by Alex Archer
Garin opened the trunk and dropped something inside before taking the driver’s seat. He threw the car into gear and floored the accelerator to take them speeding away down the long driveway from the house.
They weren’t even through those huge wooden Viking longhouse doors before an explosion tore through the house, sending debris into the air. As the car zoomed through the open gates, Garin looked back through the rearview mirror. The sky was red, so very red, filled with flame. The fire would be visible for miles around, blazing like a beacon in the night.
45
They dropped Una Mortensen off at the door of her hotel, and then headed to Garin’s penthouse suite.
Annja turned on the TV while she began to pack. She wouldn’t leave straightaway; she owed Micke Rehnfeldt that date in the Basement later on—but she’d need a full day of beauty sleep before venturing out on the town. As she’d expected, the news led with the fire, another huge one threatening the surrounding countryside, and the fire services already stretched to breaking point.
But before long, the picture changed to show a long line of lockup garages behind the railway station.
She stopped her packing and watched.
The face on the screen was one Annja was convinced she would never forget; this was the man from the hotel, the man who had tried to burn them alive in Saint Peter’s on the Lake. She didn’t need to understand Swedish to know what was being said about him; it was clearly a crime scene, and equally clear he was the victim. That was all she needed to know.
The image on the screen changed again. Karl Thorssen had perished in a gas explosion at his Marstrand residence. It was too early to rule out foul play, especially given his controversial politics. One thing was sure: without their charismatic figurehead, Thorssen’s party was wounded, so much so that it was unlikely to recover.
Its day was done.
Annja slumped onto the bed beside Garin. He barely noticed. His attention was solely on the objects he’d retrieved from the house before tampering with its gas supply. She’d assumed it was Johan’s camera, but it wasn’t.
“I’ve been in touch with my people,” he said, sounding vague, as usual. “There’ll be a story circulating within the hour that links Thorssen and the Serbian mafia. That should provide a believable solution for the recent deaths around him.”
“Neat and tidy. So what are you planning on doing with that?” Annja indicated the two halves of the broken sword, Nægling. While she still thought of it as Beowulf’s sword, the truth was that it was never really his. It had always been Grendel’s.
The sword had a power even if it was broken.
“Let me see,” she asked, holding out her hands.
Carefully, Annja unwrapped the sword, unsure if the flesh-eating bacteria that had destroyed Karl Thorssen was still on its gleaming edges.
“Thought I might sell that.” Garin cocked an eyebrow.
“Nice try. We’ll bury it where no one will ever find it. Put it back where it belongs. In the ground. In the past.”
“Fine. But can we eat first? I’m starving.”
Annja smiled. “Best idea you’ve had yet.”
* * * * *
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ISBN-13: 9781460331781
First edition May 2014
GRENDEL’S CURSE
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Steven Savile for his contribution to this work.
Copyright © 2014 by Worldwide Library
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