Suddenly, LeMay realized the street had become quiet. People were still milling about, going into and coming out of the shops and restaurants lining the narrow street below, but the traffic was too thin for a neighborhood such as this. Given their proximity to the docks, and time of day, there should be three to four times as many people down there. Apparently, Collier wasn’t the only one spooked.
Then LeMay saw what he was expecting; what Collier saw that made the man act like a cornered animal. At least he retained his training, if not his sense of honor.
A block down the street, in front of the hotel LeMay and Heitman checked into – under fictitious names – were two men chatting on a bench, a man and a woman scanned the fish on ice, and a man in his early twenties was fixing a flat tire on his bicycle. It would’ve been convincing if the men on the bench had not been wearing running shoes, the woman at the fish monger’s kept a better on the day’s catch than she did on the alley behind the hotel, and the cyclist didn’t move excruciatingly slow fixing that tire.
These little details told LeMay the team was desperate; and that meant things have gone from bad to much worse.
Then LeMay spotted the three snipers dotting the street’s rooftops – including the woman that had been following them, on the building directly across from LeMay’s window. I guess playtime is over. One thing was for sure, they didn’t belong to Odinsson, or Collier wouldn’t have jumped the way he did. Then, who do they work for?
LeMay slid out of the chair, crawled across the floor, and put a hand over Tilde’s mouth. The young woman’s’ eyes popped open, and the barrel of her .40 caliber Sig Sauer P226 pressed into his cheek. Good girl! He thought.
“Time to go,” he said, shoving her jacket into her free hand.
The woman threw the well-worn wool coat over her shoulders, pulled a knit hat over her head, tucking her long locks of strawberry-blonde hair under it. The pistol slipped into her pocket, still held in a firm grip. LeMay slipped into an equally worn coat and a billed cap that the fishermen wore. They weren’t the best disguises, but they would have to do.
They moved toward the back stairwell, nervous eyes constantly shifting. Within minutes, they were out the side entrance and heading north down a narrow street filled with warehouses. They moved quickly, but not too quickly. The trick was to blend into the crowd better than the couple at the fish monger’s, which was going to be nearly impossible, unless he and Tilde could find a way to hijack a forklift and move a full pallet two blocks to their waiting car, without drawing attention.
“Try to look hungry and desperate,” LeMay whispered.
“That’s not going to be difficult,” Heitman replied, her face creased with worry lines.
They weaved through the crowd, their faces taught and eyes lowered. The few people to actually give them a second glance, merely watched to make sure neither of them attempted to steal anything.
With half a block to go – the gray Renault Mégane right where LeMay left it – the two heard a voice say: “That’s far enough, LeMay.”
LeMay shoved Heitman between two parked cars, then dove behind another. There were two gunshots from a high-powered rifle; one taking out the back window of LeMay’s cover, the other hit the trunk and exited through the quarter panel a foot from LeMay’s head. It was perfectly clear the owner of the voice didn’t feel much like conversation.
“C’mon, LeMay. You know how this works,” the voice called. “Play nice. Come out, and let’s all go home.” If I were stupid enough to fall for that shit, I’d deserve to get my head blown off; even Heitman has to realize now, this game has gone from a rabbit chase to an assassination.
LeMay knew their assassin’s voice; he had gone through Ranger training with Lou Chisholm. They had been on half-a-dozen missions together, and kept in touch after LeMay went into the F.B.I. and Lou took the C.I.A. route a year later. LeMay had considered the man a friend, right up to three seconds ago, but that, unfortunately, was the way this game worked.
LeMay drew his Heckler and Koch HK45, and peered through the bullet holes to the rooftop of the three story building about sixty yards away. Chisholm had them pinned; if they even poked a head out, they were toast. There was no fucking way they were getting near the Renault without being dropped to bleed-out in the street.
Heitman pointed to her weapon, then gestured to the roof.
LeMay shook his head. His eyes darted, searching for an escape route that simply didn’t exist. The building at his and Heitman’s back, had bars on the windows and heavy locks on the door. Even if the door had been wide open, they’d be cut down before making the twelve foot distance in the open; Ray Charles could make that shot at sixty yards.
“C’mon out, Marty. No one’s here to hurt you, just bring you back home.” Chisholm spoke while keeping the rifle fixed on LeMay’s location. The words may be all warm and fuzzy, but LeMay knew if he were to stand, it would be the last thing he’d ever do.
“Fuck!” he cursed to himself. Seconds were ticking away. It wouldn’t be long before the rest of the team closed in and ended this standoff. He met Tilde’s stare. I’m sorry!
She shook her head, pointing to the Sig. She gave him a sad smile, putting up three fingers. The woman has balls, I’ll give her that. She lowered one finger.
Shit! LeMay’s eyes darted, frantically searching for a way out of this mess.
Heitman lowered another finger.
LeMay sighted the target on the roof through the bullet holes once more; this was certain suicide, but they’ve blown through all of their options. He met Tilde Heitman’s stare, noting the tear trickling down her cheek. She knows it’s over.
The strawberry-blonde woman sighed, then lowered the remaining finger.
LeMay gritted his teeth. He’ll aim for me… Maybe Heitman will get lucky enough to get away. He gripped the pistol, readying himself. God, this sucks!
The thumping of twin rotors grew louder and louder.
LeMay sprang to his feet just as Chisholm peered behind his left shoulder to peer at the approaching helicopter. By the time the assassin realized his mistake, it was too late. LeMay fired four times; the first three missing the mark completely; the last ripped through Chisholm’s right eye, spewing bits of gray matter, blood and bone through the golf ball-sized hole it created as it exited the back of the man’s skull. Tilde Heitman fired a fistful of rounds, hitting Chisholm in the neck once, as the man’s head flew backward.
“Move!” LeMay shouted. There was no time to celebrate; they’d be the luckiest two people alive, just to make it the car before the rest of the team was on their asses.
The Chinook passed overhead a few seconds later. LeMay couldn’t be positive, but he swore he saw Collier in one of the windows, smiling and giving him a thumbs-up. The transport made a wide arch before making a bee-line for the northwest.
It was an intentional diversion!
“Let’s move!” LeMay shouted, practically dragging Heitman to keep up with him. They jumped into the Renault and sped away. LeMay had no real idea where to go from here, but northwest seemed as good as any direction.
Chapter 27
Shadow Dancer
Sorina’s heart skipped several beats as Thor held her in his strong arms – God, she had never seen anyone as strong as he is – and kissed her breath away. Her insides shuddered with longing. She would have him inside her on the spot; if only that were possible. As Thor would say; fuck what her Grandmother, Bryndis, Mikki and the rest gathered around them thought. She was beyond caring anymore what anyone thought, but Thor!
Sorina breathed Thor in, her hands clutching the small of his back as though he may vanish into a dream as she kissed him. He was in desperate need of another bath after all of the lovemaking they had had since last night, and the clothes he was wearing for the fourth day in a row needed to be burned. She did, however, find his musky scent intoxicating, if overpowering at the moment. She would release him soon. That man, her man – Not even he could deny that fact, now! – had much t
o do this evening, but in one moment longer. Let the others wait, they have had him for a lifetime, it was her turn now!
Thor broke the kiss first, those pale-blue eyes making her knees weak and moister gather between her thighs as he gazed at her. He looked at her the same way he did the first time she saw him. Only then, Sorina had been repulsed by his presence. Now, it was the only thing she desired! Desire. Yes, that’s it! It’s too early to say I love him… Isn’t it?
She felt a little silly for believing all those rumors about the handsome man standing before her. True, the man was no saint; the way he handled his affairs, spoke volumes of how cunning and calculating he could be. The way he honored the Norse Gods by hunting a boar, then devouring its charred flesh in a pagan ritual was a little disturbing, but he was not the murderous letch his reputation led one to believe. At least, she didn’t believe he was. How could he be, when she never felt safer than when she was in his arms?
Dressed in black from head to toe, half his face covered in intricate patterns and runes, the other half smeared with boar’s blood, Thor looked ready to battle Death itself. Sorina only hoped it did not come to that. “Go kill me a monster, Thor Odinsson,” she said, trying not to show the terror that gripped her heart.
Thor smiled – he could melt glaciers with that smile! He brushed hair from her face with his fingertips. He does have a gentle touch when he tries; and not so gentle when he needs to be a little rough! “I’ll make a rug from its hide, to put in front of the fireplace.” It would have been more convincing if the fear in his eyes had not betrayed him.
“Burn the cursed thing,” she said, “and come back to me safely!” Oh God, Sorina, you sounded just like a twelve-year-old, American schoolgirl!
“More like sixteen,” Thor said with a smile. He laughed softly as her eyes widened, and her mouth tried to form words. He leaned close, whispering in her ear: “But that’s alright. If it gets too cold out there, I can picture you in a short, plaid skirt to warm me up.” He kissed her again before retreating with the men.
Mio stayed behind, sitting alert by the fireplace like a sentry. The wrinkled behemoth kept sniffing the air as his eyes darted from shadow to shadow. Thor said the dog would let him know if any of them ventured outside. Bryndis and Mikki scoffed at that, saying: all they had to do was feed the dog and do as they liked. From the way Mio’s eyes bore through her, Sorina knew the two women were wrong.
“I’m sure he will be fine,” her grandmother said, handing Sorina a cup of tea. Having Thor around, had changed that woman; she had become quiet, gentle, and even a romantic. All of Sorina’s time alone with Thor had been the old woman’s doing. When she spied the two of them emerging from his room this morning, she gave both of them an approving smile.
‘He has the best of the best behind him,” Bryndis added. The woman pulled Sorina aside earlier, saying she not only approved of the two of them, but thought they were a good match. Sorina’s jaw fell to the floor on that bombshell.
Sorina’s eyes flickered from her grandmother’s now warm face, to Bryndis and Mikki. Her Grandmother was trying her best to emit confidence. Bryndis kept a watch on the men through the window, from the corner of her eye. Mikki twirled a curved knife – If Death didn’t already have a scythe, he’d surely covet that goddamned knife! – between her fingers as if were a mere toy. Then Sorina caught her own reflection in the window; she stood a little taller than before, somehow. “Yes, he does!”
* * *
Else Ingrid Obermeijer hugged a cloudbank , miles east of the castle, her eyes glued to the screen in front of her. There were men on the ground doing the same, but there was no way on Earth she’d leave Thor’s life in their hands alone. This was an idiotic plan; certainly the worst Thor ever had, and he had some of the craziest plans she ever heard – Else chalked that up to him watching the A-Team too many times as a child. Maybe it was MacGyver. Those 80s TV shows all look the same to me! Either way, that man was making her old before her time; she spotted three more gray hairs this morning. At this rate, she was going to have to keep a stylist on retainer!
She caught sight of the moon; it was a beautiful sight from this altitude, or any altitude for that matter. She took a slow swing around again, keeping a watchful eye on the screen. So far, she had caught the heat signatures of a few small animals – most likely a fox and a couple of raccoons – some deer and a bear, but nothing the size of that thing she ripped in half days earlier. It was probably a good thing no horses showed up on the screen, or she would’ve taken the Blackhawk into a dive, and fired everything she had onboard at it out of reflex.
It was quiet out there, some would say too quiet. Not her; she had seen more death and destruction working with NATO forces than anyone should. Kosovo still gave her nightmares; it was there, she had her helicopter shot out of the sky. Two of her crew died on impact, the rest shot an hour later trying to get the hell out of there. The only reason she wasn’t shot: the enemy couldn’t bring shame on themselves by killing a woman. Tying me up, gang-raping me and leaving me to die didn’t go against their collective conscious, though!
She still bore the scars on her wrists from being tied with the wiring from her own helicopter.
An experience like that would’ve broken most women. Else, however, wasn’t most women; she was a trained soldier with the knowledge of what would happen if she were caught drilled into her head. Those men didn’t break her, just gave her a few bruises. Besides, she had to find the traitor. There was no way those fools just happened to be near the drop-zone, armed with heat-seekers; they were waiting to ambush her team.
Else was as relentless as a bloodhound on a trail, living in deplorable conditions and dealing with the most despicable people on earth. It took years to track down the bastard that had gotten her team killed, but she found him in central Africa, and she meant to kill him, if she had to die in the process.
She’d be dead right now, if some smiling fool hadn’t paid her way from the front of the hangman’s noose for “liberating” a helicopter from the DRC’s army. Thor actually called her an investment of good fortune. She didn’t feel like good fortune – Hell, there were times she felt less human than before. – but Thor was a good man. And he’ll continue to be one, if he listens to me better!
She was running dark, nothing more than a black dot on a black sky. This was very familiar territory; she was at home. She was Shadow Dancer; smooth as silk, quiet as summer breeze blowing through a field wildflowers. She could pass directly over the old fortress, and they’d never know it. No one ever did, until it was too late. No one but Thor knew about her last mission, the one she was set up to fail – and he managed to erase all the official records – so, it didn’t count.
* * *
Thor stood outside the protective wall, staring out into the blackness, waiting for the creature to arrive.
The thing was coming for him, but it was miles off. One of JJ’s men was tracking it from a “borrowed” Chinese surveillance satellite, and Else had it in her sights. They both kept reporting the creature’s position at regular intervals, but he did not need anyone telling him where the fucking thing was; he could sense it as easily as he could sense the racing of his own heart.
He had not decided if he would give the satellite back once this was over. The Chinese believed it was destroyed by a meteor, and would start making inquiries when it went back on-line; turning a huge mess into a much larger one. Besides, having your own satellite could be fun! Just ask the C.I.A.
Nwabudike and a few others were behind him on the wall, hidden behind the parapet. The bulk of the men were spread-out along the remaining walls, just in case this thing got a bright idea. The African captain was as nervous as an overdue mother, but Thor could not blame him; the odds on this going horribly wrong were so much better than it going right.
Thor took a deep breath. This creature was unbelievably fast, and running a laser-straight line toward him. If the thing continued moving at its current pace, the showdow
n would begin within the next few minutes. Thor started singing Moondance to pass the time; he almost wished he had a piano, a saxophonist and bass-player to back him up. The grumbling in his earpiece, told him the rest of the men thought he was making reference to the animal’s link to the moon, and did not see the humor in his choice of music.
“Keep your mind on the task at hand, Thor,” Else chimed-in. “There’s plenty of time to think about being back between Sorina’s thighs, later!... Give me the word, I’ve got the fucking thing in my sights.” That was her eighth request to fire, but Thor kept singing.
“It’s a mile off, straight ahead of you, son,” JJ said quietly. Thor knew that; he could sense it lurking in the trees, waiting.
Waiting for what?
From where it stood, Thor knew it could see him, better, it could smell him. That was good; he wanted the damned thing to know whom was waiting to party. Thor hated to think he wore the same clothes for five days for nothing. Underneath the rage, he sensed a tinge of fear. That was good, too; it should be afraid… he was!
It was not hesitating, it was calculating; it could sense a trap. It did not know what the trap was, only that it existed. Like a chess master, it had a plan, and now must make adjustments for its current situation. Great! Where’s Garry Kasparov when you need him? If this was to be a chess match, they would play by tournament rules.
“COME GET SOME!” Thor shouted, then lit his cigar, crushing the match beneath his boot. He mentally stopped his play clock and leveled the rifle, the bolt head glinting in the moonlight.
It worked; the creature rushed from the forest, stood in the open, and howled.
“Thor, get out of there!” Else’s voice shrilled through the earpiece. What’s got her panties in a bunch? This was all part of his plan, Else knew that, and so far, it was going working perfectly.
Then Thor saw the dark-gray wave of fur thundering from the forest as, what seemed like, every wolf on the continent sprinting toward him. It was a mass of white fangs in bone-crushing jaws and sharp claws, every eye focused on the fool outside the wall like he was a prime rib, very rare. Now that was a good move! He heard the play clock in his head, but his move required the right timing.
Hammer of the Gods Page 30