God of Thunder

by Alex Archer

  Thor and the treasure may never have existed, but Baron Frederick's villainy does. I pray that God is with me on my long journey, for I fear that I have been too vocal in my intolerance of the baron's abuses.

  "Even Ozolini didn't believe the legend at the end," Stanley pointed out.

  "Ozolini may never have believed in the legend," Annja replied.

  "Where do you think Thor's tomb is? Beneath the Roman catacombs?"

  Annja picked up one of the photographs they'd already looked at. She traced the discrepancy in the ground that Mario's photography had discovered. "Do you see it?"

  Stanley peered more closely. "See what?"

  "Off to the right." Annja tapped the photograph. "Mario shot this in the winter, on a day that was freezing but the ground wasn't covered with snow. These are frost marks."

  "They're like the ones that show the Roman catacombs," Stanley said softly.

  "Exactly. But they're hard to see because there's a lot of space open under there."

  "You think there's another cave system down there?"

  "We're going to find out."

  Chapter 34

  More than just the ruins of the Roman catacombs and the church remained. A small village was nestled at the bottom of a rolling valley less than a mile away. The people who lived there eked out a subsistence living from the land.

  From her earlier trip through the village in the SUV they'd rented after their arrival in Liepaja, Annja knew that the villagers supplemented that income with handcrafts, rugs, blankets and pottery. They'd stared at her with watchful eyes as she drove through the village late that afternoon.

  Once at the ruins atop the hill that overlooked a landscape still partially covered in snow, Annja went into photojournalist mode. She was serious about the pictures and used the effort to get a better look at the ground where she suspected the additional cave structure was.

  Looking at the widespread frost marks that had sunk into the ground and looked as large as a skating arena, she was more certain than ever of what lay below. Anticipation danced in her mind and made her restless.

  The catacombs were sealed and a note in four different languages informed the reader that access should be arranged through the tourism department. Viewings were by special arrangement only. The broken fragments of the church walls that had survived had a similar declaration.

  Roux sat in the SUV and looked very much like a doting grandfather as he flipped the pages in Stanley's latest thriller.

  "Are you just going to sit there and read?" Annja asked as she downloaded pictures from her digital camera to her notebook computer.

  Roux turned a page and for a moment she thought he was going to ignore her. Then he placed a finger between the pages and closed the book.

  "If you'll recall," he said, "I suggested that we wait for nightfall after we arrived at Liepaja."

  "I'd rather get a look at everything while it's light. It seemed to make more sense," Annja said.

  "It does. That's why I came with you. However, knowing how impatient you are, I thought it would be better if we stayed at the hotel with Stanley for a while before coming out here."

  Stanley hadn't been happy about being left behind. But even Roux had been adamant.

  Annja unhooked the USB cable from the camera and wiped the memory. "Do you think Garin will show up here?"

  Roux nodded. "Yes."

  "What's his interest in this?"

  Shifting his attention to the mound where the Roman catacombs lay, Roux was silent for a moment. "Sixty years ago, Garin fell in love with a beautiful young woman."

  Annja grinned. "I'm sure, knowing Garin as I do, that he was over it by the next morning."

  "No, and that was sad," Roux said seriously.

  "That Garin actually cared about someone?"

  "Yes." Roux looked at her. His eyes were hidden by a pair of sunglasses. Clouds blunted the sun, but the snow patches were exceedingly bright.

  "Why?"

  "You've never lost anyone in your life that you loved," Roux stated bluntly.

  Anger twisted knots in Annja's stomach, but pain was there, as well. "I learned early not to get too involved with anyone. I've never had anyone to lose."

  "I know. I see that in you. Given your current state, and the burden that sword puts on you, your reticence to commit to a long-term relationship is the best thing that could happen to you."

  "From what I've heard of Garin's personal life, he isn't someone who just reaches out, either," Annja said.

  "No, but Garin didn't grow up and become as complete as you did. That's why he cherishes material things and power as much as he does. But inside, he still romances the idea of being in love."

  Annja silently disagreed with Roux's assessment. Garin was hard and distant, and he wouldn't ever care about anyone but himself.

  "He grew up in a different time than you did, Annja," Roux said. "Maybe his life was harsh, but he was brought up believing in love – that there would be a woman for him."

  "If this was the one, then how did he lose her?"

  "Because he saw what would happen if he stayed."

  Annja leaned a hip against the SUV. She reached into the back and took out a sandwich from the picnic basket Roux had ordered prepared for the trip.

  "What would happen?" she asked.

  Roux smiled mirthlessly. "She would grow old, of course. And die. He would not."

  Annja thought about that and realized how sad that would be. She also realized that Roux – and Garin – must have watched many people they loved pass away during the course of their long lives.

  "The first time you fall in love," Roux said, "you're so busy falling in love that you don't think about the consequences. Ten or twenty years later, you begin to realize what you've done, and the loss you face."

  "Did Garin leave her because of that?" Annja ate her sandwich mechanically.

  "No. I don't think he would have left this one. There were others, you see. But none that he felt matched him so exactly." Roux gazed at the western sky. "She was married, and at the end of her infatuation with Garin, she told him to go away. Even though Garin was a man of great means in those days, he wasn't titled."

  "The man this woman was married to had a title?"

  "Yes."

  "And she chose that title over what she felt for Garin?"

  "Ultimately."

  Annja shook her head. "Maybe she still loved her husband."

  "Hardly. The man was weak willed and easily controlled. She chose him over Garin because she felt Garin would threaten her chances of getting a new infusion of money through inheritance. Her father had somewhat exhausted the family holdings."

  "But you said Garin had money."

  "He was a commoner. She was the daughter of a baron."

  "I don't understand what any of that has to do with why Garin is involved in this now."

  "The woman is still alive," Roux said. "Her name is Kikka Schluter. Baroness Schluter."

  "Oh," Annja said. "And Mario's investigation threatens her family's good name."

  "Exactly." Roux pulled an apple out of the basket and bit into it with a loud crunch.

  "But it's been sixty years," Annja said.

  "I know. But Garin is still involved with her on an emotional level."

  Annja ate her sandwich for a moment, thinking. She was involved in the current situation partly because of her curiosity, but mostly because of her friendship with Mario. Most people she knew wouldn't have hung on so tightly to getting to the truth of everything that had happened.

  "Did Garin tell you this?" she asked.

  "Of course not. Garin would never discuss something like this with me. I have people to keep watch over him from time to time. In those years, so soon after the war, with everything changing around us and so many important artifacts that Hitler had gathered up being on the move, I knew it was in my best interests to know where Garin was."

  "And so you think he's going to be here," Annja stated.

>   "I do. I only hope that we lost all pursuit in Venice."

  Annja knew that was possible because Roux had provided new identification papers for everyone. They'd been picked up at sea by a helicopter, then flown to Rome and boarded Roux's private jet to Liepaja.

  She ate her sandwich and waited for sundown.

  ****

  Stanley was on the phone with his agent when the blond man stepped through the doorway of his hotel room. That hadn't been an easy thing to do. In addition to the electronic lock, which Stanley knew could be circumvented, he had also used the dead bolt.

  The dead bolt shrilled as it tore out of the doorframe.

  The man crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed the satellite phone from Stanley's hand and tossed it against the wall. The phone shattered and fell to the floor.

  "What do you think you're – ?" Stanley got very quiet and still when the man shoved a big-barreled pistol into his face. Then he recognized the intruder.

  Wolfram Schluter grinned at him. "Come with me. Now. And maybe you won't die."

  Even though he knew Schluter was lying, that the man probably intended to kill him no matter what, Stanley went. He hoped to live long enough to find out if Annja Creed was right about the dead Viking.

  ****

  Garin waited out in the SUV. Kikka Schluter sat beside him. He studied their reflection in the window, seeing no changes in himself and what time had done to her.

  Is this what it would have been like? he wondered. If I had stayed, if she had let me, would this be what we would have been left?

  "You're tense," she said in that husky voice that hadn't changed much.

  Focusing on the hotel beyond their reflection in the glass, Garin said, "I'm not used to sitting and waiting."

  Kikka smiled. "Your father was like that, too. He would see something he wanted and go right for it."

  Painfully, Garin was aware that Roux had always told him that, too. He'd thought Roux incredibly old when he was just a boy. Now, with over five hundred years of living behind him, he realized that he himself was incredibly old but that his way of handling his life hadn't changed much.

  He didn't know whether to be proud or embarrassed.

  "Everything will be all right," Kikka told him. She reached out and took his hand. It felt fragile and cold in his.

  Fleeting, he couldn't help thinking. For him time had stood still, but for her it had marched on inexorably.

  Garin turned to her then, remembering how he'd loved talking to her, how much he'd enjoyed simply holding her hand. He was surprised at how little his love had faded over the years.

  He smiled at her. "I'm supposed to be the one reassuring you."

  "Then do so," she challenged him.

  "I really wish you had stayed at the hotel," Garin said. "You would be a lot safer – "

  Kikka laid a finger across his lips. "Not another word," she said. "This could be my last adventure, and I want it to be a good one."

  Garin's heart melted. It was so easy to look past her appearance. She was still very much the woman she had been all those years ago.

  "All right," he said.

  ****

  Schluter kept the pistol pressed into Stanley Younts's side as he marched him from the hotel. The writer tripped and stumbled a couple of times.

  The woman at the concierge desk noticed and frowned. "Sir, do you need help?"

  "No, thank you." Schluter smiled at her. "He's just had a little bit too much of a celebration. When I get him home, he'll be fine."

  "I can call a cab."

  "I've got a car waiting outside."

  The woman waved to the doorman, though, and the door was opened.

  "Straighten up and walk," Schluter commanded. "If you don't, I'm going to take you outside of town and put a bullet through your head."

  The writer made an effort to stand more strongly. "Why are you taking me?"

  "Shut up."

  "I don't know anything."

  "You know where Annja Creed is." Schluter directed the writer toward the black SUV pulling to the curb.

  "I won't tell," the writer threatened.

  Spinning the man around, using his body to conceal the pistol in his hand, Schluter shoved the writer up against the SUV and screwed the pistol barrel up under his jaw.

  "You'll tell," Schluter said. "I promise you that."

  Fear widened the man's eyes behind the glasses.

  Garin Braden reached forward and opened the side door.

  Schluter shoved the writer inside, then climbed in. Dropping into the seat facing his grandmother and Braden, Schluter noticed that the old woman was holding the man's hand. Schluter cursed and put a foot on Stanley Younts's head.

  "Stay down," he ordered.

  The writer remained on the floor as the SUV got under way.

  Glancing through the window, Schluter kept the pistol on his lap. Three other SUVs, all carrying his men, pulled into line after them as the vehicle rolled onto the street.

  Temptation ate at Schluter to simply lift his pistol and shoot Braden in the head. Nothing could stop him. His grandmother might be irritated, but she'd get over it. And if she didn't...

  Then he noticed that although the man's left hand was held by his grandmother, his right hand was hidden beneath his jacket.

  Braden grinned at him and nodded.

  Disgusted, Schluter directed his wrath at the writer. "Where is Annja Creed?" They had missed her in Venice and Braden had been certain she'd gone searching for the prize.

  "I'm not going to tell you," Stanley Younts said.

  Schluter hit him in the face with the pistol butt. The writer cried out in pain. When he recovered, Schluter repeated the question.

  "Do you have a map?" Younts said.

  Chapter 35

  Just after full dark had fallen, while Annja was getting her gear from the back of the SUV, Roux grabbed her arm.

  "Quiet," he whispered.

  Like her, he was dressed in winter camouflage gear that they'd gotten at a military surplus store in Liepaja. The camouflage gear was Russian made and didn't fit very well, but it was patterned in white and brown and would hopefully offer some invisibility in the snowy night.

  Annja had pulled the SUV into the trees nearly a quarter mile from the Roman catacombs. No one else had been on the road when she'd hidden the vehicle with Roux's help.

  They were still and silent. Just when Annja was about to ask Roux what was wrong, she realized something.

  We're not alone.

  The thought struck her like a physical blow.

  Roux pointed to the left, along the ridgeline of the hilltop overlooking the ruins. "That way," he mouthed.

  She could see just well enough in the darkness to read his lips.

  They went together, moving silently through the brush. Before Annja knew it, she had the sword in hand. The possibility existed that whoever was closing in on them was purely innocent, maybe inquisitive kids or teenagers wanting some privacy, but she wouldn't have taken a bet on it.

  Whoever was coming was approaching stealthily.

  Roux knelt in the brush and pulled the lower part of his mask up over his mouth to keep his breath from showing. He had a Russian-made Tokarev pistol in his hand. He'd purchased two of them. Annja had preferred the sword and hoped it wouldn't come to that.

  A few minutes later, shadows formed in the darkness and gathered around the SUV. Annja recognized Erene Skujans from the picture Mario had carried in his wallet, but she didn't know the big man with her.

  Other men moved in the darkness around them.

  Annja pressed herself more tightly against the pine tree at her back.

  ****

  Erene Skujans surveyed the landscape. She laid a hand over the SUV's engine. "Still warm," she said.

  Dalton Hyde stood at her side, his pistol visible in a shoulder holster. "They're still here somewhere," he said quietly. "Must have heard us coming. Don't worry about it. We'll find them."

 
Erene didn't say anything, but she was worried. When she'd woken in the morning after the fight with Ivanov, she'd had a hangover and been in more pain over Mario's death than ever. The violence and the vodka had stripped her of the wall she'd used to dam up the emotions that had lain in wait.

  Hyde had taken care of her, helping her through the sickness, fixing her meals and talking to her. It was a lot like it had been in the old days when he'd first agreed to tutor her in burglary.

  In the end, he'd asked her why she had come back to the village – besides the botched job she'd been part of. There hadn't been any use lying about it. Mario had left the house covered in the research he'd done regarding the Norse legend he'd been pursuing.

  So she'd told him. After that, he'd stayed and they'd talked about what she was going to do when she left the village with him. It had been a foregone conclusion that she would go. There was nothing to hold her there.

  Erene thought of the little girl whose arm she'd rebroken and splinted. Erene had told Hyde that she wanted to wait a couple more weeks before leaving, at least long enough to see if the bones were going to knit properly this time.

  Hyde had agreed with less of a fight than Erene had expected. But he'd talked about a few of the jobs he was looking into where her skills would be invaluable.

  While they'd been in the tavern earlier in the day they learned Ivanov had fled the village and they heard about the chestnut-haired woman who was at the old Roman ruins. Hyde mentioned that she sounded like the picture of the woman he'd seen in one of Mario's albums, and that there had been a lot of pictures shot at the Roman ruins. When they'd shown the photograph of Annja Creed to the man who'd seen her, he'd said it was her.

  "You know," Hyde had said, "it would be a shame if Mario told her where to find that treasure."

  Jealous and angry, Erene had quickly agreed that they should investigate. He'd made a call and men he'd brought with him had shown up in the village, fully armed and ready to move.

  Hyde broke the SUV's window and reached in to pop the hood. Using a flashlight for just a moment, he reached under the hood with a knife and slashed the spark plug wires.

  Then Hyde called to his men and they moved quietly through the night. Erene moved after Hyde, just as she'd done while they'd worked together. Despite the familiarity, though, everything felt different.