“Loki’s gone,” Jack shouted. “Ordered by his father to follow us down into the cavern. Taken Maria with him. Didn’t trust us. But Reksnys is all yours.”
“I’ll need to do a perimeter sweep, priority. Jeremy’ll have to do prisoner detail.”
Jeremy pushed his way through the undergrowth from where he had landed, his glasses steamed up and kicking off a mass of vines. Jack led them through the tangle and out on to the rough track, then straight into the temple. At the entrance they shook off water and Jeremy wiped his glasses. Inside, Costas stood with the Luger aimed at a form lying gagged and face-down on the ground, his wrists and mouth roughly duct-taped. Jeremy bounded past them to the wall-painting and peered closely at the image of the menorah, now revealed, and at the battle scene. “Vikings,” he enthused, his glasses steaming up again.
“You were right. Fantastic. And look. I’m sure that one’s a woman.”
“Time for that later.” Jack nodded to Costas, who gave him the Luger while Ben knelt over Reksnys and re-fastened his wrists with a plastic tie. “Costas needs to help operate the winch, Jeremy.” Jack passed him the pistol. “Can you handle this?”
“Six months in the ROTC at Stanford,” Jeremy said, taking off his glasses again.
“A misplaced sense of duty after 9/11. Not really my kind of thing.”
Jack nodded. “Remember who this guy is. Remember what they did to O’Connor and Maria.”
“My grandfather brought one of these back from the war.” Jeremy replaced his glasses and took the Luger, pulling back the breech toggle to check the chamber and then releasing it. He knelt down and shoved the Luger into the small of Reksnys’ back, pulling his head up roughly and leaning behind his ear. “My friend Costas tells me you threatened Maria with this. A long, lingering death.” He pulled Reksnys to his feet and pushed him towards the door, disappearing with him into the rain.
Ben looked at Jack. “I don’t think we’ve got much to worry about there.”
“Okay. I’m going down to get Maria,” Jack said.
“Not alone.”
“No choice. There’s no way we can retrieve the rebreathers now. Reksnys had two scuba rigs here as backup, and Loki’s taken one. It looks like he used the octopus regulator for Maria, allowing her to breathe off the same tank. The rig we’ve been left with doesn’t have an octopus, and anyway the tank doesn’t have enough air in it for us to buddy-breathe to the chamber and back.”
“I could contact the Lynx and have gear airlifted in from the ship.”
“No time. We’ve pushed our luck as it is.” Jack heaved the air cylinder on to his back and clipped together the stabiliser jacket on his chest. “Loki’s already going to be in a rage. He would have been better off staying up here, and he knows it.
The guy’s an independent. His father’s an evil bully but an amateur by comparison. Loki’s caught between blindly obeying all the nonsense about the félag and his better instincts. He’s been forced to a place where he’s not in control the way he likes. It’s our chance. But it also means he’s going to be volatile. And I need to act now. I don’t want him to come back into the chamber below us and work out what’s happened. Maria wouldn’t last a second. If she’s still alive.”
“You haven’t got a weapon.”
“I’ll improvise.”
“Torch?”
“Costas and I left chemical lightsticks to mark the route.”
“Good luck.”
Jack grunted as Ben looped the rope under his arms. Costas checked his air and weight belt and then gripped Jack by the shoulders, looking him straight in the eyes. “Battle-luck,” he said.
“Battle-luck.” Jack pulled down his mask, sat on the edge of the hole and then swung himself out over the dark pool far below. Costas and Ben immediately began winching him down. Jack was focussed, his whole being intent on his objective. He hit the water with his regulator in his mouth and immediately began swimming underwater towards the tunnel, following the trail of lightsticks they had dropped just over an hour before. The tunnel seemed less oppressive now, and as he looked ahead he saw the extraordinary luminosity of the calcite walls where they were lit up by the lightsticks, fantastic formations of stalagmites and stalagtites that loomed out of either side like abstract ice sculptures.
Ten minutes after entering the water he saw the pool of light ahead that marked the final chamber. The light was different, more intense than the chemical illumination. He reached the edge of the chamber, the bubbles from his exhaust cascading along the ceiling above him, and cautiously surfaced in a small side chamber just high enough for his head to be out of the water. In the centre of the cavern he could see the bizarre calcium formations of the islet, about twenty metres in front of him. The light was coming from the opposite side of the islet and shone in a wide beam against the ceiling.
The bubbles from his regulator would be a giveaway. For a moment he cursed their decision to ditch the rebreathers in the underwater river. He would have to swim on the surface, hoping not to be spotted.
He took off his mask and clipped it to his jacket, then looked around for something to darken his face, something to absorb the glare if a torch was shone at him. He reached out gingerly and rubbed a flat surface just in front of him. He sniffed his hand, and crinkled his nose. Potassium nitrate. Bat droppings. He took another swipe off the rock and rubbed it all over his face, careful not to make a noise.
He inflated his stabiliser jacket, blowing air into the mouthpiece to avoid the noise of the low-pressure feed from his regulator, then pushed himself off and began to swim slowly towards the outcrop.
When he reached the midway point, he could feel the tug of the underwater river, far stronger now than it had been when he and Costas had decided to follow it. A light swung round and caught his face. He froze. It swung back again, and he resumed swimming. If he was discovered now, he would have no chance. He assumed Loki was armed. Everything depended on surprise.
As he reached the edge of the islet, he heard a voice on the other side, magnified and distorted in the chamber, but unmistakably male. A snarling, menacing tone. Jack slipped off his tank and fins and sidled along to a place he remembered from his earlier dive, where he and Costas had seen the first extraordinary clue. He reached down into the shallows. It came away easily, unencumbered by accretion, as well preserved in the fresh water as the one he had found in the ice. Then he rose from the water, dripping and black in his wetsuit, and pulled the object up with him.
A Varangian battle-axe.
Jack made his way swiftly up the knobbled contours of accretion, thankful he was wearing neoprene boots that gripped the surface well. He passed over the fossilised Viking shield wall, the arching shape of the ship’s stem, the haunting form of the fallen warrior. From the top he looked down on the other side of the islet. Loki was there, no more than ten metres away. He was standing with his back to Jack, straddling Maria, who was lying on her back staring defiantly up.
Loki was holding a pistol in his left hand, a Browning Hi-Power. In the other hand he held a blade against Maria’s heart, a sword. It was the Varangian sword Jack and Costas had seen in the water beside the axe.
Jack felt a chill of horror. History had never really stopped in this place. He was witnessing something ingrained in the stone of the Yucatán, impossible to exorcise. A human sacrifice.
With lightning speed Jack swept down on Loki, swinging the axe hard, severing the man’s left arm in one mighty swipe. The pistol flew into the water still grasped in the hand, spinning and disappearing into the blackness. Loki staggered, shocked, then spun round to face Jack, his face a contortion of surprise and rage. The stump was gushing blood. He dropped the sword, staggered, lifted his remaining arm to the scar on his face, then staggered back again, picking up the sword. Suddenly he exploded into action, lunging at Jack in a terrifying blur of speed and flashing metal. Jack was nearly caught off guard, raising the axe only just in time. Steel impacted against steel, clashing, grindin
g, ringing, a sound not heard here for almost a thousand years. Jack’s body quivered as he parried the blows, but he stood his ground. It was only a matter of time before his opponent would falter. Loki was already too weak to stop his body from following through the swing of the sword, lurching, swivelling as he struggled to regain his balance. He stood back again, in a frenzy of pain, snivelling and panting, goading Jack with the point of the sword, staggering back farther towards the edge of the water.
Loki’s rage had cast the shadow of his own downfall. He could have remained on the surface with his father, let his mind rule, retained his lethal efficiency.
Jack weighed the haft in his hands, just as he had done once before, when another long-handled, single-bitted axe had saved their lives in the iceberg.
Battle-luck.
He reared up and took two strides forward. As he swung the axe he thought he saw runes flashing in front of him, runes where Halfdan’s name had been on the other axe, runes that began with the same Norse letter.
The battle-axe of a mighty king. Thunderbolt of the North.
The axe came slicing through the air and struck Loki on the side of the head, then spun off from Jack’s hands and cartwheeled into the water above the underground river. Loki’s head jerked back and then sprang forward, like a marionette. For a horrifying moment he seemed uninjured. Then the scar on his face parted, split wide open through his eye socket. Jack could see jawbones and teeth, grimacing horribly like the sculpted skulls at Chichén Itzá. Then there was blood, thick, oozing drops that splattered on to the rock below.
Loki took one step forward, then slipped on the blood, falling heavily into the water with a crash, taking the sword with him. For a moment he was suspended in mid-water, one eye staring blindly towards Jack, still alive, clawing weakly for the surface. Then he dropped deeper and the current took him, dragging him down into the darkness, out of sight, sucked into the underworld.
Loki was gone.
Jack slid down beside Maria and they lay by the edge of the pool. He was shaking with adrenaline aftershock. She clung fiercely to him. The commotion in the water died away, and the only sound was dripping rainwater percolating through from above, the sound magnified in the cavern but soothingly rhythmic after the echoing clash of steel. As Jack’s shaking subsided, Maria stared into the crystalline water inches from her face. She reached in and pulled something out, a smooth chip of rock free of accretion. They could see marks on its surface, scratches. They both sat up. “It’s a runestone,” Maria whispered.
“Can you read it?”
“It’s crude, rushed,” Maria murmured. “Like the last entry in the diary of a doomed expedition.”
“Try.” Jack sounded exhausted, his voice barely a whisper.
Maria paused, muttered a few words to herself, then read it out loud. “Only Ulf, Finn and Halldor are left. The Scraelings have taken the outer chamber. Thor protect us. Hann til ragnarøks.”
Jack felt stripped of emotion, too drained to respond. All he could do was reach out and touch the dripping stone.
“Maybe Harald himself scratched this, his last act before the Toltecs were upon him,” Maria said. “It was Stamford Bridge all over again, only this time it truly was the end.” She looked back at the spectral shapes on the platform behind her, then towards the blackness in the water where Loki had disappeared. She gave an involuntary shiver. “They got as far as they humanly could, right to the entrance of the underworld.”
“I can feel what they felt,” Jack murmured. “We’re on the edge of the spirit world here, the very boundary. Something wants me to go down that passageway, to follow Loki. It’s like a malign force drawing me in, willing me to frame the challenge. I feel as close to Harald here as I’ve ever felt, really close.”
Jack looked around at the flickering shadows on the cavern walls, then shook himself and raised Loki’s air tank from where it had been left by the edge of the water, attaching it to Maria’s back. “And I know this is not a place we want to be.”
“It’s not over yet,” Maria said.
“You’ve got plenty of air. There’s a line of lights back to the entrance. Piece of cake. I’ll be right behind you.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
Jack gave her shoulder straps a final tug. He splashed water on his face to rub off the black mess and sat down beside her. Maria began to talk, slowly at first, hesitantly, then in full flow, as if she were telling something she had never told before but had rehearsed countless times in her mind. Over the next few minutes Jack heard a story more awful than he could ever have imagined, a story that made the monsters of the underworld seem as potent as they had to the Vikings, that seemed to shape the lurking malevolence of this place into a force too evil to leave unchallenged.
Twenty minutes later Jack heaved himself out of the well-hole into the painted chamber. Costas squatted in front of him, breathless after operating the winch.
Maria sat dripping on the stone floor a few metres away. Despite the heat she was shivering slightly, and Costas passed her a towel and an IMU jacket along with a bottle of water. As soon as he saw she was safe, Jack swivelled round and addressed Costas.
“What’s our status?”
“The Mexicans are here,” Costas panted. “Two guys in a jeep about ten minutes ago. They’re judiciales, plain-clothed guys. Pretty unsavoury if you ask me. They said a helicopter is on its way. Apparently all this tract is Reksnys’ territory, but we’re well away from his main compound. It doesn’t look like he trusted any of his own security people to be out here. A few locals live in the jungle, Maya, but they’re on our side. As soon as more police arrive and the Lynx returns from Seaquest II with a full security team, we can relax. Ben’s doing a wide perimeter sweep as we talk.”
Jack jerked his head towards the hole. “You probably gathered our friend Loki won’t be joining us.”
Costas raised his eyebrows. “Permanently?”
“He’s gone for a cave-diving endurance record. Without air.”
“The Toltec underworld,” Costas said quietly. “Not a place I’d want to spend eternity.”
Jack drew Costas aside and huddled with him in the gloom at the rear of the chamber, talking intently. Costas occasionally looked at Maria, his expression increasingly grim. After a few minutes Jack gestured for her to join them. Costas passed her something wrapped in a cloth, which she checked and quickly concealed inside her jacket.
Jeremy suddenly appeared at the entrance, breathless and frantic. “Quick. For God’s sake. Reksnys has escaped. He’s got a local kid. He’s threatening to kill him.”
“How the hell…”
“The Mexican police cut him loose, then they both vanished, did a runner.”
“Shit.”
There was a sudden commotion outside and Reksnys appeared, pushing a boy of about five, the distraught parents pleading in Spanish behind him. Jeremy forced them back out and Reksnys marched in holding a leather belt round the boy’s neck. He paraded in front of them, his head held high and sneering, then dragged the boy like an animal to the centre of the chamber.
“I can break his little neck in a second. Just like that.” He snapped the fingers of his free hand. He seemed to forget his audience, and spoke with almost childish glee. Suddenly he looked around. “Where’s my son?”
“Went for a swim.”
Reksnys failed to take in what Costas had said, and drew the boy towards him.
“¿Cómo te llamas?”
The boy was too terror-stricken to reply.
Reksnys jerked the boy up towards his face. “¿Cómo te llamas?”
The boy whispered tearfully, “Daniel.”
“Daniel.” Reksnys let the boy drop and then jerked him back against him, the belt held tight around his neck. “Interesting name for a Maya. When I was his age, I knew some little boys with that name. Daniel, Doron, Menachem. And there were some little girls with them too. But not for long.” Reksnys sneered again, then eyed Maria suspiciously
as she detached herself from the others and took a few steps to the wall, to the place where she had recovered consciousness after her nightmare trip from Iona. She stood facing Reksnys, her legs slightly apart.
“I think,” she said, “you once found it a lot easier using this.”
Slowly, deliberately, she raised the Luger and aimed it at Reksnys’ head, both hands clasping the butt, her left index finger brushing the trigger.
Jeremy stared at Maria, shocked.
Reksnys sneered again. “You don’t know how to use that.”
She flipped down the safety catch on the left side of the frame. “Oh yes I do.”
“It’s not loaded.”
“Jack?” Maria said, not moving her eyes.
Jack pulled out a small box with the words NINE MILLIMETRE PARABELLUM
printed on one side and showed the half-empty interior. “We found these in your pocket,” he said. “Remember?”
Reksnys was contemptuous. “Put the gun down or the boy dies.”
Maria began to recite words she had memorized when she was a child.
“Operational Situation Report USSR, Number 129a,” she said quietly.
“Einsatzgruppe D. Location: Nikolayev, Ukraine. Addendum to Report Number 129 concerning the activity of the Einsatzkommandos in freeing places of Jews and finishing off partisan groups. SS-Sturmbannführer Andrius Reksnys personally executed 341 Jews. Revised total for the last two weeks: 32,108.”
There was a stunned silence. Maria kept the Luger levelled at Reksnys’ head. He remained stock still, staring at her with cold loathing, the belt taut and shimmering against the boy’s neck.
“May the fourteenth, 1943,” Maria continued. “A beautiful spring morning. The flowers were up everywhere, the birds singing. The last in line in front of the ditch were a young family, a father and a pregnant mother and four small children. Do you remember? Your father let you finish the little ones.”
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