The Norse Directive (23 page)

“I assure you, I have no reason to purchase a nuclear warhead. And as far as I’m aware, I don’t know anyone who does. Yes, I have wealthy friends, but I do not associate with terrorists.”

Emily let out a long sigh. “I was afraid you’d say that. We were hoping you might be of assistance, perhaps had heard something that could have given us a clue.”

“I apologize for letting you down.”

“Well, thank you for your time, Monsieur Dufort. I’m sorry if I wasted it.” She stood up and made as if she was getting ready to leave.

Dufort stood as well. “You don’t have to hurry away so quickly,” he said. “If you want, you could stay for dinner.”

Emily tried hard not to jump on him and beat him to death right then and there. The guy was actually hitting on her, asking her to stay for dinner. He had nerves, she’d give him that. But inviting a government agent to stay longer was not something a person with something to hide usually did. That thought struck home and instantly presented cause for concern.

If Dufort was willing to let Emily stay at the mansion for an extended period, that meant the girls, including her agent, had been taken somewhere else. At least that was the conclusion to which her logic brought her.

More questions flooded her mind. Where had the girls been taken? What had he done with her agent? She needed to have a look around. Until the invitation to dinner, Emily wasn’t sure how she could make that happen without completely blowing the real reason she was there. If that happened, her agent would be dead for sure, and all the girls would be lost.

Her mind drifted for a few seconds, wondering about Sean’s involvement with Dufort. The Frenchman was particularly interested in something Sean was looking for. Emily decided to use Dufort’s interest in history as a wedge into a new line of questioning. Maybe there would be something she could use against him.

She put on her most flirty facial expression and smiled. “I think government work can wait for a few more hours.”

Paris

Baston finished bringing out the assortment of dishes and placed them on the table. The last were a few sauces to accompany the extravagant dinner of herb-roasted chicken, fire-grilled asparagus, and stuffed peppers.

While Dufort and his guest waited for the food to be prepared, he’d given Emily a tour of the mansion, at her request.

She’d played the curiosity card as best she could, but it had yielded nothing. Emily had checked every nook and cranny in the enormous home. She’d carefully kept her eyes open for anything suspicious or out of the ordinary: a sign of a struggle, a book that was out of place, a secret door, anything that might lead to the missing women. She paid particularly close attention to sounds that could betray Dufort. In spite of all the effort, she came up empty handed.

There was no sign of the women in the Frenchman’s home.

Emily cut into the chicken with a sharp knife and dipped it into the yellow glaze Baston had drizzled onto her plate. She put the meat in her mouth and savored the bite.

Dufort may be an evil criminal
, she thought,
but he has one heck of a good cook
.

“How is the chicken?” he asked, forking a few pieces of asparagus into his mouth.

She finished swallowing and smiled. “Delicious. Did your butler make this?”

“As a matter of fact, he did,” Dufort answered with a small amount of pride. “Baston is a man of many talents, some of them hidden; others are more obvious.”

Emily cut a few heads from the asparagus and stabbed at them with her fork. “You have a beautiful home, Monsieur…”

“Call me Gerard. No need for pleasantries now, my dear.”

“Very well, Gerard.” She cringed at the thought. Every piece of her being wanted to draw the weapon from her jacket and empty the clip into the man’s body. Instead, she continued with her point of conversation. “You obviously have a keen interest in history, along with an impressive collection of items that must be worth quite a bit of money.”

“That would be an understatement,” he said in a tone that didn’t sound bratty. Rather, he made it seem like a burden.

“Yes, well, I am wondering how it is you come by these artifacts. Do you procure them at auction, or do you find them yourself?”

Dufort sliced a piece of chicken and scooped it into his mouth. He chewed for a few seconds and then looked under the rim of his eyelids, keeping his face pointed down at the plate. “Some of them are purchased at auction. Others,” he admitted, “are not got so easily, or legally.”

She was surprised at the honesty of his confession, but let him keep talking.

“Your original line of questioning gives way to your knowledge of how I attain some of my priceless pieces.” He reached over and took a glass of white wine, putting it to his lips for a moment before putting it back on the white tablecloth. “Yes, I know some people in the black market, Miss Starks. But only in the realm of items I deem historically significant. I don’t know anyone who sells nuclear arms or, indeed, weapons of any kind. So, if you were here to arrest me for buying smuggled artifacts, I would invite you to contact my attorney. He will provide enough paperwork for you to sift through until the end of your career.”

She was shocked at how suddenly Dufort had turned the conversation from polite to offended. It was a classic redirection she’d seen a million times from high-end criminals. Emily let him believe that she believed his little game. “I apologize, Gerard. That isn’t why I’m here. I don’t care about your artifacts or artwork. It seems you’ve taken good care of those things.”

“I have. It is my belief that they are better off here, with someone who can appreciate them, than in front of the gawking hordes of tourists and onlookers who can’t possibly take any satisfaction from what they are seeing.” He started to adjust his demeanor to a less offended one.

“Please, I am terribly sorry. I was just curious. I assure, you, I am not the art police.”

He shook it off and cut off a section from the red bell pepper on his plate. “It is fine. Perhaps I overreacted.”

“No, the fault is mine,” she reassured him. Emily pondered her next words carefully. She didn’t want to give away anything. If she did, it could prove fatal. “Is there anything you’ve got your eye on?”

Dufort glanced up from his food and tilted his head to the side with a flirtatious expression. “Present company not included?”

She shook her head and pretended to accept the compliment with a bashful grin.

“There is something I’ve had my eye on for a long time,” he said after gulping down another sip of wine.

“Oh? What is it?” She put on her best curious face.

He shrugged. “It’s a weapon from a long time ago. I think it will be the final, crowning piece to my collection.”

“Sounds pretty impressive. What is it? A sword? A spear? An arrow?” She tried to gauge his reaction to the different questions. His face never faltered.

“Something like that,” he rolled his shoulders. “Perhaps when I have it, you can come to see it.”

“I’d like that,” she lied, but didn’t push the issue further. There would be no cracking him tonight. The entire operation was a failure.

The rest of their dinner went by with conversation about the typical things people in the upper echelon enjoyed discussing. The symphony, opera, art, and fine wine were all topics Dufort seemed to have an opinion on.

Emily knew enough about all of them to hold her own, although during the entire talk, all she wanted to do was burst out of her chair and run back out into the street. That wasn’t an option, so she endured the laborious discussion until the food and wine had been consumed and her host seemed ready to release her.

“Well, I thank you for the wonderful dinner and the tour of your lovely home,” she said. “I really must get back to my investigation.”

As she stood up, Dufort stood with her and dropped his handkerchief onto the table. “I do wish you could stay longer, but I understand.” He stepped around the table and took her hand in his, shaking it gently. “I want you to know that I’ve been thinking about your situation, and I believe there might be someone who can help you find what you’re looking for. Keep in mind I don’t know him personally. I only know him by name.”

He picked up a pen Baston had left on the dining table next to a plain white business card. Emily had noticed the objects and thought they were a little out of place on a dinner table, but didn’t say anything about it, thinking there must have been a reason for it. Now she understood as Dufort leaned over and scribbled a name onto the card. When he’d finished writing, he laid the pen back on the table and motioned toward the door. “Allow me to show you to the door.”

For an evil man, he certainly was capable of showing immaculate manners. A trait she rarely saw in people of his ilk.

Emily led the way to the front door with Dufort close behind, his presence in her blind spot weighed like a ten-ton brick on her back. She learned a long time ago to never turn her back to an enemy, especially one as cunning as Dufort. But she reminded herself that her team would break down the doors if she didn’t get back in the next thirty minutes.

She reached the door and was more than a little relieved when Dufort stuck out his hand and turned the doorknob for her, letting in the cool, damp city air. Outside, pedestrians still scurried about with their folded umbrellas in hand or tucked under armpits. Cars jammed the streets with people trying to get home from a day’s work. Daylight waned, and dusk fast approached with an overwhelming sky of gray.

“It was a pleasure,” Dufort said, bidding Emily goodbye.

“For me as well. Thank you again.”

The Frenchman’s teeth shone brightly as he exaggerated his smile, waving with one hand. The door closed heavily, causing Emily to shudder for a moment. She took a long, deep breath and spun around. Her eyes ran a quick survey of the area, another old habit. She knew her unit was watching from a window, a cafe table under an awning, and at least one other position.

Emily let out the breath in a languished sigh. She was relieved to be out of the mansion, but frustrated that her visit had revealed nothing. Her hand instinctively started to crumble up the business card that Dufort had given her. She doubted he would willingly give up the name of someone who could help with a fictitious arms deal. Then she stopped herself and decided to look at what he’d written down.

She unfolded the wrinkles and stared at the name on the card. A chill snaked its way down her spine all the way to her toes. Not much unnerved Emily. It was part of being a top-level government asset. The name on the card, however, took apart every piece of training and experience she’d ever gone through.

It was the surname of the missing Axis agent.

Copenhagen

Sean woke up in a sweat. Adriana was standing over him, looking down with a concerned expression. “Are you all right, Sean?”

He took a few deep breaths and nodded, rubbing his eyes with both hands. “Where are we?”

“We’re at the hotel in Copenhagen. You had a nightmare.”

He pulled down the sheets to get a little more air on his skin. “I did?” he asked, more to himself than to her. “I did, didn’t I?”

Sean hadn’t experienced many nightmares during the course of his life. It was something that happened to people who had regrets, or who actually got a good night’s sleep most of the time. Usually, Sean was a light sleeper and didn’t get more than four to six hours on a given evening.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Adriana asked again. “Would you like some water?”

She held out a bottle to him, which he took gratefully. “Thanks.” He removed the cap and gulped down half of the contents, then set the bottle on the nightstand. “I never get nightmares. That’s the second one I’ve had in the last week.”

Adriana sat down next to him and put her arm around his shoulder. She’d already got dressed and ready for the day’s mission, her hair pinned up in a bun. “Tell me about it.”

He shook his head slowly. “I wish I could. I can’t really remember much. Just random things, I guess. But most of them were bad.”

“Did it involve anyone you know?”

He had to think about it for a minute before answering. “I don’t think so. It was just random faces, strangers I’ve never met before in my life.”

Adriana took a long breath and sighed. “I wish there was something I could do to help. Psychology was your strong suit, remember?” She passed him a caring smile and kissed him on the neck. “Maybe you should take a hot shower and get dressed. Tommy will be waiting for us in the lobby in forty minutes. That should give you some time to get your wits back.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.” 

Forty-five minutes later, Sean gripped his coat tight around his torso as they left the Christiangade Hotel. Adriana hadn’t mentioned the nightmare again, for which he was grateful. He’d been taught to put those kinds of things aside and get the job done. It wasn’t just part of his training. It was just what he did.

The city on the coast was typically not extremely frigid. It experienced its fair share of snow, but due to the location between the sound and another section of open sea, the climate was fairly mild compared to some of the other Scandinavian regions. Today, however, was one of the exceptions. The temperature was in the low forties, but with the breeze it felt significantly colder. At least the sun was out, shining brightly from a nearly cloudless sky, desperately trying to warm the city and its occupants. They’d packed enough warm clothes just in case the weather acted up, a fortunate bit of planning Sean had suggested having been to Copenhagen several times throughout his career.

On the streets, the three companions were surprised to see people pedaling about on their bicycles, seemingly invulnerable to the cold. Copenhagen’s citizens were famous for their love of using bicycles as their primary means of transportation. Wide lanes specifically for biking occupied a significant portion of the city’s roads.

They rounded a corner and stepped out onto the main square adjacent to the main train station. Hundreds more parked bicycles rested outside the train station’s red brick walls. The dramatic, arching white window frames dotted the sides of the structure underneath sloping, angled slate roofs. The main entrance ahead featured a large antechamber with a steeper, pyramid-shaped roof surrounded by four steeples and topped with a fifth. Across the massive plaza, the internationally known Bank of Copenhagen was positioned in the financial hub of the city. A large sign hung from the building across the street proclaiming Carlsberg beer to possibly be the best beer on the planet.

Tommy pulled a hat down over his ears in an attempt to keep them warm as they walked toward the train station’s entrance. Adriana, on the other hand, seemed unaffected as usual. If she was cold, she didn’t let on. Her black leather jacket appeared to be too thin to keep her comfortable. Instead of mentioning her lack of layers, Tommy asked about something else. “You know I usually don’t question your plans, Sean.”

Sean fired a sideways glance at him that would have melted the polar icecaps. “You always question my plans.”

“No I…well, not always. Maybe usually. Whatever. Look, I just think it’s a little crazy for us to hop on a train and head all the way to Helsingor when we don’t even know what we’re looking for or where to find it.”

“It’ll come to us,” Sean said coolly.

His friend was less optimistic. “It’ll come to us? That’s your plan? During the flight here you couldn’t think of something better than that? I told you we needed a plan.”

“Relax, Tommy. We need to see if the—” Sean stopped in midsentence.

“Need to see if what?” his friend asked.

Sean kept smiling and kept his demeanor level. “I think right now would be a good time for you to see some of the other parts of Copenhagen.”

“What?” Tommy asked. The bewilderment on his face twisted it into an odd shape.  “What are you talking about?”

Adriana caught on first, following Sean’s eyes across the plaza to the shape of a muscular man in a black toboggan and red windbreaker. It was a face they’d seen before in England. One of Petrov’s goons. Either he or someone else was in charge now, but there was no mistaking the face.

“Good idea,” she agreed and grabbed Sean by the arm and looping her forearm through. She pulled close and put her head on his shoulder to give the impression they were just two lovers strolling through the plaza with a friend.

Tommy quickly realized what had changed their minds about the train trip, spotting the red windbreaker a moment after their unusual behavior. “You know what, I think you’re right. Why don’t we take a walk over to the Stroget? I hear there are lots of things to see and do in that area.”

“Absolutely,” Sean agreed and veered left, going through the crosswalk to the square’s center. He kept smiling as he spoke. “There will be a ton of people over there, at least there usually is. We might be able to lose them and circle back around to the station.”

The three made their way past one of the seemingly infinite number of bicycle stands and across the next street where they made a right and proceeded toward the next intersection. They quickened their pace slightly, trying to appear less in a hurry while putting some distance between themselves and red jacket. On the other side of the road, people milled about, taking pictures of the Hard Rock Cafe. Farther down the sidewalk, they passed the entrance to the half amusement park, half concert park called Tivoli. The roller coasters and other rides sat silent in the cold, probably closed until the spring weather warmed a little more.

Ahead, another huge plaza opened up. To the right, the old Rathaus government building rose up from the flat space. Its appearance was strikingly similar to the train station, featuring the same brick, angled slate roofs, and steeple. Looking around, Tommy realized there were many buildings that featured the same kind of architectural design. Other structures were built in the Dutch tradition with high A-frames atop the multicolored façades, a result of Danish admiration of Dutch culture several hundred years prior.

Throngs of people milled about on the plaza flat, while a steady stream of them entered and exited a particular street between an American fast food restaurant and an American convenience store.

“That’s where we’ll lose them,” Sean said, barely giving a pointed nod with his head.

Adriana pulled out her phone and handed it to Tommy. “Here. Take a picture so we can take a look and see if they’re following us.” She passed him the device, putting on her best fake smile.

Tommy took the phone as Sean and Adriana huddled close together in the center of the square. He snapped a few pictures, as if he were a common tourist before handing the phone back to Adriana.

“Thank you so much,” she said sweetly and in a way that any lip reader would understand.

“Did you see them?” Tommy asked.

“Yep,” Sean said as he turned and started walking arm-in-arm with Adriana. “And now there’s at least two of them.”

“How far back?”

The three stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the signal to change. None of them dared turn around lest they give away their one advantage. Twenty seconds oozed by like dark Danish syrup on a January morning. Finally, the big orange numbers hit zero, and the small group of people crossed in front of a growing line of cars and bicycles.

Sean gave a quick look to both sides, glancing down the sidewalk to see if anyone might be trying to cut them off. He sensed several other pedestrians behind them as they strolled onto the Stroget and were enveloped by the mob. The cavernous walls of shops, retail outlets, cafes, apartments, and restaurants herded the throng through like cattle. If they weren’t trying to lose a few men who likely wanted to kill them, Sean would have taken in the sights and smells of a city he loved dearly.

The scent of slow-cooked meat and onions drifted through their nostrils from a shawarma place on the left side of the street. Soon, the aromas of a Danish coffee shop replaced the salty, meaty aroma.

Now Sean decided to risk a look back, feeling confident that the hundreds of people around them provided some cover. He glanced over his shoulder and quickened his pace noticeably.

“You see ’em?” Tommy asked.

“Nope. Let’s pick it up. Don’t run yet. We should be able to put some distance between us and them.”

“Should we duck into one of these shops?” Adriana suggested.

“Yeah, but not yet. There are some better hiding places up ahead. These have too many clear windows. I have a spot in mind.”

They walked faster, almost at a slow jog. Moving was difficult, and more than once Sean or Tommy bumped into a morning shopper with a bag or two. They quickly apologized and pushed on, winding their way through the seemingly endless rows of buildings lining the street.

The three proceeded this way, bobbing in and out of other pedestrians, for five more minutes until they reached a spot where the street began to open up at a three-way intersection. A street performer was break dancing in front of an Irish pub, and a few tourists gawked and plopped money into a hat sitting near his stereo.

Just past the pub was a small bookstore Sean had visited once before. It was run by an American expatriate. He was a nice guy, and Sean had enjoyed talking with him on his last visit to the city. He’d discovered the little shop by accident, and seeing some of the selection through the window and having a penchant for old books, Sean had to go inside. The man was a few years older than Sean and had a strange name. He couldn’t remember it right off the top of his head, but he recalled thinking the name sounded funny. He had a feeling the American would help them, but as they neared the store, he saw that the lights were off and that they weren’t open at the moment.

Sean turned around quickly. “Plan A is closed, let’s duck into this coffee shop.” He pointed at a cafe on the other side of the Irish pub. It had an old wooden sign hanging from an iron arm over the door. Turning back was a risky move, but they should have at least created a little space between themselves and the men following them.

The three pushed through the wooden door and hurried inside. Their nostrils instantly filled with the smell of fresh-brewed coffee and the nutty aromas of roasted coffee beans. The blonde girl in an apron behind the bar welcomed them with a smile and a few words in Danish.

“Vi taler ikke Dansk,” Sean said to her in Danish, rapidly explaining that they didn’t speak the native language. “Can we help ourselves to a table?”

“Of course,” she answered, her bright-white smile never wavering. She motioned to the room through an arched doorway. “There are plenty of seats available. Would you like to order something first?”

“Three cappuccinos,” he said and placed a twenty kroner on the counter. “Keep the change.”  They rushed through the doorway and into the larger sitting room, the whole time trying not to look like they were in a hurry. The windows in the street-side wall didn’t expose the cafe to a lot of curious eyes from outside. The dark curtains also prohibited an inside view of the cafe from the street.

Sean and the others slid onto a wooden bench, all facing outside. “Tommy, sit across from me. If they look in here they’ll see us if we sit like this.”

“Right,” he said and spun around the table to the opposite chair.

Sean and Adriana kept bunched together for a minute, carefully watching out the windows for any sign of the man in the red jacket and his comrade. The hissing sound of the espresso maker filled the air as the young barista steamed the milk for the cappuccinos. Then Sean saw them. Two men, muscular, and stalking intently down the street. One of them was wearing a red jacket.

“I see them,” Sean said, staring over Tommy’s shoulder. “They’re walking by.”

“Did they look in here?” Tommy wondered nervously.

“Not yet.”

He watched as the men appeared and reappeared in the consecutive windows until they were out of the line of sight completely.

“Here are your drinks,” the blonde said cheerfully, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. She had carried a round tray with the three steaming beverages on top. She placed them on the table and nodded her head as she walked away.