The Norse Directive (6 page)

Knoxville, Tennessee

“I can’t believe you dragged me all the way up here at such a late hour of the night,” Charlie grumbled, staring out the window at the mountains in the distance.

He’d been complaining almost the entire eighty minutes they’d been on the road. Darkness had settled across eastern Tennessee over an hour ago. Sean tried to be understanding of his friend’s irritation, but that patience was wearing thin.

“It’s only 8:30, Charlie,” Sean said, still attempting to keep a calm voice. “Relax. I’ll have you home before midnight.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Charlie erupted. “Midnight? Son, I don’t think you understand that when you get older you can’t be runnin’ around all over tarnation until Lord knows when in the morning.”

Sean just shook his head slowly, eyeing the road ahead. “Where did you say your friend lived again?” He thought changing the subject back to the mission at hand would help.

“South of the city, near West Town. Should be coming up here in the next few exits.”

The subsequent minutes passed in silence. Sean had called Adriana earlier to explain that he would likely be spending the night in Chattanooga and that he’d see her in the morning. He didn’t go into all the details about what had happened, although at some point that conversation would have to occur. Instead, he simply told her he was helping a friend with a problem and couldn’t make it back. She understood, as she always did.

Sean smiled as he thought about his Spanish girlfriend. A strange twist of fate had brought them together. Their relationship had been a funny one so far. Both of them were extremely independent. It seemed Adriana still had a taste for adventure, while Sean actively tried to avoid anything involving danger. Well, he did get out on his paddleboard in the ocean, but that was hardly adventurous.

He never gave Adriana a hassle about the things she did with her time, despite some of the trouble she got herself into. She was her own woman, strong and free willed. There was no way he would ever try to change that about her; it was one of the things about her Sean loved. Being somewhat of a loner himself, he didn’t mind having several days or even a few weeks to himself on occasion. If she went out of the country chasing a new discovery, he could occupy himself.

Lately, he’d been reading more than ever before in his life. The ironic part was that most of his studies centered on ancient mysteries. Sean had encountered plenty of strange and fascinating things while working for the International Archaeological Agency out of Atlanta. He didn’t miss traveling all the time, but he did miss all the interesting things he and his friend, Tommy, discovered.

Tommy was a good friend. He’d not put up a fight when Sean decided to leave IAA, even though he’d probably wanted to beg Sean not to leave. Tommy understood, which was further proof of their strong bond. They were more like brothers than friends.

An old, familiar feeling crept up in Sean’s gut as he thought about his friend. This whole episode with Charlie might require Tommy’s help. Fortunately, he knew Tommy could always be counted on. Something else popped into Sean’s mind too. The man that had escaped from the trunk was still on the loose. The Russian knew where Charlie lived, and if he was willing to kill for a coin, there was little doubt the man would be back again.

For the moment, Sean purged the thought from his mind. He didn’t want to upset his friend (well, more than he already had by dragging him on a ninety-minute drive). “Is it this exit coming up here?” Sean asked, pointing at the large green sign.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Hang a left when you get off the highway, and keep going. I’ll tell you where to turn.”

Sean nodded at the directions and steered the Mustang off the interstate. It hadn’t taken much to get Charlie to agree that Sean should drive. It was probably what the older man preferred. If he was going to have to go on an early evening road trip against his will, he wasn’t about to get behind the wheel.

“I have to admit, Charlie, I was never much of a Mustang guy, but I love this‘68. It’s got more power than I expected.”

Charlie let a grin escape onto his face. He loved that car, and when people complimented it, his passion for it was reaffirmed. “I can’t believe you don’t care for Mustangs; some of the best muscle cars ever made.”

Sean wanted to say he didn’t really consider Mustangs to be muscle cars. He always thought of them as more like a coastal cruiser. That was an argument he would never win. Likewise, telling Charlie he much preferred the ‘69 Chevy Camaro would also be a losing battle. “I’ve always preferred motorcycles to cars,” he said, diffusing the potential situation. “I use cars when I need them, but bikes have always been my thing.”

Charlie nodded. “That’s right. You’ve always had a love for the two-wheelers. Well, I guess I can forgive that.” He winked at Sean as he finished.

Sean did as told when he reached the light at the top of the exit, and swung the car left onto the overpass. In only a few minutes, the lights of the busy exit were left behind, and the two men found themselves winding through the suburbs south of Knoxville. Many of the homes along the road were spread out, each built on a few acres of surrounding property. Occasionally they would pass a new development, but for the most part the homes in the area looked to be over thirty years old.

Fifteen minutes after leaving the interstate, Charlie directed Sean onto a gravel driveway leading up to a small, one-story rancher on a hill amid patches of tall pine, skinny maple, and sturdy oak. One oak tree stood out from the rest. Its size reminded Sean of a tree at his grandparents' house from his childhood. It had been the typical front yard tree, complete with a tire swing attached to a weathered old rope. As the car rounded the curves leading up to the home, Sean was a little disappointed to find there was no tire swing hanging from above. He smiled at the silly thought. No matter what he’d done in life, he would always be a boy deep down inside.

The Mustang came to a crunching halt on the gravel. Several lights were on inside the home, and a television flickered through the curtains, in what Sean assumed was the living room. The two men got out of the car and stretched. The drive hadn’t taken that long, but even after ninety minutes, Sean felt the need to move around a little. He imagined his companion likely needed to more than he did.

Sean took a few seconds to look around. The evening sky to the north had a pale glow to it, evidence of the city lights of downtown Knoxville a few miles away. The rest of the sky, however, had already darkened, producing a smattering of stars from one horizon to the next. A half moon peeked over a ridge several miles away, shining its eerie glow down onto the countryside of rolling foothills and swaths of forests.

“Ain’t a bad view up here, huh?” Charlie commented.

A door creaked at the front of the house before Sean could agree. “Glad you like it,” a voice spoke smoothly from just within the threshold.

Sean twisted his head and saw the property’s owner, leaning with one hand against the doorframe, the other in a front pocket. His thick, graying brown hair was combed to one side and matched an almost equally bushy beard. Something about him told Sean that the guy was close to Charlie’s age, but his eyes claimed to be younger.

Only momentarily startled by his friend’s sudden appearance, Charlie quickly stepped over and greeted the man with a firm handshake. “Good to see you, Coop.”

“You as well,” the man replied with a grand smile.

Charlie turned to Sean, who had approached slowly, letting the friends have their moment. “This here is Sean Wyatt. He’s a spry young cuss, this one.”

Sean extended a hand, which was taken firmly. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Browning Cooper,” the man said, still grinning. “Call me Coop.”

“Yes, sir,” Sean said politely, letting go of the handshake. “That’s an interesting name, Browning.”

Coop threw his head back momentarily, feigning a laugh. It must have been something people said to him often. “Yes, apparently my parents were something of gun aficionados. Their favorite variety of shotguns was Brownings. I’m not quite sure what that says about me, but that’s the story I was told. Anyway, where are my manners? Please, come in. Both of you.”

Charlie had sent a quick text message to Coop on the drive up, letting the man know they had some urgent questions to ask about the gold coin. Coop was more than happy to see his old friend, and the possibility of finding out more concerning what he referred to as a trinket.

The men entered the home, and Sean took in the surroundings. A giant flatscreen television on the far wall ran a show about the Nazis on the History Channel. A few beige couches surrounded the television. A propane fire burned in the fireplace beneath the mantle that held up the screen.

The rest of the home had been minimally decorated. A few pictures hung here and there of Coop's friends and family. He graced some of them, while others featured the other people. There was no one he recognized.

Coop closed the door and extended his hand, inviting the visitors to sit down in the living room. “Please. Have a seat.” He hurried over to the sofa-enclosed area and turned off the television. “Sorry about that. I was watching a fascinating show on Nazi experimentation with what they believe to be an interdimensional travel device.”

Charlie’s face drooped in confusion. “Inter-what device?”

Sean’s interest piqued. “Interesting. So they think the Germans were working on a portal to another dimension?”

Coop shrugged, never letting go of his smile as he sat down in a lone club chair off to the side. “It sure sounds like it. I can’t remember what they were calling the device, but I’m recording the show, so I can go back and watch it again. Very intriguing stuff.”

“I’ll have to check that out when I get some free time,” Sean said, borderline excited about the idea.

Coop’s hands rose from the armrests of his chair as he spoke, “So, what can I do for you? Do you have any information about the coin?”

“Not yet,” Charlie piped up. “That’s what we were coming to talk to you about. We need some information from you.”

“Oh?” Coop pouted his lips in a curious manner. “What would you like to know?”

Sean spoke next. “Charlie said that the coin was a family heirloom, handed down for several generations.”

“That’s correct, yes,” Coop nodded. “It was handed down by some great grandfather several times removed. I don’t know how many greats I would have to include in that description. But you get the idea.” He snickered a little at the thought. “Anyway, apparently, the original owner of the coin was a distant relative named Francis Jackson.”

The name didn’t ring a bell to Sean. History was littered with famous Jacksons from the founding of the first colonies all the way down to Michael and Janet. Francis wasn’t one he’d heard of.

“How did your ancestor get the coin?” Sean asked. “I’ve never seen one like it before, and I’ve seen my fair share of historic coinage.”

Their host’s face puckered. “That, my good man, is an excellent question. I’m not entirely sure how Francis came by the piece. I was hoping that my esteemed friend, Mr. Fowler here, could assist with that endeavor.” He pointed at Charlie with an open palm as he finished.

“I put the image on one of the forums I use for these sorts of things, but nobody seems to recognize the image of the guy on the face. The back of it is a mystery too. The inscription is small, and in ancient runes.”

Sean interrupted the two. “Would it be possible to see the coin?” Sean asked cautiously. He didn’t want to intrude on someone’s personal historical collection, but at the same time, his curiosity was raging inside him. Not to mention the fact that someone had tried to kill Charlie over the object earlier in the day.

“Absolutely. I’d be happy for you to see it.”

Coop stood and walked over to an antique writer’s desk in an adjoining room. He leaned down, opened the middle drawer, and shuffled through a few papers before withdrawing a small plastic bag. After reclosing the drawer, he stepped back over to the living room and handed the object to Sean.

“Would you mind if I remove it?” Sean asked reverently.

“Of course. Be my guest. You’re the expert, Mr. Wyatt.”

Charlie leaned in close as Sean parted the seal on the plastic and removed the golden coin. It was barely larger than a quarter. On the front, a heavily bearded man stared off into the distance, his head capped by a domed helmet. Other than that, there were no other identifying features on the image. Sean flipped over the coin and examined the back. He recognized the runes from his previous glance on the Internet, but had no idea what they meant. While Sean was capable of speaking a few different languages, reading ancient Viking script wasn’t one of them.

“This looks like it comes from a Viking land,” he said after flipping the coin back over and staring at the head for a minute. “These runes are definitely some kind of Norse language. And the guy on the front has to be a Viking based on the headgear and his appearance.”

“Can you read the runes on the back?” Coop asked, now leaning forward in his chair.

Sean shook his head. “No. But I know some people back at the IAA lab in Atlanta that could figure it out. They could run an analysis on the metal the coin is made from, and tell us what those letters mean. Might even be possible for them to cross-reference the face with some possible matches.”