The Resurrector (The Dominic Grey Series)

by Layton Green

  A souped-up black golf cart sped through the intersection, heading towards the cliffs. Both people inside had on snow camo.

  Jax pointed at the cliffs. “They’re heading right to where the signal stopped.”

  Grey waited until the golf cart disappeared from view, then followed the pair. Jax trained the binoculars on the road. “Stop,” he said, once they had driven a few hundred feet alongside the cliff. “Holy shit.”

  “What?”

  “Stop the jeep.”

  Jax looked pale as he handed over the binoculars. Following the road, Grey saw that the golf cart had parked right in front of a wall of ice. His mouth dropped when he spied a portion of the wall levering upwards. Once it finished rising, two guards stepped out, and the man and the woman each handed over a badge.

  Grey couldn’t see inside the mountain. The guards scanned the badges and gave them back. The golf cart pulled through and the ice door lowered, sealing the opening.

  After swallowing and lowering the binoculars, he told Jax what he had seen.

  “What now?” the mercenary said. “We’re not blasting our way inside that mountain.”

  In the distance, on the other side of the valley, Grey noticed a cell tower poking skyward. He ran a hand through his hair and did a U-turn in the middle of the road. “Let’s see what else is here.”

  Jax gave the rearview a nervous glance. “One quick look,” he muttered.

  Grey returned to where the road split and continued towards the settlement. The road followed a shallow river past the lake and into a community that reminded Grey of a military base. A few dozen concrete barracks were arranged in a loose circle around a cluster of shops marked by signs in three languages: Icelandic, English, and German. They rolled through the center and saw a gas station, a commissary, a bar, a restaurant, a gymnasium, an outdoor soccer field, and a greenhouse Grey guessed was used for vegetables. There was even a bizarre wooden building that looked like a dozen pagodas stacked on top of each other, in the shape of a cheerleader’s pyramid. The beautiful craftsmanship looked out of place in the compound. Grey read the sign out front.

  Asatru Temple of Wodan.

  Two flags flapped in the breeze above the settlement. The first bore the same insignia as the tattoo on Dag’s arm. The Odin Rune. On the second, a horned red dragon curled around a pair of crossed swords set against a white background. Different runes marked each corner of the flag. The emblem of W.A.R., Grey guessed.

  Plenty of people hustled about, most of them dressed in snow camo. The vehicles consisted of Superjeeps and snowmobiles and hordes of black golf carts. Everyone looked busy. No one gave Grey or Jax a second glance.

  “We’re really pushing that luck,” Jax said.

  “I understand if you want to go back. Just drop me somewhere out of sight.”

  “And you’ll do what?”

  “I don’t know yet. Something.”

  Jax grimaced and didn’t respond.

  As they left the settlement behind, Grey felt hot and cracked the window. The air was heavy and smelled of snow. More barracks, generators, and a shooting range lined the road on the way out. A short ways past the settlement, they crossed the river and came to an airfield with two long runways, a dozen hangars arranged in a circle, and a handful of cargo planes parked on a sea of concrete.

  “Good lord,” Jax said. “They’ve got a small army out here.”

  “I get the feeling all this is here to protect whatever’s inside that mountain.”

  The road ended at the cell tower they had spied from the entrance. Just past the tower, a field of jumbled, moss-covered lava rocks filled the back side of the valley.

  A guard emerged from a building beside the cell tower and gave a Nazi salute. Gritting his teeth, Grey returned the gesture and turned the jeep around, hoping the guard wouldn’t stop them.

  The guard returned inside. Grey’s heart fluttered. He knew Jax was right about their luck running out.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Jax said. “Swing by the hangars, out of sight of that guard.”

  Grey did what he asked and rolled to a stop behind a hangar. After ensuring no one was watching, Jax withdrew a black dot the size of a dime from his utility belt, hopped out of the jeep, and attached it to the base of the structure. He placed a rock beside it to shield it from view.

  “Another tracking dot?” Grey guessed, when Jax returned. “In case we get lost?”

  “That one’s not for us.” He clapped Grey on the shoulder. “I hate to tell you, but you’re not at your best on this mission. If we go inside that mountain, and by some miracle make it out alive, how do you think we’re getting home?”

  “I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Grey muttered.

  “Yeah, well I did. As soon as we hit Rekyjavik. Jax’s Rule the Third: always have an extraction plan in place. Especially in a neo-Nazi stronghold in the middle of the Icelandic outback.”

  “Who’s on notice?”

  “An old RAF pilot, unless he sees this place on the approach and decides it’s too risky. He lives on the Isle of Skye. I’ll send him the coordinates and tell him to wait offshore.” Jax spread his hands. “We can call him in now, if you want. You can come back with the cops.”

  Grey considered the proposition. “I’m sure it’s private land, and there’s no proof she’s inside.” He shook his head. “They’d just kill her.”

  Jax didn’t deny it.

  “What was that idea you mentioned?” Grey said, as he drove back to the settlement.

  “Find a place to park. As near the tavern as possible.”

  “What for?”

  “Drunk people are easier to steal from.”

  Grey gave a grim nod. “The keycards?”

  Jax clicked out of the side of his mouth.

  Twenty yards past the tavern, Grey pulled into a parking area with a handful of golf carts and another super jeep. Jax zipped his coat, jumped out, and strolled towards the tavern.

  Grey hunkered down in the seat and hoped no one parked too close. If they did, he supposed he could fake inebriation or drive away, but he wanted to be close in case Jax needed him.

  Half an hour passed, and then another. Grey started the car to stay warm. He was nervous someone had spoken to Jax and realized the mercenary didn’t speak Icelandic, or asked him who he was, or any of a dozen scenarios that could play out very, very badly.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when Jax left the tavern with a sway in his step, as if he had had one too many. A pair of men smoking outside the tavern ignored him. Jax made his way to the jeep and hopped inside.

  “Well?” Grey asked as he eyed the street, jittery with anticipation.

  All signs of Jax’s inebriation had disappeared. He held up a pair of silver key cards with magnetic strips on the backs. “Pickpocketing is such a nifty skill.”

  The two men smoking outside the bar eyed the jeep as it passed, probably wondering why Grey had been waiting outside. They didn’t move or call out, but he didn’t like the looks on their faces.

  As soon as they were out of sight of the tavern, a light snow began to fall. They left the settlement and drove down the road hugging the cliff. When Grey saw a grooved steel platform at the base of the ice wall, big enough for the jeep to roll onto, he decelerated and glanced at Jax. “We go in there, we may not come back out.”

  “And?”

  “You’ve gotten me this far. You’ve earned your fee.”

  “All of it?”

  “Half of it.”

  Jax snorted. “You don’t even have a little bit of doubt about going in there, do you?”

  “It’s not about me. It’s about Charlie.”

  “Why in the world did I tell you how to contact me, when we left Egypt?”

  “You probably shouldn’t have.”

  Jax pressed his lips together, then cocked a grin as his eyes hardened. “Money talks, I don’t like leaving my clients, and I’m curious as hell what’s inside that glacier. If you take a risk I don�
�t like, I’ll shoot you myself. Now let’s go get your girl.”

  As the jeep rolled to a stop on the steel platform, the magnetic strip on the dash flashed again. Something caught hold of the tires and locked the jeep in place.

  Grey put the transmission in neutral and forced himself to relax.

  The door of ice started rising.

  The jeep lurched forward.

  -40-

  Deep within the hidden compound, Dag entered the war hall and prepared to contact the second-highest ranking member of his organization, the man they called Herr Physician. A brilliant man, a revered man, a visionary and a true believer who had engineered everything that was about to happen.

  Well, almost everything. The one above Dag and the physician, the heir apparent, had a gift for strategy greater than any chess master Dag had ever known.

  He felt a shiver of pride. W.A.R. was about to make a statement that would rewrite the history books. Reshape the cultural dynamic around the globe.

  Restore the natural order.

  His steel-toed boots strode across a polished onyx floor. The war hall contained a bank of computers to rival any technology company. Reams of military plans to supplement the computer models. Demographic wall maps with projected casualty percentages across the globe.

  The beautiful hall, which showcased a towering ice ceiling and walls of igneous rock, contained cultural artifacts as well. Living memories of the might of their Aryan ancestors. Rune stones, bejeweled goblets, the helms and swords of kings. Not just their own relics, but priceless works of art from around the world, preserved in backlit glass frames. Nazi loot in the hands of the proper owners.

  Those born to the master race didn’t ask or apologize or repatriate.

  They took.

  At least, that was how it should be. The percentage of whites among the world population had dropped into the single digits. Single digits. Like any beleaguered community—like the Jews cowering in Israel—steps had to be taken to avoid extinction. While W.A.R. had chapters and soldiers worldwide, their army was tiny by any numeric measure, and they were forced to keep to the shadows. It was embarrassing. Shameful.

  But that was all about to change.

  As the human race had always done, as Dag knew it would always do, the strong survived and the weak perished and the world kept spinning on its axis. Despite the pampered daily life enjoyed in the wealthy homelands that he and his brothers-in-arms so cherished, Dag knew that human beings were never at rest.

  Peace was an illusion. A temporal state. Mankind was perpetually locked in struggle, both evolutionary and internecine.

  A grin of understanding tugged at the corners of his mouth. Three fourths of the battle was realizing that simple fact, and not being afraid to act.

  After taking a few minutes to scan the latest CDC reports and the updates from W.A.R. leaders around the globe, Dag dialed South Africa on a secure satellite phone.

  “Dagnar,” Jans van Draker said. “Timely as always.”

  “Disorder is an invitation for defeat. I’ve just finished consulting our sources. Progress is excellent. I believe we’re reaching critical mass.”

  “Ya, one more round of infections should suffice. Though we must be more careful than ever. The world is watching now.”

  “We’re selecting only the most disadvantaged communities,” Dag said. “Trust me, the world is not watching them. Whether they admit it or not, the civilized world applauds what we are doing.”

  “You’re certain the news filters are secure?”

  “The world hears what it wants to hear. What it’s told. And once the seed is planted, it is very, very hard to discredit what one believes to be true. In a few days, none of it will matter anyway.”

  “Excellent,” van Draker murmured.

  Dag crossed his arms. “And on your end? The investigation? We’ve lost contact with Dominic Grey. I’m surprised to say he might have gone rogue. Not that it will do him any good.”

  Van Draker gave a low chuckle. “The professor has ambushed his own investigation and got himself arrested. It’s only a matter of time before my people silence him.”

  “The girl?”

  “No longer of utility.”

  “Understood,” Dag said.

  “You sent Klaus to me for further testing, as I requested?”

  “He should arrive tonight. All vitals are still positive.”

  “I’ve exceeded my own expectations,” van Draker said, then sighed. “Though I’d like to see more progress with the frontal lobe before we continue with the others.”

  “It would be advantageous to make an early statement, during the chaos. We can use the same procedures to spread fear.”

  “If we must,” van Draker said. “I just want what’s best for my . . . for the soldiers.”

  Dag felt a twinge of unease. One time before, he had heard Herr Physician refer to Klaus as his child, and it had made Dag wonder whether the South African doctor was a genius or flirting with the edge of insanity. Perhaps both.

  After the W.A.R. leader ended the conversation, a frisson of excitement surged through him. Days. Mere days until the culmination of half a century’s work.

  No, a thousand years of toil.

  The beginning of a new age.

  A return to glory.

  His blood sang with pride and eagerness. Viking ships will set sail once again, across the seas and through the skies, heralding the destruction of their enemies on wings of ancient fire. A call to arms that would put the jihadists to shame.

  Dag pressed a button. One of his favorite men, a German assassin who Emil had ferried in from Rekyjavik, answered the call.

  “Yes?” Gunter asked in English, the common language in the compound.

  “The girl is no longer needed as insurance.”

  “Should I kill her?”

  “Kill her?” Dag said in amusement. “I see no reason to waste a good specimen.”

  -41-

  Daniel left Viktor and Naomi alone in the well-appointed guesthouse. Exhausted, they fell asleep in their clothes and woke late the next morning. When Viktor returned from the shower, he found Naomi sitting on the queen-size bed with her back against the headboard, hugging her knees and staring into space. Her hair, still damp from her own shower, splayed onto a terry cloth bathrobe Daniel had supplied.

  Viktor sat beside her, clad in a matching bathrobe, troubled by the look on her face.

  “I just got a text from an unlisted number,” she said, eyes lowering as she passed him the phone.

  As Viktor read the message, rage bubbled up inside him.

 

  “He took my home,” Naomi said dully. “I had so many memories there. My whole childhood . . .”

  Viktor set the phone down. “I’m so very sorry.”

  A deep breath shuddered through her, replaced by a mouth firmed by vengeance. “What do we do? How do we stop him?”

  Viktor tightened his bathrobe and began to pace. “How secure are we here?”

  “As secure as anyplace in the area. Daniel sent everyone home but Rose.”

  “We shouldn’t leave until dark, but we need to act. Tonight.”

  “I agree. But what?”

  “Jacques has been trying to call me. Let’s start there. Do you mind?” Viktor asked, reaching for Naomi’s phone on the bedside table.

  She opened a palm, and he started to leave the room, then realized there was nothing she couldn’t hear. Not anymore.

  “Thank God it’s you,” Jacques said, after Viktor explained who it was. “Why haven’t you been answering?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Oui, of that I’m certain. Arson, burglary, fleeing arrest? Why don’t you give me the condensed version for now?”

  Viktor complied, and Jacques waited a few moments to speak. “That is a most . . . incredible . . . story.”

  “You doubt me?” Viktor asked.

  “With
you, professor, I’ve come to expect the impossible. That doesn’t mean it becomes any easier to hear.”

  “Is there news on the virus?”

  “You haven’t seen the CDC statement?”

  “I haven’t had time to check.”

  “They’ve officially labeled the virus a communicable disease that incubates in melanocytes. Meaning it feeds and replicates within elevated concentrations of melanin. Before the immune system can catch up.”

  “Melanin,” Viktor repeated.

  “It targets people of color.”

  “Do prdele,” Viktor whispered. “A true ethnic bioweapon. How does it spread?”

  “Respiratory transmission. Aerosol. Like the flu.”

  Viktor sat on the bed. “Do prdele,” he repeated.

  “It’s still unclear, but they believe the incubation period is slow, days or even weeks. But the potential for a pandemic is there. Hundreds have died, and thousands more are believed to be infected. They’re trying to isolate affected communities, but new cases keep springing up.”

  “The Wodan Republic injected hosts in communities around the world, and it spread from there.”

  “There’s no proof of that, but yes, I believe that to be the case.”

  “There’s no vaccine?” Viktor asked.

  “According to the CDC, they’re making progress, but who knows how long it will take? Viktor, if there is anything in that lab that can help us, we need it. Immédiatement.”

  “Then assemble a team and go inside. I told you what I saw.”

  “What you told me, while incredible, does not appear to relate to the virus.”

  “There’s a connection,” Viktor said. “I’m sure of it. Van Draker started his work on genetic warfare during Apartheid. Over twenty years ago.”

  “Be that as it may, Interpol has its limits. I’m receiving unbelievable pushback from the local police, and without more to go on, the national authorities won’t override them. Van Draker has connections in very high places. It doesn’t help that we have no proof, and that you’re a wanted man.”

  “Are you saying you can’t help me?”