Her heart ached with a dull thud, and she nurtured the comfort that Noble was safe with Sebastian and hoped her last glimpse of him wasn’t her last forever. They could have assaulted and taken back those missiles if not for her. WMDs on the loose would have every government fighting for the chance to blow the Northern Lion out of the water. Nevolin had to know that. God knows she’d planned everything else well.
The ship shuddered from the hull up, threatening to spill her out of the bunk, and she knew if she didn’t get her sea legs, she’d be making an offering to the porcelain god. Counting off like a dare, she sat up, then swung her legs over the side. Her mouth watered a little and she swallowed, then forced herself to stand, then walk. It was the only solution. She paced, her body warming, and it took another half hour or so before her stomach stopped fighting her. Her boots were still drying in front of the small wall heater and she crossed to them, testing the dampness against her cheek, then sat to pull them on. She was jerking the laces tight when the door opened. Nevolin stood in the doorway, then stepped inside. Olivia quickly tied her laces and stood.
Nevolin inspected her, and while Olivia wanted to belt her, she wasn’t in a position to agitate her captors. The woman was younger, her brows dark against her pale skin, contrasting with blond hair yanked so tight her eyes looked feline. Dark soulless eyes. She wore the same uniform as the others, dark gray with an embroidered Trident insignia. Under the heavy jacket, Olivia saw striped epaulets on her shoulder. Playing military commander, she thought, because according to intelligence, she’d never served a day. Kolbash had enough for both of them, granted, but the whole idea of it made her lips quiver. That a Spetsnaz would put up with it said a lot more.
“Are you done or you want to see my teeth, too?”
Nevolin smiled slightly. “You came from the same area of the Aramina’s star coordinates. What did you find?”
Olivia said nothing. Revealing even a shred of information on Ice Harvest was just not happening.
Nevolin took a step closer, looked her over like she was spooge on her boot. “You will learn not to fight me, Doctor Corrigan. As Sheppard did.” She grabbed Olivia’s parka and shoved it at her, then left the cabin and waited for her to follow.
Olivia pulled on her jacket and obeyed, glancing back to see the guy who’d belted her in the mouth walking behind her. He wore the same hateful expression, and as she followed Nevolin down the passageway to the floor below, she knew her life was running to its end. Nevolin wouldn’t share anything unless she knew she’d never leave here alive. The thought was sobering. She really didn’t want to die today, God. Really. She tried not to think of all the lost opportunities with Sebastian as she followed Nevolin through the ship to a deck below.
“You’re an American agent, da?” Nevolin said.
“I’m an archaeologist.” There were no links to her background. NSA made sure of it. All they had was her name on a phone and her association with Noble and his kidnapping.
“Then why send so many after the historian?”
“He’s a U.S. citizen. England’s hunting you for the murders in Chertsey and Denmark and the U.S. are watching you right now.”
“We’re out of satellite range.”
She scoffed. “Keep thinking that. You’ll sleep better.”
Nevolin eyed her for a moment, then walked though the ship, turning corners. Olivia almost lost her bearings before she went down a ladder. She negotiated it behind Nevolin. At the bottom, she stepped back and knew she was inside a lab. She counted four men in lab coats hovering over specimens, including the diary translation, and she recognized a few pieces of equipment. U.S. intelligence suspected the Russian missiles contained nerve agents. Did she get it out? Was she planning to release it?
Each man looked up from his task, and Olivia felt hatred rolling off them in waves. Up yours, she thought, sending it back. Her skin creeped when she glimpsed a reclining chair behind a curtain, complete with IVs. One wall was storage and from Sebastian’s pictures, she recognized the case for the underwater sonar. The woman had big plans, she thought, realizing everyone was uniformed and armed.
“What is the point of all this, Nevolin?”
That Olivia knew her name didn’t seem to faze her.
“Doctor Sheppard and my father conversed on the Irish legend before he was murdered. That is how I knew of him. But Sheppard did not learn nearly as much as my father. The translation filled in some pieces, but Father was far more skilled at finding the answers.”
She doubted it. Noble was the best. “I know you want to gloat, so get on with it.”
Nevolin crossed behind the technicians. “We are testing inks here,” she said, flicking a hand at the lighted tables like at Ice Harvest.
“For what reason?”
“My father located a letter on a vellum parchment in a family Bible.” Her gaze swept to hers. “A Corrigan Bible, the clan of the princess.”
Olivia felt suddenly possessive over the letter. “What did you find?”
“The paper is of the period and the ink is from a squid. Rare for Ireland. My scientists believe the ink came from China.”
“Entirely possible.” The Chinese were the first printers and squid ink was common, but its resilience over the years depended on preservation. The original monk’s diary was in iron gall ink, yet the last hundred pages or so were written with squid ink. A gift from the princess, she thought. Whether Nevolin’s letter and the diary’s ink were the same was just a theory without tests.
“I was in Ireland the day the diggers found the diary, Doctor Corrigan. I know the relic exists.”
“Is that right? Have any proof?”
Nevolin walked to a man in a corner sitting at a small table. He was in his seventies at least, hunched and wearing magnification goggles. He probed at a mass resting on a lighted counter, and as she walked near, Nevolin called his name. She spoke in Russian, gesturing between her and the mass of what looked like fabric. The scientist removed his goggles and handed them to her. He stood, backing away, and Olivia slid them on, adjusted the scope, and leaned over the specimen. Her heart slammed to her throat when she recognized the twist of Celtic symbols. She intensified the view and the weave of the fabric was like a calling card from the Viking ship. The needlework on the stole and tartan fragment had the same slant and knotting, and she suspected this piece was embroidered by the same person. But that meant it was the princess. “Where did you find this?”
“My father did. In Benzù.”
Olivia looked up, pulling off the goggles. “Where exactly, in what? Its deterioration isn’t from a dry climate.”
Nevolin spoke to the old man, then looked at Olivia. “It’s wool.”
“I’m aware of that, but it wasn’t kept in a dry climate recently. The fibers are matted and there’s mildew growing. Take a sample, see for yourself.” She handed the goggles back.
The older scientist murmured in her ear and Nevolin cut him off with a wave. “It was in my father’s safe. On the Trident.”
Olivia could only imagine what she saw or how she got inside, but it couldn’t have been pretty. She tried not to feel sympathy and remember Noble’s injured hand. “When did he find this?”
“Father took several trips to Morocco before his death. He told me that when he returned from his last voyage, I would understand his obsession. Father never wanted to be a submariner, but he was groomed for it.”
Olivia could care less about Gregor Nevolin’s career choice, but how did he know where to look for this? Norse runic writing had been found in Jerusalem, Libya, and Egypt and as far as Turkey and Russia, but Morocco was where Olivia was looking because the coins found on the Viking mummy were dirham and one gold dinar. She looked back at the fabric on the lighted table, the illumination showing a pattern. She slid the goggles on, taking up the needle-tipped tweezers and tracing the path.
“What did you see?” Nevolin said from close by.
Olivia spoke without thinking. “The fabric
is in long strips. I’d say about eight inches wide, and they pass over each other three times, in three places.” Olivia spotted a string of tiny links, and pried a piece loose, then laid it to the right. The distinct chink said it was metal. She removed the goggles, handing them over.
Nevolin looked and her indrawn breath said she understood. “A chain, silver perhaps?”
“There’s more, and it’s on the same lines of the fabric. Three times.”
Nevolin straightened. “Three times three. Like the occult? Are you saying there was a spell on this?”
She kept her mouth shut. She’d already given her too much already, but the monk had claimed the princess was a sorceress, and if she truly cut the stone in half, then the Maguire’s lady had abilities that couldn’t be explained. Even today.
Nevolin conferred with her men, and Olivia let her gaze stroll over the lab. Maps, ancient and new, hung on the wall, scraps of paper and notes were thumbtacked near, along with several symbols. She recognized the runes and the Arabic, then took a step closer to the board of line drawings.
There was a sudden commotion on the other side of the room near the door, and Nevolin dismissed the men and walked around the corner of the tables. She stopped short and a second later, the woman’s smile transformed her face. A few feet behind her, Olivia stared at the knot of fabrics, not for its rare qualities, but for its shape. It’s a wrapping, she thought as Stefan nudged her away from it.
Near the entrance was a big man, and when he stepped farther into the florescent light, she realized it was Kolbash. He looked amazing, really good. Healthy, not like he’d been shot in the chest a few hours ago. Even his skin tone had lost that pastiness. It was nothing short of miraculous and a glance at the scientists said they agreed. Nevolin ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. Whatever he said to her sent a hush around the room and he kissed her, then stepped back and crossed to an exam table. He placed an oblong object on the glass. Its soft sea green shade was completely opaque and blocked light from the illumination table. Olivia took a cautious step, then another. She tipped her head and swore she heard angels singing.
On the milky white table was the jade stone.
The Siofra.
FSB Headquarters
Satellite Surveillance
The darkness of the room suited Leonid. The screens spanning the wall erased any further emotional attachment. He kept perfectly still as he watched the colored dots representing ships and aircraft near the Northern Lion. The icebreaker had encountered Danish soldiers on Greenland’s shores. He didn’t know the outcome. Satellite showed a helicopter near the ship, but more than that wasn’t possible. Satellite capability was difficult with the storms moving through the arctic. The door opened and he glanced, then scowled when Golubev entered.
He stopped near. “What are you doing, Leonid?”
“Cleaning up your mess,” he said, and stared ahead. “The Americans are in the Greenland sea with the Northern Lion.”
Golubev lifted a bushy gray brow.
“An entire amphibious battle group is being redirected. They know. Nevolin had the equipment to reach the submarine and retrieve the ICBMs. From Molenko, she had plenty of proof of the Trident…mishap.” The lie stuck in his throat. “I imagine she found the rest quite easily. These three vessels”—he gestured to the lower portion of the screen—“have surrounded the Northern Lion since the Greenland coast.” He pointed right. “That is a MiG. Make your choice now.”
When Golubev didn’t answer, he looked at his superior. He didn’t hide his distaste for the man and he would not shoulder the blame for this crime. But Nevolin held volatile information that could destroy the FSB, the president, and the entire country. Whatever they did would have to be decisive and final.
“Do it.”
Leonid refused to give the order and kept his expression impassive as he’d done for the last fifteen years. Offering judgment of his superior’s choices would find him in a gulag in Siberia listening to whales.
“Eliminate the Northern Lion.”
Leonid looked at the technician. The young man wore the same bland expression. “You heard the director, da?” The man nodded and turned back. “Nevolin has several ships approaching.” He waved at the screen. “We know nothing of her plans, but clearly the Americans do. I’m assuming. We have no inside source to question. Anyone associated with her and the Trident is with her now. Brothers, cousins, fathers, and sons of the Trident crew, director. It is clear how she gained so much information. She had a hundred spies.”
“Use whatever means you have. She must not reach any shore with the weapons. Their existence is an act of war with the United States.”
He made a rude sound. “I’m well aware of the treaties broken, but I remind the director, the Americans are very close to capturing Nevolin.”
Golubev huffed, his jowls quivering. “Then our only choice is to destroy evidence.” He walked to the door. “Now, Leonid.”
Olivia’s gaze snapped to Kolbash. The changeling stone. She went out on a limb and thought, that’s how it changes things. It heals, quickly. Not only was the pasty color of his skin rosier, he looked about five years younger. A fountain of youth.
Nevolin smiled, then with a smugness that made her want to slap her, she waved toward the jade. “You see, I don’t need you to find the relic.”
Olivia pulled the magnifier over the stone. Her heart pounded as she realized that it truly existed. A chill gripped her as the monk’s words came back to her. Two halves fell to the ground. That she was staring at the truth of the legend made her breathless. She studied the fabric and realized it had wrapped the stone. She turned the relic clockwise. Light blinked off the jagged edges. She squinted and saw the original shape. A skull. The size of a man’s head, the Friar had said. With the tweezers, she traced the lines, seeing an eye socket, the empty nasal cavity, and the mandible. Only the cut side was smooth, and was nothing like the Mitchel-Hodges or the dozen other crystal skulls in museums and private collections. The surface of the forehead, cheek, and jaw were cut like facets on a diamond. Light flickered with every touch. She felt suddenly aware of it, like a tug down to her bones.
She looked up and delivered the bad news. “It’s only half.”
Nevolin came forward, scowling. Olivia marked the outline of the eye and nasal cavity to prove her point. Nevolin couldn’t look more confused and spoke to her scientists.
“You have the diary, didn’t you read it?”
A couple yards away, a technician scanned the pages and started to speak when Nevolin said, “My English is not good, what does it say?”
Olivia didn’t utter a word, arching a brow.
“Answer!” Nevolin slapped her.
Her cheek exploded with pain, her eyes watering, and without thought, her right arm shot out. Her fist connected with Nevolin’s nose. She went down in one punch. “Smacking me like a teenager won’t get you any help, bitch.” Olivia rubbed her knuckles, then her jaw.
Nevolin was on her feet, coming at her, but Kolbash grabbed her back. She yanked free and paced a few steps, gathering her dignity. Olivia didn’t care about her own. Nevolin shouted orders that didn’t make Kolbash happy, but the gleam in his eyes said Olivia was going to pay dearly for that catfight.
Nevolin grabbed the relic and the diary, wrapping them both, then left. The man she’d called Stefan grabbed Olivia’s arms and forced her after them. They climbed the next level and it grew steadily colder. Another level, and she felt the rock of the ship, heard the boiling roar of the waves. She zipped up, stuffing her hair inside her thermal suit before she pulled on gloves and wrapped her scarf. She pulled on her fur headband and goggles, grateful the ugly guy didn’t take them. Nevolin didn’t seem to notice the slap of wind and shouldered the hatch open. Wind whistled through the corridor as she stepped over the threshold. Stefan pushed her through.
He didn’t let go, ushering her painfully toward the center of the ship. She passed a small submarine near a li
ft and hooked up with cables. It looked ready to launch, she thought, and noticed fresh soldering on a tank. Two men working over it glanced up, throwing the same ugly snarls as their comrades. Did they think murder and kidnapping didn’t have a price? She looked ahead toward the bow and her eyes grew wide at the ships floating in the distance. They’re handing over the missiles. She turned full circle and saw the smaller boats launch and guide the larger vessels closer.
Olivia dragged her gaze to Nevolin. She stood near five men in a neat row. A few more men held planks propped on the rail, a sheet-wrapped body on each one. Bloodstains marred the white fabric snapping in the wind. Someone shouted above the weather, almost singsong, and she flinched as the troops tipped the boards up. The bodies slid into the sea. There was no saluting, no ceremony, but Olivia back-stepped when the men walked toward her. Was she going to hand them over to them?
Nevolin blocked them and said, “My men are dead because of you and those soldiers.”
She couldn’t argue that. “Probably shouldn’t have broken the ice, then.”
“My father, our families are dead because of Moscow. But they could have been saved by the U.S.”
Olivia kept her expression blank as Nevolin told her what Olivia already knew; the secret sub was trapped under the ice and the Trident’s plea for help was ignored by Russia, not the United States. Nevolin revealed details she didn’t want to know about how they’d died, and Olivia really didn’t blame her for her bitterness, just the way she was going about it. Blaming everyone except her father for taking that assignment.
“My condolences to you, all of you and your families. That was horrible and criminal. The Russians responsible should be punished. But I didn’t have anything to do with that, nor did my country.” Nevolin was all over the map with blame, but reminding her Russia was positioned to attack the United States then didn’t seem wise right now. “I’m not your target.”
Nevolin smiled thinly. “You are now.”
“You think keeping me hostage will stop the U.S.? I’m one person, some collateral damage.” She didn’t want to believe that, but one life versus nuclear warhead ICBM missiles? She came up short.
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