by K. T. Tomb
“No,” she responded, realizing that she had a brand-new way of getting under his skin. Deciding to put another little barb in, she added. “Don’t worry, dear Peter, you will have 800 miles of driving tomorrow.”
“We’re driving to Hammerfest?” Jonathan asked.
“Isn’t that why we got the rental?” Phoe asked.
“There’s an airport.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“I was about to before we started watching Dad’s stup… Dad’s video.”
Chapter Fifteen
Striking out early the following morning, Peter drove with Phoe riding shotgun. Phoe was all for flying until Peter reminded her about being discrete. A private jet landing in a small town near the northern tip of Norway was hardly discrete, especially when it had the Kessler logo blazoned on the side of it.
Jonathan had correctly assumed that the back seat was his domain, bringing a slight smile to Phoe. Maps and other papers were scattered all over the seat. Names, addresses, character profiles, and even pictures of every active member of Ragnarok’s Chosen. He held a pen in his mouth while attempting to sort the mess.
“I wish you would’ve done all of this back at the jet, Jonathan,” Phoe chided him, half-jokingly.
“I would have, but you kept rushing me,” he replied, obviously feeling much more comfortable in her presence. “There doesn’t appear to be a leader of the group, which is really strange. We have to go through each profile to find the leader. The first name I’m reviewing is Francis Agnor.”
“Right. Well, you’ve got about twenty-four hours, if we decide to drive straight through,” said Peter. “Hopefully, what we had for dinner last night and the breakfast we had this morning will tide us over for a while, and we can make some serious headway.”
“Yeah, especially since we have to travel through Sweden and Finland to get there,” Jonathan grumbled. He hadn’t been thrilled about driving all the way to Hammerfest.
“Maybe we should let Jonathan take the lead with this part, Phoe,” Peter suggested in a low tone. “He does seem to be the right age and knows a lot about these RPGs.”
Phoe huffed and gave Peter a harsh stare. But he was right, and she knew it, but she was losing control of the quest, which she had sworn she would not do.
“What’s wrong with that idea?” Peter asked. “Do you think a bunch of nerds will believe that an attractive woman or a man as classy as myself would be into this nonsense?”
He laughed. She didn’t. Jonathan snickered quietly in the backseat.
The statement about her being attractive was about the only part of what he said that made a lot of sense.
Jonathan leaned up between the seats of the SUV and looked at Peter and Phoe each in turn. “Really, guys? If you only knew what it’s like being able to become someone else online. It’s an amazing feeling to kill adversaries and fight people three times your size. Oh, and the graphics keep getting better... You damned well should know I’ll be playing these games until the day I die!”
Noting Phoe’s irritated glare at his presence between the two front seats, he shrunk back into his own domain.
“Maybe you’re right,” Phoe sighed. “We’ll send in Jonathan.”
***
They didn’t arrive at Thon Hotel Hammerfest until a little past six in the following morning.
They had stopped three times to refuel, empty bladders and eat a little before charging down the road. In reality, given road conditions in Sweden and Finland, they had made decent time. In spite of the fact that they would have rather spent the day sleeping, after checking into their rooms, taking showers to refresh, they grabbed breakfast and headed for the first stop. They were far too wired to waste the day catching up on the sleep they lost, though Phoe was pretty sure that they would fade out as the day progressed.
They followed a local map to the closest neighborhood from the hotel, thinking it would take them a day or two to narrow things down. Most of the houses near the harbor were close together. Jonathan seemed much more nervous, now that it was time to perform. But after a pep talk from both Peter and Phoe, he got out of the car and doubled back to the first house on the list; the home where eighteen-year-old Francis Agnor resided. Jonathan glanced back at the car, took a deep breath and knocked.
A woman a few years younger than Phoe’s own mom with unkempt hair and wearing an apron answered the door.
“Hva ønsker du?”
The woman addressed Jonathan in a firm tone that Phoe and Peter could hear clearly from the car. Jonathan motioned for them to join him.
“Hva ønsker du?” the woman repeated, once Peter and Phoe joined Jonathan on the porch.
“She just wants to know what we want,” said Peter. “I’ll take this one. Min yngre bror og jeg var bare på gjennomreise. Han er interessert i å bli med i den legendariske online rollespill gruppe, Ragnarok er valgt.”
Phoe’s and Jonathan’s jaws dropped, listening to Peter speak Norwegian. The woman studied Peter suspiciously for a moment.
He continued, “Din sønn er Francis Agnor, er det ikke? Min bror Jonatan har vært i korrespondanse med din sønn.” Peter reached out to slap Jonathan on the shoulder, provoking a smile from him.
“Han er på den fordømte gravkapell spiller sin dumme spill!” The woman smiled broadly.
“Do you even need me anymore?” Jonathan asked Peter.
Peter ignored him, keeping eye contact with the woman.
“Kan du fortelle meg hvor dette stedet er?” Peter added excited gestures.
She motioned for him to wait and went back into her house. She returned with a piece of paper with directions written on it. Before saying goodbye, Peter took the paper from her and escorted Jonathan and Phoe back to the car.
“What was that all about, Peter?” asked Jonathan.
“In a nutshell, I told her you have been communicating with her son about playing in their online group, and that we were just passing through.”
They both get in the car with Phoe, who was shaking her head.
“Run that by me again?” She was just as lost as Jonathan.
After Peter repeated his advisement to Jonathan, he added, “She gave me directions on how to get to the Ragnarok’s Chosen meeting place at some burial chapel.”
“I bet it’s the same burial chapel I told you about earlier!” said Jonathan, excitedly. “Remember? It’s the only building still standing from when the Germans attacked!”
Phoe is not so sure. “Why would the city of Hammerfest allow a bunch of kids to hold their RPG meetings in what I can only assume is a historical landmark?” she asked. “I have one more question, as well. Peter, you said that you told the woman that Jonathan was communicating with her son, right?”
He nodded.
“It was obvious that Jonathan doesn’t speak Norwegian. I’m sure she got that, too. What if her son only speaks Norwegian? How would Jonathan have communicated with him?”
“Yeah, there is that,” Peter responded.
Chapter Sixteen
The bit of encouragement they had received from their first visit in Hammerfest was enough for Phoe to declare that they could kick back and relax for most of the day. It was early evening before they ventured into the Hammerfest hills.
Peter slowed the car down when they spotted a small white chapel with a steeple on the roof above the front door. The chapel sat flush against the base of a hillside. Tombstones and wooden crosses populated the chapel’s walled churchyard. The place seemed deserted and, after parking the car in front, the trio cautiously investigated the area.
“This could be a trap,” said Phoe, scanning the area warily. Small houses peppered the hillside, and all looked deserted. “The woman probably tipped them off.”
“You know, Phoe, I’m not one to give into paranoia, but I may have to agree with you,” said Peter.
“We might as well check out the chapel.” Phoe took a deep breath to muster her courage. “I’ll go first.”
&
nbsp; “Should we all go at once? I mean, what if we all get trapped? Who will run for help?” asked Jonathan.
A flashback to the Peruvian Amazon entered her head. “Who exactly could you get any help from?”
He nodded to Phoe, and Peter led the way. Phoe was next, followed by a reluctant Jonathan.
“Since I’m the only one who speaks Norwegian, everyone stay close behind me.”
Phoe glared at him; hating the fact that her mission had, for the most part, continually become everyone else’s. She had suggested earlier that they take an approach similar to the one used in Germany. But, trying to be sneaky and send someone in through the side would likely be seen as hostile. And, admittedly, it hadn’t gone well in Germany.
The chapel’s front door was slightly ajar. Peter knocked, but when there was no response to it or his voice, he opened the door cautiously. A raised podium faced several pews. So far as anyone could tell, the place was deserted.
“There’s nothing back here but a haphazard stack of boxes,” Phoe advised, after peering into a small office in the rear of the building. “There’s dust on everything in here... even the pews look quite dusty. No one’s been here in a long time. Why would a historical monument be so unkempt?”
“Evidently, they couldn’t afford the costs of renovation and registration to get it on the list.”
Phoe ignored Peter’s attempt at a joke.
Peter stepped up to the podium. “It looks the same as everything else in here. Hell, even the organ looks like it hasn’t been played in a decade.” He ran his fingers over the keys, plowing through dust and cobwebs. “If this is a burial chapel, it sure hasn’t seen any new burials for quite a while.”
Jonathan studied the organ. It was obvious that he had become more comfortable and was even caught up in the mystery that the chapel presented. “A certain note has to be played.”
Phoe and Peter looked at him with eyebrows raised.
“Look, I know it sounds really weird, but I know these things,” said Jonathan, seemingly uncomfortable at the scrutiny, especially from Phoe. “This is right up my alley. It’s what I would do if I wanted to protect my meeting place.”
Phoe’s patience with the younger Kessler had reached its end several times. Though he’d been helpful with the German and had pecked on his keyboard enough to find the place, she was in no mood for Saturday afternoon kiddie-show bullshit. If they were in the right place, then there would be something somewhere in that room which would open up and lead them to wherever the RPG nerds were hiding.
“How about we pursue a different idea, boys? Before we start pressing keys that might wake more than the dead, I say we check the floor for hollow sounds. We might not have much time to mess around in here, so let’s get to it and use our time wisely.”
It didn’t take long to find a weakness in the floor, as soon as they all started kicking and pounding on it. Peter’s foot crashed through a hole. Phoe and Jonathan began helping him expand the hole. With a small penlight, Phoe showed the others the remnant of the trapdoor hinges on one side, and a stone staircase beneath the floor.
“Who’s game to join me?” she asked, stepping down onto the first step.
“I am,” said Peter, echoed by Jonathan.
The stairs spiraled down to a dirt landing. Florescent lights lined the ceiling of a room larger than the chapel above. Crude, recent chalk drawings covered one wall, featuring several figures from Norse mythology. Some were hard to make out, but Thor was easily recognizable to them all. A thin glow of light seeped out from beneath an old wooden door at the left end of the wall. Peter knocked on it, adding a Norwegian greeting. No answer. He motioned to Phoe and together, they rammed their collective weight into the door and it gave way.
Several young men stood up from a circle of laptops, throwing down headsets that apparently had prevented them from becoming aware of the trio’s invasion. The startled group bolted for an exit near the back of the room, and disappeared into another passageway before she and Peter could stop them.
“We have to catch them before they get away!” shouted Phoe, when Jonathan lagged behind her and Peter.
Running into the passageway, their flashlights revealed it spanned about fifty feet before sloping downward. They were all surprised to find the slope was lubricated, and they were barely able to keep from tumbling down the chute. But when a dozen other young men carrying clubs pursued them from behind, Phoe led the way down, sliding feet first.
Peter and Jonathan tumbled down behind her, landing on a sandy area that marked an entrance to a large cave with its main opening to the outside world several hundred yards away. Jonathan slid into Peter’s back and knocked him over. Not sure if it was the wisest thing to do or not, but Phoe pursued fresh footprints in the sand until she saw the dim outlines of the guys who ran from them, running toward the opening.
“Guys, they’re getting away!” she hissed, while watching her partners struggle to get to their feet, falling over each other.
But she couldn’t afford to wait—her gut urged her on. She ran after the young men, hearing Peter, Jonathan, and the small mob that was also giving chase behind her. She could see that the cave opened up into the bay, while the sand was getting damper. Finding it harder to run, nonetheless, she picked up her pace.
Phoe started to gain ground on the slowest of the young men running ahead of her. If she didn’t catch him soon, she would miss the opportunity. It was for times like the one she was facing which made her appreciate her endurance training. She couldn’t afford to let the guys in front get away. At least not all of them.
The cave opened up to a dock with a couple of speedboats tied to it. Having a clear view of the bay, she saw the other three men untying the boats. Before the last guy could join his buddies, she tackled him to the sand. Surely surprised she was stronger than he, she turned him over and straddled his chest to keep him from moving.
“You better not even think about starting that motor. You need to answer some questions, pal.” She played the tough girl, but deep inside she was scared. Not to mention she soon realized from his panicked responses he didn’t understand English. God, this sucks!
Thankfully, out of the corner of her eye, appeared Peter and Jonathan closing in quickly. It sounded like the other angry guys with the clubs had disappeared. Where did they go? One of the speedboats’ engines fired up, and a moment later the boat’s occupants scurried away.
Peter stepped up to her and leaned down, sending a tremor through her as he brushed past her chest in order to press his face closer to the young man who was in a panic for his life.
“Jeg mener, du ingen skade. Jeg ønsker å tale til Francis Agnor.”
The young men stopped and stared at Peter in disbelief. Even crazier, he started to smile.
“I am Francis Agnor,” he said. “What do you want?”
“What in the hell?” shouted Phoe in his face. “You can speak English?”
“Yes. But not to a bully girl!” He eyed her defiantly.
“Why you—”
“Phoe, please let me handle this,” said Peter.
Unlike what she expected, Peter eyed her with a look she hadn’t noticed before. It sent a thrill through her and a stray thought. Damn, I’m really starting to like this guy! She forced the thought out of her mind the second it entered. It was impossible. She and Peter… she made herself focus on what she was doing; what they were doing.
“Okay,” she agreed, and gazed down at the kid claiming to be Frances Agnor. “No funny business from you. Just the truth. Got it?”
“Yes,” said Francis. “Will you please get off of me now?”
Phoe relented, and after the four were all standing, Peter spoke.
“We need your help.”
“Are you going to harass me like you did my mother?”
“Is that what she said?” Peter replied. “That wasn’t our intention... My friends and I need information.”
“You want us to reveal everything abou
t our group? Ha! Try again, American!”
Phoe slapped him hard. His annoying snicker changed to a look of defiance, but the blow was hard enough to bring tears to his eyes as well.
“We couldn’t give two shits about your nerd group,” she snarled. “All we want is anything and everything you have on the Hammer of Thor!”
Chapter Seventeen
“Ha! The crazy Americans seek to know of sacred Mjölnir!”
Does this guy have a fetish for physical pain? Phoe wondered. She raised her hand to deliver another stinging blow.
“This particular American just happens to be extremely versed in the ways of the Hammer, my friend,” said Peter. “The short handle was actually a mishap in the manufacturing by the dwarven brothers who made it. Perhaps it’s because dwarves’ hands may be thicker than a normal human’s; they are smaller in size. Mjölnir is translated as meaning, that which smashes. A more common translation comes from Russians and the Welsh. The combined translation is equivalent to our word, lightning. This is one of the reasons some people have tied Thor to the swastika. The arms on the swastika have been mistaken for lightning. Several specimens of Mjölnir amulets have been found all throughout Scandinavia. They’re believed to be from the ninth through the eleventh centuries. This simple fact has made several archeologists believe that the Hammer of Thor does, in fact, exist... How was that, Francis?”
The young man stood speechless.
“Now, tell us about the other guys with you... Can they be useful to our research?”
“It depends. Jeremy Riddick isn’t involved with our gaming group, but he has organized us into a real group, dedicated to Thor.”
“But using the swastika as a symbol?”
“Yes. He said that the New Age has begun with us.”
Phoe looked out upon the bay with a grimace. “Is he with the guys who sped away?”
“Yes. But I can tell you much of what he has taught us.”
“About the New Age of Nazism?” Phoe snickered.