The Quest for Valhalla (Order of the Black Sun Book 4)

by P. W. Child

  “I’ll come with you. The tea and alcohol is getting the better of me too,” she said quickly and rose from her chair. Nina gave Sam a look just to let him know that she was on to the biker lady and instead of dismissing it this time, he nodded.

  In the dark green restroom, adorned with wall sized mirrors and faux jade tiling, Val checked each stall to make sure she was alone with Nina, but she pretended to look for a clean toilet. Nina took the opportunity to fix her make-up, watching Val in the mirror. To her surprise, Val came straight to her and put her purse on the counter.

  “I have something for you,” she smiled.

  I swear to God if she takes a chess piece out of that bag, I will throw her skinny ass on the floor and put her in a headlock! Nina thought to herself, but she smiled with an expression of whimsical mystery and said, “Val…what are you up to?”

  “I told you I would get you something antique, remember?” Val smiled, looking towards the door.

  No fucking way. She is going to pull a goddamn chess piece out, I swear! Nina thought, and replied eagerly, “Yes, you did!”

  Holding her breath, quite literally, Nina ogled the woman’s hand as it sank into her back and fumbled about inside. She could not peel her eyes from the open mouth of the handbag as Val’s hand emerged. Nina’s heart slammed hard as she prepared to take Val down physically - something she had never done before and quite honestly did not know how to execute.

  Val pulled the most beautiful piece from her bag. It looked like pewter, or marcasite, an ornate flask of tarnished beauty. It bore a mesh of intricately woven silver over it, fixed to the actual container and at the top it had a small lid that fitted in the mouth of the flask. Nina’s jaw dropped. She was unfamiliar with the piece, but there was no doubt to its antiquity and value. In the woven patterns she recognized some Nordic motifs, but other than that she had no idea where it came from or to what culture it was akin.

  “Val,” was all Nina could say as she took the flask in her hand. It was no bigger than her palm and part of her fingers. “Where did you get this?”

  “Family,” Val replied and she looked at it with great nostalgia. “I want you to have it. But Nina,” she placed her hand firmly on the historian’s arm and looked her in the eye with seriousness, “you must never ever give it away. Keep it safe. Guard it with your life, because…” she hesitated with tears in her eyes, “…because…it is very precious to me. You are the only person I can imagine would not only appreciate it, but also keep it with the respect such old things demand.”

  Nina was floored. She had no idea what to say, less even what to think now.

  “Of course, you know I will,” she smiled wide-eyed and when Val hugged her, she could feel her body’s almost imperceptible shudder. Nina was being bribed, she thought, and as much as she appreciated the magnificent gift she would not allow Val to get away with looting most valuable relics. But now was not the time for confrontation and she accepted the gift graciously.

  Chapter 13

  Thursday, 06.38am

  “For fuckth thake, I don’t know what you are thalking about! I’m not a goddamn runner, man. I’m juth a biker!” Jan screamed through blood soaked lips, his broken teeth making it difficult to form his words. Another blow landed against his head, sending a jolt of pain ripping through his skull and into the back of his neck.

  “Where do we find The Brotherhood?” the little man asked calmly, while seated comfortably on an empty upturned drum in the abandoned ruin of a house near The Wisp where they had apprehended the ginger haired biker.

  “I thwear to Chrith I don’t know who the Brotherhood ith, man!” he was sobbing like a bullied child now. His hands were tied behind him with barbed wire and his shirt removed. Dry blood covered his shoulders and torso from the night’s torture session, now reaching its 11th hour, but the scrawny man who could not seem to sit still had no plans to relent.

  “I have it on good authority that The Brotherhood knows what I need to know and that they are masquerading as a motorcycle club, my friend. Your motorcycle club. So please, for the love of the Virgin, just cut the bullshit and tell us where your brothers are and we’ll let you go. Hell, we’ll even drop you off there with your Honda. Just point out the leader of The Brotherhood and we will leave you all in peace,” the imp explained as he sat with folded arms, sighing like a bored high school girl.

  Jan cried hopelessly. His tears burned in his weary eyes where the sand of a thousand deserts sat for his lack of sleep and the battery of hours of crying. Almost swollen shut from it, his impaired vision warped the image of his emaciated tormentor and his massive punisher, turning them into the demons they were inside. All Jan could do was shake his head. He could never betray the location of his brethren, even if it would save his life. What kind of animals would keep their word if they could do this to him? They could not be trusted, their word was shit to him. For a while, he wondered if he should make something up, but he quickly realized that they would take him with them and they would surely kill him if they found out that he lied.

  Jan honestly did not know who The Brotherhood was. If his friends were involved in some sort of clandestine cult, they certainly did not tell him about it. How could they be? They were far too busy doing small deals with other clubs and territories, making deliveries and such. Above him, the gorilla stood ready for another beating to be dealt and he had to do something soon or they were going to beat him to death. He had already lost so much blood that his limbs had gone cold, his muscles going into constant contractions that felt like hell on ice.

  “I can tell you where the leader ith thtaying! That ith all I know, thwear…” he cried in a shaking voice, at the end of his tolerance for the pain; he was suffering. The cold rough cement floor had torn his skin and little rocks of loose gravel from the debris of fallen rafters and crumbling brickwork were digging in his flesh. “Hith name is Gunnar Jouthen! Denton Houthe up on Haggard, out on Newingtonth area!”

  “Oh!” Slokin cheered and looked at Gunter with a delightful sneer as he clapped his hands together. “Did you hear that, Gunter? He is going to take us to the leader of the fucking Brotherhood,” the short fiend cried in elation and sheer cruelty was shimmering in his eyes as he leaned forward to stare at the weeping man. His smirk vanished instantly, “Now why the fuck did you waste a whole night of my life telling me you knew NOTHING?” He screamed in a voice Jan thought such a small man to be incapable of – a low roar of uncontrolled rage.

  Slokin kicked Jan square in the face, snapping his neck backward with awful violence. The bleeding man’s head struck the wall behind him with a crack. Both Slokin and Gunter froze instantly, waiting for Jan to recover, but the bloody goo that ran down the wall behind him was a certain allusion that he would not be making dinner plans. Slokin winced like a scolded child and then shrugged, “Get rid of him. And hurry. We have a date with ‘Gunnar of The Brotherhood’, my friend. Lita will be over the moon if we bring him to her and I will hopefully get a few days off to catch up on my gardening.”

  In the car, Slokin waited for Gunter to get rid of the biker’s body. He thought it good to call Lita and deliver his update. For once, he was not nervous to hear her voice on the other side of the line, because he finally had something solid to tell her.

  “Miss Røderic, I have a location for The Brotherhood. Once we detain the leader, we will be on our way to you,” he smirked while his free hand tapped on the dashboard of the car. He listened to her orders where to bring the captive.

  “May I ask one thing, though? Could you perhaps send us a few men to assist us? This organization is known to move in groups, so our target will not be alone when we take him. If I could impose on you for some help in this regard…thank you. I shall wait on their arrival before we go to get him. I shall text you the address, Miss Røderic. Thank you so much,” he chimed in his overbearing way that he mistook for charm. Gunter exited the narrow lane that ran to the deserted building site, overgrown with brush, wiping his hands.r />
  ***

  Val was on her way back to Newington from the Tower. Her 1000cc Kawasaki screamed down the highway as she raced to get back to her husband. In her reddened eyes, the evidence of tears, and her legs shivered in numbing panic while a million thoughts raced through her mind. The robbery was another reason why she had to make haste. It was not supposed to happen so soon and she knew now that she had run out of preparation time. Hopefully Nina Gould would heed her words and take good care of the vial. Val could not afford to have it anymore.

  The Order of the Black Sun was after it, as demonstrated by their reckless display in the restaurant manager’s office. Did they actually think she would not identify one of their people immediately? When she saw the two men sitting in the office at The Tower, she instantly knew who they were. It was not her first clash with this post-World War II Nazi club of aristocrats and tycoons. Now they were after her? The robbery was clearly a diversion. How did they know where to find her if they did not get to her husband yet? Had they possibly wiretapped Dr. Gould’s phone? Her throat contracted as she panted, hoping that Gunnar was alright. She dared not use her cell phone to check on him now. It was too risky.

  She had done some thorough research on Dr. Nina Gould. Val was certain that Nina would be the right keeper for the vial. The historian was known for her integrity and her immense knowledge of the subject Now that she was a consultant, free to move as she pleased, Val was convinced that Nina Gould would be sharp enough to unravel the imminent threat on the world. The historian had a reputation for being relentless in her passion and pursuits and she questioned anything that even smelled of corruption. For this, at least, Val was grateful. It was a colossal burden on her that was now lifted. She had entrusted the most deadly secret of all time to a very responsible and intelligent person.

  What Val did not know was that Nina was in fact following her in Purdue’s 4x4. Now and then, when stopping at a traffic light or junction, the huge off road vehicle would catch up with Val, remaining far enough behind her not to be discovered. Nina was out to confront Val once and for all. She wanted to know what was going on. She had to find out why Val was implementing these raids and for what she was looking. A good hearty threat of Interpol would do the trick, the pretty historian reckoned.

  It was late afternoon when the Kawasaki pulled into the large grassy parking area in front of Denton House, where The Brotherhood was resident until they had enough intelligence on the whereabouts of Lita Røderic. The wealthy genius moved premises whenever she felt necessary and was virtually impossible to keep track of most of the time. Her reputation preceded her. Her reckless and deadly actions in obtaining what she coveted and her fierce loyalty to the modern Germanic society of powerful tyrants, hidden in areas of commerce, arts and politics.

  She was a danger to the free world and some speculated that her insatiable lust for knowledge and the never ending study of a myriad of academic subjects had driven her insane. Already a genius, her mind had encapsulated all her knowledge with her ambition until, with her unlimited financial resources, she had ultimately become an unstoppable juggernaut of boundless capacity. With the wrong people on her side, those equally hungry for dominion, she could devastate the entire world and implement the most fearsome system of governance ever enforced upon mankind. In fact, its doctrines would defile the very principals it was born from, centuries before in the Northlands and Scandinavia. Lita Røderic’s brilliant mind had betrayed her into becoming as warped as her views on social structure and religion.

  The Brotherhood was as old as these ancient principals, vowed in the infancy of the past millennium to guard the world against such corruption. It was, like the Nazis, covertly established within all sectors of the world as it developed into modern civilization. In all guises and capacities, The Brotherhood had infiltrated all walks of life to watch over the wisdom of the past, the secrets of history that came from the old gods – and which was too powerful for the feeble minds of mere men. They understood that some teachings were simply too destructive for the fallible lusts of mankind and so these mysteries had to be kept interred in the vaults of ancient history and made into myths and legends so that the human race would think them folly, too absurd to believe in, let alone pursue.

  But on occasion throughout history, there were those who saw past the dismissal of these tales and instead of believing them as mythos, endeavored to excavate their powers and implement their secrets in a perverse quest for power. Hitler was but one of the many; his tyranny bringing him infamy and shedding light on what he knew to exist. Others, like Lita Røderic, astutely remained inconspicuous while chasing after the ultimate trump card over all.

  Now, she had become a threat they could no longer ignore. Especially, now that she was bold enough to send her goons after Val and the only real family she ever knew – the Sleipnir Motorcycle Club.

  Chapter 14

  Sam was home alone, worried about Nina. He was more worried about Nina’s obsession with her new friend. After the two women had returned from the restroom at The Tower, the entire atmosphere had changed. Even the way they spoke to one another was more personal, more intimate. The juvenile part of Sam imagined all sorts of bonding between the two very attractive ladies taking place in the restrooms while he was having a healthy helping of Pavlova that was about to introduce him to a life of insulin shots. The manner in which they behaved told him that they had shared something he was excluded from. His intuition and ability to read people from years as an investigative journalist taught him to see such things at a glance.

  It was clear that Nina was even more bent on getting to the bottom of Val’s involvement in the museum lootings, while Val appeared a bit more relaxed than she had been after she resurfaced after the robbery. He did not want to ask Nina about it.

  Convinced that the priceless gift she was given was stolen from some hoard in one of the robberies, Nina did not want to have it on her person. Her paranoia (or vigilance, as she referred to it) told her that Val may well have given it to her so that she could frame Nina for the theft and would call the police, just to get the suspicious historian out of her way. Therefore, she entrusted the piece to Sam for safekeeping until she could find out what it was and where it came from.

  When he got home, he placed it in the drawer with his canteens and the two silver alcohol flasks he inherited from his great uncle Harry, the family alcoholic who died, not surprisingly, of a fall. Harry enjoyed fly fishing and drinking. One day, he went fishing at the gorge after a bottle and a half of Famous Grouse and lost his footing. That is how Sam came into owning the two silver flasks.

  Bruich was lying on his favorite chair, grooming. Sam told him about Nina’s new friend, but the cat ignored him.

  “Don’t ask me to play chess with you again, Bruich. You suck as a roommate,” Sam moaned and fell on the couch with a lit cigarette. He savored every drag of tar that filled his hungry lungs and stared at the ceiling, trying to decide for himself what he really thought of Val Joutsen. As much as he wanted to believe that she was sincere in her friendship with Nina, as much as he played the Devil’s Advocate in the matter, he could not deny that Nina was right about a lot of things. Inadvertently, the smell of her hair in his hands came to mind and he tasted her lips for a brief moment, sending a jolt of electric exhilaration coursing through his body.

  “What?” he asked Bruichladdich, who gave him a fixed stare as if he knew what Sam was thinking. “Mind your own business.”

  He got up to shake the reminiscence and concentrate on important things as he walked to the kitchen. From the fridge door, he got a beer and decided to help Nina with her investigation. His laptop screen blinded him in the dusk of his living room and he quickly flicked the switch on the desk study lamp. For over two hours, he searched all the sites on archeology, ancient history, museum collections, artifacts and religious iconography.

  Too many beers later, he still could not find the flask anywhere on the Internet. Perhaps Nina just had to accep
t that this was a legitimate gift from Val’s family and not some stolen artifact. Sam felt nauseous and dizzy. Not eating was his weakness and he had once more forgotten to go grocery shopping. The cat was well taken care of in way of food, but Sam neglected himself. All this drinking had made him curious. Sam Cleave always became dangerously inquisitive when alcohol took him. With a silly grin on his face he walked over to the drawer and looked at Nina’s flask.

  “I wonder what the men of old drank to deal with missing the scent of their women,” he asked Bruich, but the feline was fast asleep and never heard Sam’s inebriated thought process take form in words. All of a sudden, it was very funny to inspect the antique vial for traces of alcohol. Feeding his curiosity, he removed the cap of the ornate item with quite a bit of effort. Obviously it was very difficult to pry loose after so many years, but he was adamant to find out what was inside. He could feel the weight of the contents shift when he shook the flask, so he knew it contained something. No thought of how putrid any contents of such an old container would be, passed through Sam’s common sense. He gave it a smell and expected the vilest odor, but to his surprise it smelled remarkably like absinthe.

  “Hmm…aniseed. Mint? If it was absinthe, it would have that licorice flavor, right Bruich?” Sam asked the slumbering cat. “I know, I know. It could be poison, right?” An unnatural urge to taste the liquid overcame Sam. It was almost magical, a surge of desperate surrender possessed him and even in his intoxication he felt a twinge of warning for the thrall of the substance. Sam’s fingers shivered and he felt genuinely wary of the power that gripped him. He was not one to believe in ghosts and demons, but if there were such things he guessed that this was what an encounter with their terrifying subjugation felt like and it was deeply unpleasant. For a torturous few minutes that stretched into what seemed like forever, Sam felt truly terrified to the peril of his soul at the hand of the supernatural presence that he inadvertently released from the vial.