout at the bartender, “Do you know that group at the fourth table from the back wall over there?”

  The bartender looked where she indicated. “Nope. But they’ve been in here a couple times before. Met a few weeks back with some guys from a medical supply company. I overheard a couple of the salesmen talking about closing a deal for some lab equipment.”

  “What are they drinking?” she shouted across the bar.

  “Absolut Citron.”

  “Give me a bottle of it. Put it on the tab of the guy I’m with.”

  The bartender nodded and passed her a fresh bottle of the Swedish vodka. She grabbed it by the neck and headed out across the dance floor. She wasn’t a half-bad looking blonde herself, and with the vodka in hand, she had confidence she could get close enough to have a good look at the dark-haired guy.

  She pasted on what she hoped was a seductive smile and walked up to the big table. “Where’s the party?” she shouted.

  Everyone at the table turned to stare at her. The blondes looked stoned out of their heads already. The two beefy guys on the ends of the booth—bodyguard/thug types—looked up at her much more alertly, however. But the dark-haired man was the one who answered.

  “Who’s asking?” he shouted back.

  “My name’s Astrid. My boyfriend—make that my ex-boyfriend—is a jerk, and I want to have some fun.” He definitely looked like the guy she remembered. Although this guy looked thinner. Older. Maybe she’d been wrong about him.

  Her target flicked a wrist swathed in a gaudy gold-and-diamond watch. “Make room for our new friend.”

  Okay, now that did look familiar.

  One of the thugs stood up and let her slide into the booth. To her chagrin, the guy sat back down, effectively trapping her. Drat. She’d been hoping to sit on the end where she could make a quick exit if she had to. Ivo was going to come back and spot her over here. Then, he’d either kill her or let her drown in her own stupidity. Neither option was appealing, and either way, he’d never want to date her again.

  She turned quickly to her host and held up the bottle of vodk
a. “Can I interest you in a little of my favorite poison?”

  Surprise showed in the guy’s eyes for a millisecond, then he said smoothly, “Next round’s on Astrid.”

  The other blondes murmured vague thanks at her. Creepy. She looked the dark-haired guy in the eye and asked boldly, “What’s your name?”

  “Call me Ingmar,” he replied.

  Ingmar? The guy looked more like an Ahmed. And his choice of words had been interesting. The guy didn’t say, “My name is…” He said, “Call me…” And then there was the fact that Ingmar started with an I like Izzy.

  “You been in town long, Ingmar? I don’t remember seeing you around.”

  He downed the double shot of vodka she’d poured for him and grimaced as its fire hit his throat. “I’m passing through.”

  “Where are you headed, sailor?” she asked with a hint of seduction in her voice. She leaned forward so the neck of her dress gapped open.

  The guy was sharp. He didn’t miss her tone or her invitation. He tossed her a sharklike grin and then took a slow, thorough look down her dress. She might not be model-thin, but she was stacked. She let him ogle to his heart’s content. Men never equated boobs with brains. The longer he looked, the dumber he’d think she was.

  After nearly a minute she sat up straight. He hadn’t answered her question, dammit. She prodded again. “Traveling’s tough in this weather. You gonna be in town a few days while the blizzard clears?”

  He frowned. “I gotta get north. Got a pick-up to make. I fucking hate snow.”

  She laughed easily. “Then you’re in the wrong place, Ingmar.”

  “No shit.” He cursed liberally through the next few minutes of desultory conversation and dodged any more of her efforts to get him to divulge anything about himself.

  But the longer she sat here, the more sure she was that this was her guy. Except he never talked about dealing drugs or having any business in Oslo. In fact, the only business he talked about was getting his delivery up north. That was the one thing that wasn’t adding up. The man she’d remembered had been pushing his little pills hard. Wanted to move as many as possible as soon as possible. Yet this guy never even hinted at having a stash of pills to move.

  She eyed the hallway from which Ivo should emerge any second. She needed to get out of here. Soon. She’d probably learned all she could about this Ingmar fellow. And it was plenty to know the police should definitely have a little chat with this guy.

  She picked up the vodka bottle and poured another round of drinks. By grossly overfilling everyone’s glasses, she was able to empty the bottle. She’d use the excuse of getting up to fetch another one as soon as everyone finished this round. But darned if Ingmar didn’t decide to sip at his glass.

  A lean, familiar form appeared in the entrance to the hallway leading to the bathrooms. Crud. Time was up. She had to go. Now.

  To the thug beside her she shouted over the music, “Let me out. I’ll go get us another bottle of vodka.”

  The guy shrugged. “That’s what waitresses are for.”

  She glanced to her right. Ivo had spotted her. He was frowning and making his way through dancers toward her. She glared at him and tried to warn him off silently, but to no avail. She even frowned and shook her head slightly at him. Not going to take a hint. Now what?

  “Hey, Ingmar,” she said brightly. “Wanna dance?”

  The guy lolled on his bench. “Do I look like a dancer?” He laughed.

  She smiled brilliantly. “Sure, you do. C’mon. I’ll show you some steps. It’ll be fun. I can move my package like nobody’s business.”

  The thug beside her interrupted. “We got a problem, Mr. U. We got a cop incoming. And he looks pissed.”

  The change in “Mr. U.” was immediate and startling. He lurched upright, his arms yanking away from the blondes, one of whom whined in protest. His gaze narrowed, darting left and right. “You said there’d be no cops in here,” he snarled at the talking thug.

  “They don’t usually come in here.”

  “Usually isn’t good enough. No cops,” Ingmar hissed.

  Okay, then. So even if this guy wasn’t Izzy the drug dealer, he was definitely a criminal. No law-abiding citizen was that freaked out by the idea of a cop approaching his table.

  The thug beside Astrid stood up. Thank God. She slid to the edge of the booth. As soon as the big man took a step forward, she could slip out of here. But the thug didn’t move. Instead, he said gruffly, “Can I help you, Officer Dahl?”

  Astrid couldn’t see around the bodyguard type, which was probably just as well. Ivo must be royally torqued off that she’d gone fishing for Izzy on her own like this.

  “Jaeger. Long time no see. They finally let you out of jail, huh?” Ivo said from the other side of the mountain of man in front of her.

  “Yeah. I’m out.”

  “So, introduce me to your new friends.”

  “They ain’t your friends, Dahl. Unless you got some business with me, why don’t you just move along now?”

  “Ah, but they are my friends.”

  Astrid noticed Jaeger’s hands flexing into fists inside his jacket pockets as he drawled, “Dahl, you’re off duty. Go away before I gotta do something…like this!”

  Astrid gasped as the man lunged forward, for she’d seen something from her low angle directly behind Jaeger that Ivo undoubtedly could not. Jaeger’s right hand wasn’t empty as he pulled it out of his pocket.

  “Ivo!” she screamed. “Gun!”

  Northern Norway, March 11, 11:15 p.m.

  Karen reported tersely, “Two snowmobiles. One rider each. Anders, hold your position.”

  She drew breath to tell Aleesha and Misty to make like snowflakes, but as she turned back their way, they’d already melted away into white nothingness. Anders and his men had taught them well. Time for her to do the same. Her adrenaline screaming, she pulled the snow she’d pushed aside earlier over her legs. Awkwardly, flapping her arms like seal flippers, she tossed snow over her back. Jeez. Her heart felt as though it was going to pound its way right out of her chest. Her breathing came light and fast and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.

  How in the hell did Jack and Vanessa operate together on missions? She was so worried about Anders she couldn’t even draw a full breath.

  The first snowmobile drew level with her, the chainsaw scream of its engine deafening as it roared past. It was towing some sort of long, crude sled behind it. So much for anyone noticing her tracks. A second snowmobile passed her. It was towing a sled, too. The vehicles neared the front of the cabin.

  Now would be the perfect time for the Medusas out front to start shooting. Except they dared not start a fight until Anders was back outside. Odds were somebody would rush into a bedroom to grab gear or hide, and he had to be gone before that happened.

  “Get out, Anders,” Karen ground out. “The show’s about to start out front.”

  Infuriatingly, he didn’t respond. The first snowmobile parked in front of the cabin. The front door opened.

  “Come on, golden boy!” she urged.

  The second snowmobile pulled to a stop. Any second it would cut its engine.

  “A bunch of the hostiles are out front being social with each other. Let’s go!” Karen whispered furiously.

  Finally. A single click.

  Misty rose up out of the snow beside the cabin instantly, a snow-covered Sasquatch. The window sash was barely halfway up when a white form half-dived, half-slithered through it. Misty yanked the window back down.

  “He’s out,” Karen announced tersely.

  “Fire,” Vanessa ordered.

  The idea was for Katrina, the team’s sniper, to knock out a window. A non-lethal shot that would startle the bad guys and shake them up without killing anyone. An announcement that armed forces were outside the cabin. A rifle report rang out, its sharp noise distorted by the storm into a tremendously loud crack. Karen barely heard the tinkling shatter of the kitchen window o
ver its echoes off the mountains around them.

  The bad guys reacted all right. Before they’d barely flinched, they’d all leaped for the cabin door. Four of the five men hit the opening simultaneously. They looked like a bad cartoon, all trying to shove through it at once. They popped through to the interior. The fifth guy crouched—a slightly more military reaction, took a quick look around, appeared to realize how exposed his position was, and dived for the cabin, too.

  As they’d predicted, the outside floodlights went on. Karen had already pulled up her night-vision goggles just in case. No need to fry her retinas tonight, thanks. She squinted into the abrupt and blinding light.

  And then tinkling noises sounded all around the building. All the remaining windows were being broken out…from the inside!

  The bastards were planning on shooting back!

  “They’ve taken firing positions in all the windows I can see,” Karen panted. God, her chest hurt. And she didn’t have a damned thing to fire back at the guys looking out the bedroom windows in her direction except insults. And now, with them looking out, she couldn’t move either, lest she be spotted.

  Shots started ringing out. Undoubtedly the tangos. The Medusas wouldn’t waste their limited ammo in such wanton fashion. Besides, the clunky, bolt-action rifles the Medusas were stuck with didn’t allow for the rapid fire she was hearing.

  With the weird acoustics out here, Karen couldn’t tell where the shots were going, but it sounded like it was mostly aimed out the front of the cabin toward Medusa Team Two. Dang, the noise was loud! It rang in her head, one crack stacking on top of another until she was sure her skull was going to split. The pain was excruciating. Her eyeballs were going to explode! Make it stop.

  It was all she could do not to scream.

  Stop. Rewind. Since when did she scream in the middle of a firefight? She’d lain on more firing ranges than she could count, for hours on end, and they’d been a hell of a lot louder than this.

  Why it hadn’t dawned on her earlier that she was losing it again, she had no idea. But sudden awareness of the encroaching madness did burst across her brain. Crap. Not now!