by P. W. Child
“So is Odin,” he retorted, adamant not to go out in the pouring rain again.
“Come now. You were with me in Russia when we helped The Brotherhood a few years back, Sam. You know that he . . .” she tried to remind him, but Sam would have none of it.
“I was tired. That old man probably just died in the skirmish at Valhalla and I thought, mistakenly, that he was Wotan, the chieftain,” he protested, referring to the time they discovered Odin’s earthly abode after helping the Knights of the Hammer—known as The Brotherhood—protect it from a fierce daughter of the Black Sun.
“I’ll have Franz and his boys pitch us a gazebo of sorts over it, so that you can go have a look and see if there is anything else you pick up. Looks like I missed some things,” Purdue offered.
“Oh, he will not be pleased,” Sam remarked. “That man must be livid for what your monument did to his garden work.”
Purdue agreed. “I will just fuel his fee a little, just over the benchmark where ‘wavering’ becomes ‘willing.’ That or I’ll give him the cottage in the back.”
~~~~~
After an examination of the heavy granite chunks and the head of the fallen cross, Nina was able to ascertain that the copper inlays and symbols were of a Nazi nature. More obscure than the obvious Swastika and the SS lightning insignias, the copper-inlay symbols covered the symbolism of the Vril Society, founded shortly before the Nazis emerged into power.
“I believe we are once more dealing with Nazi legacy,” Purdue announced, after Nina had presented her assessment of the origin of the cross.
“So what you want to do is find out where the rest of the chain is,” Nina speculated.
Sam nodded, “Probably.”
Purdue was taken aback by their apparent reluctance to find the rest of the golden chain and even maybe discovering what it was from, originally.
“Listen, if we could find out where the rest is, we will know what it was for. Don’t you think that would be historically momentous?” he argued. They could see he was his old self again—the flamboyant explorer who had a lust for knowledge and adventure. Sam stepped forward, “I must admit, investigating a criminal organization was a bit monotonous.”
“Thank you, Sam!” Purdue grinned.
“Sam! I thought you were tired of running for your life. Some support you are,” Nina chastised him.
“Choice words coming from a woman we had to drag from a snowcapped burrow in the Himalayan mountains . . . on a dangerous expedition,” Purdue issued his challenge categorically at Nina, to Sam’s amusement.
“You have no riposte, my girl,” Sam grinned. “You have nothing to worry about. We are not dealing with any cults or people with twisted ideologies this time.”
“Correct,” Purdue affirmed. “Nobody even has to know what we are doing.”
“That’s right. We’ll go look for this Jari person first, to find out who the artist was, and from there we just figure out where he kept the rest of the chain. Quick and simple,” Sam coaxed, appealing to Nina’s need to keep things simple of late.
She had no choice. They were right. She missed the adventure and the travel. Foremost, she always wanted to see Finland.
“When do we go?”
Chapter 12
Special Agent Patrick Smith was in a fix. Three people were dead and here he was locked in a standoff with a beautiful assassin who was in no way coy when it came to killing. In fact, she proved to be quite generous when it came to bestowing bullets on any target with lungs.
“Pass it over slowly. I can see it dangling in your inner pocket, so don’t try to fool me,” she told Paddy. “And hurry up. I have an appointment.”
Begging to ask who she had the appointment with, Paddy had to still his urges and remain completely calm for the sake of the remaining pilot and flight attendant who were still alive.
“The least you can do is tell me how you knew about it,” he said nonchalantly, as he reached into his pocket. “I won’t ask who you are or who you work for . . . any of that, all right?” He pulled out the flask so that she could see that he was not procrastinating.
“Tell me something, Special Agent Smith,” she rasped confidently, “what is it you and your employer deals in?”
“Intelligence, among other things” he replied quickly. Paddy did not want her to think he was playing games. His training taught him to keep an even movement in such situations, to keep showing the assailant what they want without actually handing it over and to answer firmly and accurately when questioned.
“Intelligence,” Maggie expressed the answer like a teacher congratulating a student. Then she dropped her sarcasm and continued, “So do we, only we deal in a different edition of the word. We are interested in intellect and the delegation thereof. But I digress. Do you really think that intelligence and covert operations are only reserved for the officially appointed nationals?” she asked, holding out her hand.
Paddy hesitated, thinking of a way he could divert her attention without getting one of her .44s as reward. “So MI6 has one of your moles,” he answered.
“No, my darling, our moles were operating right under your nose, in Bhutan,” she revealed, and motioned with her head that he should give her the item.
“The hospital,” he said softly. “And there just happens to be a flight attendant available to kill us all at such short notice? My, my, you are efficient.”
“Don’t patronize me, Smith. I could just plant you right here and take the gadget from you, so consider my generosity and give me the fucking generator!” she bellowed. “It’s simple to get a job like this. The other attendant called in sick. She had a case of death this morning and I happened to be available.”
Maggie’s body suddenly bent backward, as Liz whacked her in the small of her back with the serving cart. Paddy spared no time and lunged at Maggie before she could find her bearings. He relieved her of her weapon, but she did not need guns to beat him. Maggie wrapped Paddy in an arm bar and held him so that he could not move.
To Maggie, Liz was becoming an annoying little bug by helping the special agent subdue Maggie, as he reversed her lock to try to get out of her grip. Maggie turned to Liz and abruptly snapped her neck.
“There, that problem is solved,” she panted heavily from the exertion of the fight. Her opponent recognized her fighting style, yet he could not effectively counter her moves. Special Agent Smith relied mostly on his strength, mostly on the face shots he got in every now and then, but she was more resilient than he had bargained for. Paddy was trained in some meaner alternatives and it was when she landed a hefty kick to his groin that he decided to cut playtime short for Maggie.
“The Shanghai method is outdated, special agent!” she gasped, going for the flask while Paddy was trying to catch his breath and retain the use of his legs. She picked it up carefully, using her jacket as cover for her hands, just in case some of the fluid seeped out. When she turned, she walked right into a timid effort of a jab from Captain Hayward, still wearing his colleague’s brain matter like blush.
She immobilized him with a palm strike to the nose, but she intended on lodging the cartilage nice and deep under his brow with a few more before she said goodbye with a bullet.
“You won’t get out alive!” Paddy shouted to distract her from making quick work of an innocent civilian.
“Oh please, Paddy,” she said as she picked up her firearm and shoved her foot onto the bleeding pilot’s throat to keep him still for the aim.
“There’s something you did not take into account,” he persisted to keep her attention divided, away from the flight captain.
“What’s that?” she asked as she squeezed the trigger. Before she could pull it back, Paddy blessed her with a chisel fist, landing it squarely where her throat bent into her jaw. Severing her windpipe instantly, he watched as she fell to the ground, kicking like a slaughtered pig at his feet. Maggie’s airway would not allow air in and Paddy watched her asphyxiate in just over a minute before her spas
ms abated.
Captain Hayward was incapacitated, but alive.
“This is Special Agent Patrick Smith, onboard the Bombardier Challenger, GHVRP, off Runway 4. I need emergency medical assistance and airport security immediately!” he roared over the speaker to the air traffic controller.
Paddy had a bit of time before help would arrive at the aircraft and he sat down on the floor next to the wheezing pilot.
“Well done, Captain Hayward. You are a hero, my friend,” Paddy said, tucking the item safely away again.
“Ta,” Captain Hayward forced.
Paddy knew that he could not tell anyone about the generator. It was his duty to keep it secret. Now he had to hope it was not combustible in the next 96 hours because it had just become his property.
Chapter 13
Helsinki was freezing. Purdue, Nina, and Sam arrived just before midnight and started looking for a suitable guest house close to the railway station. In the morning they were going to take a rental car to seek out the relic dealer who sold the arcane cross to Purdue. On the faded provenance they could hardly make out anything of importance, apart from the date 1939 and some illegible numbers written in two rows, one above the other. It was filled out in iron ink in bad lettering conveying information in the same language Nina could not identify before. Jari’s address was scribbled on the back, so they knew where to start looking.
But for tonight they were famished and sought out some low-profile accommodation that would be inconspicuous should any of their old acquaintances think to find them. Although they felt paranoid for thinking like this, they knew full well that such worry was perfectly founded where it concerned the enemies they have made in the past few years.
“So the Hilton is a no,” Sam lamented.
“Aye, anyone could find us there,” Nina said as they waited for Purdue to procure their transportation at Green Wheels Car Rentals. They would not be using the usual Avis or Hertz branches, just in case.
“I’m fucking freezing up here. You know, we think Britain is cold—and places like Germany and the Czech Republic—but not until you go farther north do you realize that hell always has more faces than you thought you knew,” Sam sniffed, hugging himself as the wind bit his cheeks.
“And it’s not even full winter yet,” Nina exacerbated it a little deliberately, standing strategically behind her companion to evade most of the punishment.
“Thank you, Nina, for that,” he coughed, shaking like a reed.
“Hey, this is nothing compared to the Himalayas,” she remarked. “The last time I was there with Neville . . . I cannot recall ever being that cold.”
“Mongolia? That was bloody insane,” Sam rejoined as Purdue came skipping across the narrow one-way street that led to the parking bays.
“Come, friends!” he challenged the din of the wind. “Our chariot awaits.”
In the sedan it was wonderfully temperate and the green lights from the dashboard and radio display brought Nina to a tranquil state. After the last week she had to endure she was happy for the small recess between the flight and the next travel stretch, wherever it might lead. She sat in the back while Sam rode shotgun and Purdue took the wheel. They were talking about football, the Highland games, beer draughts, and cats; everything but the looming business they were in Finland for.
It was lovely, she thought, to see the two men she had relationships with to be so amicable. By the words of both in confidence she knew that they were in furious competition for her affection, but that was the beauty of the male gender. Unlike females, men could be in harsh contrast and engage in open combat over something until the matter became outdated for the time. Then opponents and foes could go out for a beer as if nothing was ever amiss, saving their bouts for the next round announced by the bell.
“Sampo,” Purdue said. “I think it’s the perfect guest house for tonight. Apparently the kitchen is open 24 hours too. The place is not too small, so they have revolving staff working shifts. Got to love the Finns.”
“Never been here, actually, but these people reportedly invented the sauna and that puts them on the first page of my Little Book of Awesome,” Sam smiled, looking out the window at the passing streetlights on the main road.
The radio reception was crystal clear and the silence that accompanied the breaks in songs lulled Nina to a peaceful sleep in the backseat. Purdue and Sam’s conversation was even-toned and relaxed, only aiding her tranquility as they traveled over the smooth road through the black of night.
Sam suddenly frowned, “Why would this artist only leave some of the chain inside the cross?”
“How do you mean?” Purdue asked. “I suppose he did not want anyone to find his gold.”
“No, I mean, why would he not have used it through his life? If I had such a ransom in my possession I would use it to enhance my life, to be rich. I would not hide it from the world. Do you think he stole it?” Sam asked. He could not help but employ his journalistic cynicism like a bloodhound. It was part of his efficacy as investigative journalist to think beyond the obvious and assume the worst, because, well, that was usually where the truth lay.
“Maybe he did steal it,” Purdue reckoned. “It is quite logical to think so, considering the clandestine treatment of it, not to mention the fact that he seems to have remained nameless, faceless, except to Jari.”
“The only thing that throws me off is the markings of Odin. As far as I know Odin is Norse, not Finnish. Is there a Finnish version of him?” Sam asked.
Purdue raised an eyebrow and gestured toward his coat pocket, “Get my tablet and have a look.” Sam pulled the tiny gadget from Purdue’s coat pocket.
“Jesus, how do you operate this thing? I need a pilot’s license just to make it expand,” he scowled, clumsily imitating Purdue’s swift movements in order to drag the unique technology into a larger-size device. After a few muffled cuss words, the contraption obeyed Sam’s attempts, while Purdue smiled quietly in amusement.
“Ukko is the Finnish version of Odin, Purdue,” Sam reported, looking more impressed as he went. “But hear this, he also exhibits properties of the Norse god . . . Thor.”
Sam paused dramatically, waiting for Purdue to affirm the information.
“Very interesting,” he told Sam, “that Odin’s symbols would be on the chain when the Fins have their own Allfather. I wager the reasons for that would be deliberate, in fact, I venture that there must be something in Odin that Ukko does not possess. And that directly pertains to the chain.”
“From what I see here the only difference is that Ukko had no Nazi followers. The Finns were hardly Aryan in the eyes of the Third Reich. I bet you that is where the significance lays. Nazi connections, not mythology,” Sam hypothesized.
“How is your mind still so clear at this time of night, on top of jet-lag conditions, Sam?” Purdue mused, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Inflight vodka,” Sam answered, putting away the tablet in Purdue’s coat.
“I just hope you remember all that tomorrow when we start to figure out the blank spots, old boy, because my brain is running on autopilot,” Purdue warned.
The sign next to the road came into view just as the GPS told Purdue to turn off into Tuusula, a suburb of Helsinki where the Sampo Guest House was located. Purdue looked in the rearview mirror. Nina was sleeping soundly and he dreaded having to rouse her once they arrived.
“Tuusula,” Sam read the sign out loud.
“Jari lives somewhere in this neighborhood,” Purdue clarified, “so we’ll have less of a commute in the morning when we look him up.”
“Ah, clever,” Sam nodded, turning in his seat to look back. He reached out his hand to touch Nina’s knee, but then he thought better of it. The ordeal she had survived was not one that would just relent and he was sure she would be startled by his touch.
“Nina,” he said firmly as Purdue found his way to the guest house and pulled in to announce their arrival at the intercom fixed to the gate walls. She did not r
espond, so Sam tried again. The ice cold air flushed through the vehicle like the hand of death when Purdue opened his window to speak.
“Purdue, party of three. I called earlier from the airport?” Purdue said loudly into the speaker.
The combination of frigid air assaulting her and Purdue’s loud voice over the humming engine woke Nina instantly. She opened her eyes and looked right into Sam’s. It was almost magical, emerging gently from a warm, dreamless sleep and waking to see those spellbinding, dark brown eyes glisten with affection.
Nina smiled, and Sam reciprocated.
“I thought you were dead,” he joked.
“Actually it was the first while I have had to enjoy the fact that I wasn’t,” she replied, looking around to see where they were. “Are we here?”
“Aye, I hope they have coffee, or whisky,” Sam grinned, rubbing his hands together as Purdue closed his window.
The massive gate opened steadily in the beam of the car’s headlights, letting the foreigners in for the night. Out of the shadows, where the driveway and garden lights could not reach, stationary cars peeked out from among well-tended brushes and hedges. Behind them, immersed in darkness, the tall trees hissed in the angry wind.
Nina looked up at the large sign to her right as she exited the car into the cruel talons of the cold.
“Sampo,” she mouthed with a timid voice. She could not help but have a feeling of apprehension at the sight of the slanted letters. At first she could not figure why she would be uneasy about a place she had never been to, but then it dawned on her that the sign closely represented the signage at the Himalayan lodge. With a weary sigh she grabbed her bags and followed Purdue and Sam to the reception area.
The following morning was overcast, but mild. Sam took a hot shower to wake him up after a midnight meal and four glasses of Finlandia in the company of the owner’s brother and his wife. He was going to meet Nina and Purdue in the lobby. From there they would be off to Jari’s house, unannounced. Purdue knew he could use Sam in this instance, for once for what he was known. According to the plan the three of them would call on Jari under the pretense of being an investigative journalist and his colleagues.