Fate of the Gods

by Matthew J. Kirby

  They set off down the hill, walking around the chain-link fence to the plant’s front entrance, where Grace saw the company name and logo.

  “You gotta be kidding me,” Griffin said.

  The logo bore the unmistakable image of one of the Trident’s prongs in simplified silhouette, with the word dolkkälla written over it. “Can you translate the name?” Grace asked.

  “Dagger Spring,” he said. “I’m pretty sure that’s what it means.”

  Grace almost laughed. “Hide in plain sight, right?”

  Griffin shook his head. “Let’s go see what’s inside.”

  They hurried past the sign, up the driveway, to the plant’s main entrance, its name and logo everywhere they looked. Through the front doors, they entered a modest lobby that smelled of fresh paint and carpet. A receptionist looked up from his desk, smiled, and said something in what Grace assumed was Swedish.

  Griffin shook his head, and in that instant he lost all the casual menace he normally projected, and became a mild and embarrassed tourist. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We’re from the U.S.”

  The receptionist’s smile changed, very subtly, taking on a shade of impatience and condescension. “Of course. What can I do for you?” he asked with only a slight accent.

  “We were just driving and saw your plant,” Griffin said. “Do you offer tours?”

  “Not at the moment,” the receptionist said. “We opened very recently. Perhaps one day.”

  “Where does your name come from?” Grace asked.

  “That, I am happy to say, I can show you.” He rose from his chair and came around from behind the desk, and then led them across the lobby to a glass door. The room on the other side of it was dimly lit, with glowing display cases. Some held fragments and small objects Grace couldn’t identify from this far away. Some cases were empty. But at the far end of the room, by itself under a warm spotlight, the Piece of Eden sat on display.

  “There have been several farms on this site going back many hundreds of years,” the receptionist said. “We worked with scientists to preserve what we found. Most went to a museum, but we arranged to display these. That is the dagger. They found it buried next to the spring. Very strange, yes?”

  “Unbelievable,” Griffin said. “Can we go in?”

  “No, I am sorry, the museum isn’t ready. They are still adding to it.” The receptionist then folded his hands in front of his waist and gazed through the glass door as if he never got tired of the view. “You are the second American to see this today,” he said.

  Grace looked at Griffin, the back of her neck prickling. Griffin looked at the receptionist.

  “Is that right?” he said. “Where was he from?”

  “She,” the receptionist said. “I didn’t ask where she was from. She read about us in the paper yesterday, and came from Uppsala to see.” He pointed toward his desk. “I have the article if you want to read it.”

  Grace tried to convince herself it was just a coincidence, but did a poor job of it. It was possible that the woman who came to see the dagger had nothing to do with Isaiah, but why take the risk? It would be smarter to simply hurry and get out of there.

  “This was interesting,” Griffin said. “But we better get going. Thank you for your time.”

  “You’re welcome,” the receptionist said. “Please come back when the museum is open.”

  “I wish we could,” Griffin said. “But we aren’t here for very long.”

  “Then you have a reason to come back to Sweden.” The receptionist gave them a broad smile.

  “That’s true,” Griffin said, nodding. Then he looked toward the front doors. “Well, have a nice day.”

  “You as well,” the receptionist said.

  Griffin waved a good-bye, and guided Grace through the lobby, then back outside. They walked as fast as they dared down the driveway, trying to avoid drawing attention, but once they reached the fence, they veered to the side and raced back up the hill. At the top, they found Owen and Natalya waiting where they’d left them.

  “Well?” Owen asked.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Grace said. “They have the prong in there.”

  “How do you know?” Natalya asked.

  “Because I saw it,” Grace said. “It’s just sitting there. On display.”

  “This plant is called Dagger Spring,” Griffin said, and Grace noted that his usual menace had returned. “They dug up the prong when they were excavating.”

  “So what’s the problem?” Owen asked. “We just break in tonight and grab it.”

  Griffin stared down at the plant. “The problem is Isaiah. Someone else was here today asking about the dagger. He might already be on his way.”

  “Then maybe we shouldn’t wait,” Natalya said. “Could you steal it right now?”

  “There aren’t any guards,” Griffin said. “I could easily force my way in and walk out of there with it. But they think it’s a national antiquity. They’ll be looking for it, and for me, which will make it harder for us to get it out of the country.”

  “So what do we do?” Grace asked. The prong was right there, within reach. But any option for taking it came with risks.

  Griffin looked down at the ground and rubbed his shaved head. “We wait until this evening. As soon as that place shuts down, I go in, grab the dagger, and then we get the hell out of here.” He looked up at them. “Agreed?”

  Grace nodded, and so did Owen and Natalya.

  “Okay.” Griffin lowered himself to the ground and sat down. “Might as well get comfortable.”

  Grace did the same, and the four of them soon sat in a circle on the hilltop, surrounded by forest, waiting for evening to come. The fluffy clouds overhead shuffled along in their slow tumble, threaded by the occasional bird, and in the stillness, Grace thought of David. She hoped he was doing okay in the collective unconscious simulation, reminding herself that he would be safer there than she was here. No one said much, but the silence didn’t feel awkward or empty. At least not to her.

  Maybe it did to Owen. After they’d been there for a while, he cleared his throat. “If I get cancer from this cell tower, I’m holding all of you responsible.”

  “Cell phones don’t give you cancer,” Natalya said.

  “Oh, really?” Owen said. “Do you hear that buzzing?”

  “I think it’s relaxing,” Griffin said. “When I was a kid, I lived near a busy railroad track. You get used to having noise in the background.”

  “You were a kid?” Owen said.

  Griffin nodded, smiling. “Believe it or not.”

  “Do they make onesies with little Assassin hoods?” Grace asked. “What was your first toy?”

  “A switchblade,” Griffin said, his voice flat.

  For a few seconds, Grace couldn’t tell if he was joking, and she looked over at Owen and Natalya, who had both stopped smiling. But then Griffin cracked, and he chuckled. “You guys almost believed that.”

  “No, we didn’t,” Owen said.

  “Sure you did.” Griffin leaned toward them. “Listen, I have to be honest with you guys about something. I didn’t think you’d make it this far.”

  Again, silence followed, and Grace wondered if this was another joke. “Um. Thanks?”

  “No, just listen,” he said. “When I found out Monroe had dragged a bunch of kids into this, I assumed it would come to a quick, bad end for everyone. But here you are. It’s impressive, that’s all I’m saying. You’ve impressed me.”

  “Thanks,” Owen said. “You’re pretty nice for a ruthless killer.”

  Griffin fake-lunged at him.

  “Smart-ass,” the Assassin said.

  “What time is it?” Natalya asked. “It feels late, but it doesn’t look late.”

  “We’re practically in the land of the midnight sun,” Griffin said. “This far north, at this time of year, the sun stays up for a lot longer.” He checked his phone, and then got to his feet. “But they’ll probably be closing up
shop soon. At least in the lobby.”

  Grace, Owen, and Natalya all stood up, too. Grace peered down at the plant and saw that the parking lot was mostly empty.

  “Okay,” Owen said. “So how are we doing this?”

  “We aren’t,” Griffin said. “I am.”

  “Why?” Owen asked. “You just said we impressed you. We can help.”

  “This is a one-person job. More than that will just complicate it.” He looked at Grace. “Tell him how simple this is.”

  “It’s basically right there when you walk through the front doors,” Grace said.

  “The only hitch might be a security system, but I can deal with it.” Griffin set off down the hill, but pointed back at them. “Stay there, Owen.”

  Owen scowled and folded his arms.

  Grace kept her eyes on the Assassin the entire way as he skirted along the fence, seeming to move much more quickly than he had when she’d gone with him. A couple of times she even lost sight of him, as if he’d just vanished in the daylight. But then he appeared again, some distance on from where she’d last seen him. Her heart was pounding, even though Griffin had appeared perfectly calm and confident. When he reached the edge of the fence, he ran up the drive, and was lost to Grace’s view.

  “Now we just wait,” Natalya said.

  A few minutes went by. Then a few more minutes. Grace almost expected alarms to start going off at any moment, but realized that was stupid. This wasn’t a government facility. It was a bottled water plant with a one-room museum. So no alarms went off. But Griffin didn’t come out, either.

  “It’s taking longer than I thought it would,” Natalya said.

  “Maybe the security system is tougher than he thought,” Owen said.

  Grace watched, and listened. More minutes passed.

  Then she heard something. A distant, familiar whumping sound. She looked over at Natalya and Owen, and from their wide eyes, she knew they could hear it, too.

  “Helicopters,” Owen said.

  “Hide!” Grace said.

  They ran from the open hilltop back to the tree line, where they hid in the shadows, watching as two helicopters swung into view. They were large and black, emblazoned with the Abstergo logo, and similar to the ones Isaiah had escaped in from Mongolia.

  “What about Griffin?” Natalya whispered.

  The helicopters hovered low over the plant for a few moments, and then doors opened up suddenly in their sides, spilling coils of black rope. Abstergo agents in paramilitary gear then emerged from inside, and one by one they slid down the ropes.

  “What do we do?” Natalya asked.

  Grace didn’t know. She felt helpless. They had no weapons, other than the two shovels.

  “We’ve gotta do something,” Owen said. “We can’t just—”

  Gunshots echoed up the hill, sounding distant and muffled, as if they came from inside the plant. Grace knew that sound, and it pierced her stomach.

  “Seriously, what do we do?” Natalya asked.

  Owen took a step forward. “I’m going in—”

  “No, you’re not.” Grace grabbed him and held him back. “That’s suicide.”

  “Well, I can’t just stand here,” he said.

  “I’m not letting you go in there,” Grace said. “I don’t care how good you think you are. You aren’t—”

  More gunshots, these sounding louder and clearer, and Grace ducked her head involuntarily. Those had come from outside, and much closer.

  “Look!” Natalya said, pointing.

  Down below, Grace spotted Griffin sprinting behind the plant, then up the hill along the main pipe. Three agents chased him, pausing to aim and shoot. But Griffin kept moving, erratically, and managed to avoid getting hit. As he reached the springhouse, one of the helicopters dove at him, and three more agents leapt to the ground, on the side of the fence near Grace and the others.

  “He’s trapped,” Natalya whispered.

  “Screw this,” Owen said. He snatched up one of the shovels and charged away before Grace could stop him.

  Grace watched Owen as he raced to help Griffin. A second later, she grabbed the other shovel and did the same, and before she really stopped to think about it, she was closing in on the first agent. They were focused on Griffin, so they didn’t see the attack coming. Owen reached them first, swinging hard. Grace heard the metal impact of the shovel against the agent’s helmet, and she spun almost 180 degrees before collapsing.

  The other two turned toward Owen, but then Grace was there. She jabbed the shovel two-handed, like a spear, at the nearest agent’s knee, and his leg buckled. Then she spun the shovel and brought it down on the agent’s head, driving him to the ground.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the third agent raise his gun in her direction, and she raised the shovel reflexively, like a shield. A shot, a clang, and the shovel flew from her hands. But then Owen hit the agent from behind, hard.

  With that, all three were down.

  Grace looked and saw that Griffin had reached the fence, but he was struggling to climb it, and at the top, he simply rolled his way onto the other side, falling hard to the ground.

  “He’s hit,” Owen said, sprinting toward him.

  Grace ran, too, feeling like Östen, and Eliza, and herself, all at once.

  The agents were still shooting, and bullets struck the ground around her as she and Owen helped Griffin to his feet.

  He pressed something into Grace’s hand, and she realized it was the prong, wrapped in a towel. She shoved it into one of her pockets.

  “Get to the forest,” Griffin said. “Go deep. The helicopters can’t land. You’ll lose them.”

  “You’re coming with us,” Owen said.

  “No!” Griffin said, wincing. “Listen to me. I’m not going to make it. You have to move. Now.”

  But he couldn’t stop them from staying at his side, and he kept limping along as they helped him up the hill. Grace looked back and saw six agents rushing after them, but they reached the trees first, where Natalya waited for them.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “We have to lose them,” Owen said. “And get back to the car.”

  “Which way?” Natalya asked.

  Grace paused, and let Östen step more fully into her head. She thought about the forest, which she knew well, and found a way. “There’s a wash over there.” She pointed to their right. “It’ll keep us out of sight. We can follow it out of here.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Griffin grunted, like he meant to say something, but didn’t.

  They stumbled and raced through the woods, trying to hide behind the trees, until they reached the wash and clambered down its grassy embankment into a shallow, icy stream. Shouts echoed behind them from the Abstergo agents searching the woods.

  “Let’s go,” Grace whispered.

  She led them down the gully, Owen and Natalya on either side of Griffin, splashing through the water as the helicopters circled above. But Grace could barely see them through the trees, which meant that they would not be seen. Soon, the shouts grew more distant, as did the drone of the helicopters.

  “Do you think they’re giving up?” Owen asked.

  “No,” Grace said. “They know we have the prong. There’s no way they’re giving up. They’re just looking for us in the wrong place, but they’ll figure it out eventually. We have to keep moving.”

  “Griffin is bleeding pretty bad,” Natalya said.

  Grace looked over, and saw the Assassin’s side was covered in red, and so was Natalya where she leaned up against him for support. His head wobbled, and his eyelids fluttered, even as he somehow managed to stay on his feet. Even with her very limited knowledge, Grace could see he needed urgent medical attention, but she had no idea how he could get it.

  “Let’s get him to the car,” she said.

  So they pressed ahead, staying low, listening. The frigid water turned painful, and she walked up on the mud and rocks when she could, know
ing that eventually they would have to leave the wash to get to the car, and that would be the most dangerous leg of their escape.

  “What?” Owen said.

  Grace turned toward him, and saw him leaning his head toward Griffin.

  “Hang on,” Owen said to Natalya. “He’s trying to tell me something.” So they halted, and the stream gathered around their ankles. “What’s that, Griffin?”

  “Give—give my …” The Assassin’s voice was a ragged, wheezy gasp. “Give my blades to Javier.”

  “No, man,” he said. “No, those have to come from you. So you gotta stay with us.”

  Griffin shook his head. “Tell … tell him he—he earned them.”

  “You tell him,” Owen said. “He’s not going to believe me if I tell him that.”

  Griffin’s mouth formed a thin smile. “Owen,” he said. “Owen …”

  “Yeah, Griffin, I’m right here.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” the Assassin said.

  “What doesn’t matter?”

  “It doesn’t … matter,” Griffin repeated.

  Owen looked at Grace, and said in a hushed voice, “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Let’s just keep moving,” Grace said.

  They resumed walking, and they made it another hundred feet before Griffin’s legs gave out and he slumped into the stream. Water gurgled over his face, and they rushed to lift him up.

  “Griffin,” Grace said. “Griffin, stay with us.”

  But he didn’t move.

  Owen knelt down in the stream, his face right in front of the Assassin’s. “Griffin,” he said, shaking him. “Griffin.”

  Still no response.

  “Help me,” Owen said, grabbing Griffin by one of his arms. Grace and Natalya took the other, and together they pulled the Assassin’s heavy body out of the stream. Then Owen dropped to his knees again and started CPR, counting off chest compressions and offering mouth-to-mouth.

  Grace could see it wasn’t working. Nothing could work, because Griffin was already gone, and there wasn’t anything anyone could do. But Owen kept at it for several minutes, and Grace let him go for a while before she knelt down beside him and put a hand on his back.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.