“I’m up!” she gasped, flipping over as he pushed with his feet to gain a seated position against the headboard. He looked at her.
“Ready for this?”
She nodded, pen and paper in hand.
He swiped his thumb and put it on speaker. “Hello?”
The computer-altered voice sent shivers through his body. “It is time. Open your door.”
Acton’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the phone. “Why?”
But the call had ended.
Laura pushed him toward the door. “Check!”
He gave her a look. “There could be a man with a gun on the other side of that thing.”
She rolled her eyes. “If they were going to kill us, we’d be dead by now.”
He climbed out of the bed. “You just remember that in the eulogy. ‘My biggest regret is telling him to open the door, where a large Saudi with a gun ended my husband’s life.’”
“Look through the peephole, smartass.”
He did, finding no one there. Which surprised him. He opened the door, tentatively, and peered through the crack.
No one.
“There’s nobody—” He paused, noticing a bag sitting on the floor, directly in front of the door. He opened it all the way and stepped out, checking both ends of the hallway but finding no one in sight. He picked up the bag and stepped back inside, locking the door.
The bag rang and he nearly soiled himself.
“There’s a phone!”
He returned to the bed. “Ya think?”
“Hey, I’m nervous.”
“So am I.” He patted her leg. “Sorry.”
She waved off his apology. “Don’t worry about it.” She pointed at the bag. “Aren’t you going to answer that?”
He unzipped the bag and pulled out the simple flip phone, reminding him of the old days when a Motorola Razr was considered the epitome of cool. He flipped it open. “Hello?”
“There are two pins in the bag shaped like American flags. Do you see them?”
Acton began pulling out the few items inside, then found the pins in question. “Yes.”
“Each of you pin one to your shirt. Make sure it isn’t covered by anything. When you put a jacket on, move the pin. If the pin is ever blocked, we break one of your friend’s bones.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Acton through clenched teeth. He handed a pin to Laura who quickly snapped it in place, then did the same for him as he held the phone to his head. “Why are we wearing these?”
“Everything you hear and see will be transmitted back to us. We will tolerate no deviations and no trickery. Try anything, and your friend dies. Do you understand me, Professor Acton?”
Acton frowned, then wiped it from his face as he remembered Laura’s pin was now aimed directly at him. “Yes.”
“There is a tablet in the bag. Do you see it?”
Acton held up the tablet sitting on his lap, already removed from the bag, for Laura’s camera to see. “Yes.”
“On the tablet are instructions, provided by Professor Karlsson, on where the ring is located, and how to get in without being detected. Follow these instructions, retrieve the ring, then you will be contacted for the exchange.”
Acton eyed the tablet, his eyebrows popping slightly.
How could he not know I already found it?
He held up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Laura’s eyes bulged.
“Don’t toy with us, Professor Acton.”
He held up one finger.
“Follow your instructions to the letter, and this will be over soon.”
The call ended and Acton flipped the phone closed.
Laura gave him a “what was that about?” look, but he shook his head. While he wasn’t convinced they could see them, as he hadn’t spotted any lens on the small pin, he had no doubt they could hear them. Their lack of reaction to his finger gestures suggested he was correct in his suspicions, but unfortunately, there was no way to truly test his theory beyond what he had already done.
“What do we do now?” asked Laura, whispering.
He chuckled. “I’m sure they can still hear you.” He pulled the pin close to his mouth and raised his voice. “Isn’t that right!” He let go of it then activated the tablet computer, the instructions already opened for them to see. He held it up for Laura. “I guess we follow their plan, and hope they keep their word.”
26 |
North Sea 989 AD
“Sir, it must be them. Six Viking sails, all knarr class cargo vessels.”
Rafiq peered into the distance, the sails unmistakable, the count accurate. It had to be them. They had encountered numerous Viking vessels on their voyage north, and none had proven to be those they were searching for.
And all had fallen, fighting valiantly despite being outnumbered.
He hated killing the innocent, though these were heathen pagans, worshipping false gods, and their brethren had been party to dishonoring his family and threatening its entire future.
Those responsible had to pay.
Or he would die.
Though Sheik Al-Musawi had promised only he would pay with his life should Fatima not be returned, he was the only male heir. If his parents were unable to produce another upon his death, then all they had would be given to their extended family, and what had been built would be torn apart piecemeal.
All they had sacrificed so much for would be lost.
He was supposed to inherit, then his yet to be born eldest son after him. And all of that was now at risk thanks to his foolish sister’s selfish actions. And he was faced with a conundrum. If he managed to retrieve Fatima, she likely wouldn’t go willingly. Then when she was returned to Al-Musawi, she likely wouldn’t back his story that she had been kidnapped. The foolish girl would probably declare her love for this pagan Viking, tell everyone she had gone willingly, faking her own suicide, then his family’s ruination would be total.
She couldn’t be allowed to tell her story.
And that meant there could be only one outcome here.
And it broke his heart.
Unless you die instead.
His eyebrows rose slightly at the thought. If he were to die in the battle soon to pass, then Fatima could remain a “prisoner,” and his crew manning what remained of the fleet would return home with news of his valiant efforts, and that Fatima remained an irretrievable prisoner. It could preserve the family honor, and leave her alive.
He sighed.
He loved his sister, and under normal circumstances would have died without hesitation to save her life, but these were not normal circumstances. These were circumstances of her own creation, circumstances she willingly participated in.
And her entire family, his entire family, was now at risk because of it.
No, he wouldn’t sacrifice himself to save her. Family loyalty only went so far, and she had already demonstrated that this infidel was more important to her than her own flesh and blood.
And that once again brought him back to the same, inevitable conclusion.
He closed his eyes. “How long until we reach them?”
The captain of the vessel stepped forward. “We should overtake them within two days, sir.”
Two days. Spend them well, my sister, spend them well.
27 |
MGM Grand Hotel Las Vegas, Nevada Present Day
Leroux shook his head. “This is déjà vu all over again.”
“You’re telling me,” agreed Sherrie, lying beside him, naked as the day she was born, a quick session of send-off sex completed just in time, Sonya Tong interrupting the post-coital bliss only moments after it had begun.
Leroux pointed at the tablet feeding the secure footage from his team at Langley as Tong provided context over the speaker.
“He doesn’t look too happy,” said Sherrie.
“No, he doesn’t,” said Tong. “This is Professor Karlsson entering the embassy, and as far as we know, he wen
t voluntarily.”
Leroux leaned closer. “Have you reached out to his wife?”
“No, we didn’t want to risk that she might be under surveillance. For now, we’re hoping the Saudis don’t know we know something is going on.”
“Okay, so just like Istanbul, we have him going in, and I assume we haven’t found anything showing him coming out?”
“Nothing. But about half an hour after his meeting was scheduled to begin, these three SUVs”—the image changed to show the rear gates opening, three vehicles with blacked out windows surging through and out of frame—“leave in a hurry.”
“Track them.”
“Randy’s on it.” The footage changed again, the timecode showing a couple of hours had passed. “And here we have the money shot.”
Leroux shook his head as the footage showed Acton entering, bold as brass. “Is that a cellphone in his hand?”
“Yes.” The image zoomed in on it. “It looks like it’s connected to a call.”
Sherrie grunted. “Clever guy. He figures they won’t touch him as long as someone on the outside can hear everything that’s going on.”
Leroux agreed. “And I assume he leaves?”
“A few minutes later.” The footage changed again to show him leaving, phone still in hand, then climbing into an SUV, Laura Palmer behind the wheel. Leroux pointed at the image, a man on a phone stepping onto the sidewalk, staring at the SUV as it rolled past. “Identify the man on the phone.”
“Already done. His name is Abdullah Al-Jubeir. He’s the Ambassador’s Chargé D’affaires at the embassy, his righthand man.”
“See if you can trace that call he just made.”
“That’s going to be difficult.”
“We just need to know where the call was made to. Even just the country will help us narrow down who’s pulling the strings.”
“Okay, I’ll get on it right away.”
“Where is Acton now?”
“His telephone shows him at their hotel, the Nobis.”
Sherrie looked at Leroux. “Do we call him?”
Tong replied. “I wouldn’t. He left Agent Reading specific instructions not to, which suggests they’re under electronic surveillance.”
Sherrie shook her head. “And this is all over a ring?”
“That’s what the message from the professor said. They have to steal the ring to free their friend.”
Leroux exhaled loudly, his lips jutting out. “Are the locals aware?”
“No, not so far as we can tell.”
“The wife hasn’t contacted them?”
“There’s no indication she knows yet, though the Actons talked to her before they went to the embassy, which suggests she’s the one who told them that’s where he went. I’m guessing he was supposed to meet them at the airport and didn’t show.”
Leroux chewed his cheek. “Which means she knows he didn’t, so could be calling the police at any moment.”
Sherrie put a hand on his thigh. “She needs to be spoken to.”
Leroux agreed. “Yeah, but what if they have her under surveillance?”
“Send someone in undercover.”
Leroux thought for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. We need to get a discrete message to her, otherwise she could blow this entire situation up into another international incident.”
28 |
Sigtuna, Roden (Modern Day Stockholm County, Sweden) 989 AD
Magnus leaped from the prow of his vessel, his feet splashing in the cold waters, the numbing effect going unnoticed as he rushed toward his family and friends, already gathering at the shore, the word having gone out the moment their sails were spotted.
He embraced his mother, lifting her from the ground as she kissed him on alternating cheeks repeatedly. The crowd parted as his father approached, and Magnus beamed a smile at him before taking a knee.
“Get up, get up! I’m too old a man for you to waste the precious minutes I have left on protocol.”
Magnus laughed and rose, exchanging a hearty hug with his father, then standing back and assessing the man’s health. “You look well.”
“I feel well. It’s the season. The cold always brings out the best in me.”
Magnus glanced over his shoulder to see Fatima standing at the shore, Olav at her side, having helped her from the boat. “Father, Mother, I would like you to meet what brings out the best in me.” He held out his hand and Fatima smiled nervously, the entire crowd settling into a hushed silence, all eyes on the love of his life. She took his hand. “Father, Mother, may I present Fatima Halabi, originally of Aleppo, daughter of Najeeb and Abeer, and the woman I intend to marry.”
Gasps abounded, even a few shocked utterances erupting in protest. For it was clear from Fatima’s appearance that she wasn’t one of them. Though most here had never seen a Muslim, they had heard of them and their strange ways. For a future king to take one as his wife, to bear children that might one day rule these lands, was unthinkable to many.
Yet in time, they would grow to love her as he did. And should it come to pass that they didn’t, he would readily step aside for his younger brother to inherit. He had no designs on the throne, and never had. He was born into something he had never desired, nor aspired to.
He maintained his smile, though he could tell his mother was shocked, and his father was concealing, unsuccessfully, his own displeasure.
“We must speak.” His father spun on his heel, heading back toward their home. Magnus took Fatima’s hands in his, speaking in Arabic so she knew what was going on.
“Wait here. I must speak with my father.”
“He hates me. They all hate me.” Tears erupted and his mother rushed forward, taking Fatima from him.
“You poor girl. Don’t mind my foolish husband, he’ll come around. Let’s get you inside where it’s warm and dry. You must be hungry and tired.”
“She doesn’t speak Norse, Mother.”
“Then you know your first task, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mother.”
Magnus’ heart warmed as Fatima was surrounded by the women of his home, their tone friendly and comforting, Fatima’s tears replaced with flashes of a shy smile as she was led away.
“Sir, sails on the horizon!”
Magnus didn’t bother to look, for there was no doubt who they were, and the fact they were now visible, meant they would be here within hours. “Prepare for battle.” His order was barely above a whisper, yet the response was swift as the men and women of his homeland sprang into action, leaving the way clear for him to join his father, and explain why so many were about to die.
Fatima found herself inside a home unlike any she had ever seen. She was accustomed to homes made from stone in Iberia, yet here everything seemed constructed from the forests that surrounded them. It was different, exciting, and a little overwhelming. A hearty fire roared at one end of the long building, and at least a dozen women of varying ages were tending to her. She wasn’t used to being touched, and their tongue was foreign, only a smattering of words understood, almost all with no context.
It was overwhelming.
Yet she maintained control. Or at least she thought she had. Her future mother-in-law grabbed her trembling hands then snapped an order that was immediately obeyed, the tent emptying. The old woman said something to her, a smile on her face, but Fatima had no idea what she was saying.
And it was frustrating her.
“I wish Magnus were here. At least he could translate.”
The woman’s face brightened. “Magnus!” She pointed at Fatima, then her heart, then repeated his name.
Fatima’s eyes narrowed then she smiled. “Do I love Magnus?” She nodded vigorously, tapping on her heart with her hand. “Yes, I love Magnus.”
“Love.”
“Yes, love. I love Magnus.”
The old lady smiled, pleased with this revelation, then turned her head and shouted something. Two of the women returned, more subdued this time, and set to pr
oviding them both with food and drink.
It was then that she finally noticed the barked words and sounds of heavy activity outside, and a sense of foreboding spread through her body.
They’re here.
Rafiq stood at the prow, surveying the shoreline ahead. It was clear they were expected, and that the reception was not to be peaceful. And that they would be far outnumbered by the time they arrived. Their only hope of victory had been at sea.
Yet they had failed.
The men’s spirit wasn’t in it. These weren’t warriors. He had raised a fleet with ease, the sheik’s purse deep, but it was manning them with those who could fight that was the problem. He had heard of the Vikings and their prowess at war. They were vicious with an almost gleeful attitude toward battle and even death.
How one could be so willing to die for a pagan god, he had no idea.
And these men he now commanded, though capable sailors, were not battle hardened like those they were likely to face.
We won’t make it off the beach.
And he made a decision. “Signal the others to hold their position.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me!”
“But we’ll be slaughtered for sure!”
Rafiq shook his head, turning to the captain. “No, my friend, going in alone is the only way we won’t be.”
“I want an explanation.”
“I fell in love. What further explanation is there?”
Magnus’ father glared at him. “You dare to make light of this situation? We have an enemy approaching our shores. I am prepared to fight to the death. The question is, are you? Where do your loyalties lie, my son? Are they with your family? With your brothers and sisters? Or are they with your new bride from a foreign land, with beliefs so strange, they worship only one god?”
Magnus’ chest ached with the fact his father felt the question was necessary. “You know where my loyalties lie, Father. With you. With Mother. With my brothers and sisters, with our people. Never doubt that. I do not love her people. I think they’re backward in so many ways. But she is different from her people. Her spirit is exhilarating, her voice intoxicating, her beauty unparalleled. From the moment I set eyes on her, from the moment I heard her sweet voice, I knew she was the one Odin had made me sacrifice so much for, and would once again make me pay a price to attain. Happiness has been elusive to me, Father, you know that. When Astrid died, I thought I could never love again. That emptiness lasted many years. Until I met Fatima. I love her, Father, with all my heart, and I intend to marry her.”
The Viking Deception Page 9