White House living quarters, March 6, 9:00 p.m.
Henry Stanforth propped his feet up on the coffee table in front of the sofa and picked up a file from the stack beside him.
“Don’t put your feet up on the table, Henry,” his wife reproved mildly. “After all, we don’t own it.”
“I took my shoes off. My socks won’t hurt it.”
It was a running argument with them. He insisted on actually living in the White House, and his wife labored under the notion that they’d been locked in a museum for four years and shouldn’t touch anything the entire time they were here.
He had some catching up to do from earlier today. A talkative group of farmers lobbying for increased farm subsidies had taken too long in the Oval Office, and his schedule, usually planned down to the last, efficient minute, had been fouled up for the rest of the day. His secretary had been near cardiac arrest for most of the afternoon.
He’d barely had time to dive into a preliminary point paper on next year’s budget when a quiet knock sounded on the hallway door. His wife went over to open it.
She smiled a greeting at the Secret Service agent and said dryly over her shoulder, “It’s for you, dear.”
Wasn’t it always? “What can I do for you, John?” Stanforth asked.
“There’s a phone call for you, sir. Prime Minister of Norway. Mr. Bjornsen says it’s not an emergency, but if you have a moment, he’d appreciate a word with you.”
“Transfer it up here, will you?”
“Yes, sir.” The man backed out of the room and closed the door behind him.
He wished the Secret Service guys wouldn’t wear those stupid white cotton gloves whenever they opened and closed doors. Who’d ever heard of living in a house where the doorknobs were such priceless collectibles you couldn’t touch them? If he had his way, he’d take a hammer to every last Lalique-this and Steuben-that doorknob in the place.
The phone rang beside him and he picked it up.
“President Stanforth, thank you for taking my call at this late hour. I recall you saying you’re a night owl and I took a chance that you might still be awake.”
Stanforth laughed. “Our work is never done, is it? What can I do for you, Tryg?” After they’d spent an afternoon together last summer sailing in a magnificent Norwegian fjord, protocol allowed them to use first names in private like this.
“I’m afraid I have a rather strange question for you, Henry.”
“I get lots of strange questions in my line of work.”
Bjornsen replied, “I know the feeling. I received a letter a few hours ago. A set of demands, really. It came from a delegation of Sami people from Nordland. You might know them as Laplanders. And in case your Norwegian geography is a little dusty, the county of Nordland is up in the Arctic Circle. Northern tip of mainland Norway.”
“I’m with you so far,” Stanforth replied.
“The list of demands are predictable for a native people struggling to maintain a separate identity in the face of encroaching modernization and the defection of their youth to the cities.”
“And your strange question?”
“Well, it’s not the demands that have me puzzled. It’s something else. The Sami people follow an old belief system. Polytheistic, nature-based stuff. A little bit of Viking mythology mixed in. And they believe in prophecies. Apparently, the fulfillment of one of their prophecies has led them to approach me now with their list.”
Stanforth was lost. What the hell did any of this have to do with him? And why was it important enough to bother him at this hour of the night? It was 3:00 a.m. in Oslo.
The Prime Minister continued. “It seems this prophecy concerns the second coming of a Viking warrior goddess to their people. Freya, to be precise, if you happen to be up on your Norse mythology.”
“And?”
“I got in touch with my military to find out who exactly this warrior goddess might be, who has suddenly appeared to the Sami people. My own officers refused to tell me a thing. All they would say is that I must contact you or a General Wittenauer to get the details.”
And then it hit Stanforth. The Medusas. He burst out laughing. He wouldn’t admit the Medusas existed to many world leaders, but Tryg Bjornsen had proven himself time and again to be a man of prudence and great personal honor, not to mention an unswerving ally of the United States through trying times. He’d keep a secret if asked to. Stanforth would bet his life on it. More to the point, he’d bet the Medusas’ lives on it. “My girls have become goddesses, have they? What are they up to now?”
“Fomenting rebellion among my native peoples for one thing,” Bjornsen answered a bit tartly. “Who are these women? My Special Forces wouldn’t tell me a word about them. Just told me to call you.”
Stanforth did his best to contain his mirth, but wasn’t entirely successful at it. “Well, Tryg, a few months back, we tried an experiment. Trained ourselves an all-female Special Forces team. Turns out they’re pretty darned good, and we made them permanent. But, for obvious security and political reasons, we’re keeping them a deep, dark secret. Only a handful of people in the entire world know they exist. That’s why your people wouldn’t talk about them. We swore your Special Forces to complete secrecy before the Medusas were allowed to go to Norway to train with your people.”
“Some training they’re doing! I’ve got Samis parked on my steps all but demanding their own country because of your ladies.”
“Ahh, Tryg, if it wasn’t the Medusas, it would be something else. Your Samis would find another reason to make their demands sooner or later. Have you considered giving the Samis exclusive rights to run casinos in Norway? It’s done wonders for the economic plight of the Native American population.”
“Thanks for the suggestion,” Bjornsen replied dryly, “but gambling’s already legal over here.”
“Too bad. So, what do you need me to do about the Medusas?”
“Perhaps have them back off of stirring the Sami people to rebellion?”
“I’ll pass the message along. You’ll be glad to know it’s a very short chain of command from me to my snake ladies. Only two men. General Wittenauer and the ladies’ direct supervisor, Colonel Jack Scatalone. I expect he’s in Norway with them. Last briefing I got, the Medusas were heading for the Arctic Circle to do some winter-survival training.”
“We’ve got plenty of winter up there for them.”
“Tryg, I need to ask you for your complete discretion. Their existence is a very closely held secret. It’s why they continue to be such an effective weapon for us. Nobody expects a team of women.”
“Thank you for your candor, Henry. As always, you know you can trust me. The Medusa secret is safe.”
South of Lakvik, Norway, March 7, 4:00 a.m.
The distance between her and Jack Scatalone melted in slow motion. Her hungry blade raised itself high over her shoulder, a serpent’s fang, dripping death. She took aim at the back of his neck. The kill zone. The very kill zone he’d taught her how to strike.
Somewhere in the deepest recesses of her mind, a tiny voice forced itself through the red haze, one whispered, barely heard word at a time.
What.
Are.
You.
Doing?
He’d made her the warrior that she was. He’d pushed her to the breaking point and beyond. Had shown her she had no limits at all. Whatever she could imagine, she could achieve if she only worked hard enough and put her mind to it. He’d found her greatest weakness and torn back the layers of her psyche that protected her Achilles’ heel—her embarrassment over her size and power. She’d fought against it ever since. Because of him.
And in this suspended moment out of time, this critical turning point of student destroying master, something unexpected happened. She was glad for her exceptional size, her muscular power. They were the very attributes allowing her to succeed now and kill the man who’d taught her how to harness both. Had it not been for Jack, she’d never have made her peace with either. But he’d forced her to face who she was. To embrace it. He’d given her the final tool that made her invincible.
The little voice pushed through the bloodlust again, a little louder this time. Why are you killing him?
A lightning bolt of clarity burst through.
She looked up at her fist, gripping her hungry knife. The blade was ravenous. Eager for the hot, iron taste of life flowing across steel. It urged her fist downward. Plunge me into flesh. Feed me life’s blood!
She recoiled in horror. Stumbled to a stop. Her fist went slack, her fingers opening one by one. The blade tumbled from her numb fingers into the snow.
“Jack,” she rasped.
He whirled around, leaping to his feet.
And then she had to get rid of it all. She pulled out her ankle knife and threw it in the snow. Stripped the MP-5 off her back. Even with rubber bullets, it still represented death. Pulled out the rubber-handled garrote. Absolutely everything she could imagine using as a weapon, she scrambled to get away from herself. Tears flowed freely. She was filthy. Tainted. The hunter had nearly gotten the best of her. She’d become a monster. A killer had put on her skin.
“Karen! Are you all right?” Jack asked urgently.
“Take it away. Get it off me,” she sobbed, scrubbing at her skin now.
He stepped forward, his brow creased in alarm. “Talk to me. What’s happened? Where are the others?”
Another voice came out of the darkness, startling Karen badly. She lurched around. Anders. “The Medusas are back at camp. They’re safe.”
“What the hell’s going on here?” Jack demanded.
Karen fell to her knees in the snow, wrapping her arms around herself and rocking back and forth.
“Something’s wrong with her. She’s been getting more and more irritable the past few days. Has quit sleeping. Is prone to violent outbursts.”
Anders’ words floated over her head, sound without meaning. She’d almost killed Jack. What had happened to her? Something had snapped, and she’d become the embodiment of evil—death directed at a man she respected. She might not always like him, but he’d certainly done nothing to her that warranted killing him, other than make her long-held dream of being in the Special Forces come true. She owed him gratitude, not murder!
Anders continued somewhere in the distance. “She left camp by herself tonight. I followed her to keep an eye on her. It’s incredibly dangerous to travel alone out here.”
“No kidding,” Jack growled.
“I wouldn’t have let her kill you. I’d have shot her first.”
Karen vaguely registered the rifle in Anders’ hand as he stepped forward. It didn’t matter. He could kill her flesh, but the monster would go on. It had no body, no form. It invaded minds and took them over, bending them to its twisted will.
“Kill me?” Jack repeated in shock.
“She had your back. Made a charge at you with her knife raised. She stopped at the last second before I pulled the trigger.”
And then Jack was on his knees in front of her. She couldn’t look at him. She’d almost killed him. “Talk to me, Karen,” he said quietly. “What’s happened?”
How was she supposed to tell him about the monster? About how it made a person hunger for blood, how it drove a soul over the edge into madness?
An arm came around her shoulders. Not Jack. Anders. Warmth registered. She must be cold, then. But she felt nothing. She was empty. Had the monster gone?
Anders spoke soberly. “We encountered some Samis the first day out. The Medusas asked if they’d seen any outsiders set up camp in the area. The Samis led us to what we thought would be you and my men. We attacked the cabin. Turned out to be a probable drug lab. We got into a shootout.”
Jack frowned. “You’re only carrying training rounds.”
Anders grunted. “No shit. It was a close thing. Your women are remarkable.”
“Go on.”
“I was knocked out and Karen hauled me out of there. Saved my life.”
“That sounds like the Karen I know.”
“We moved the small, nearby Sami encampment to a larger village where they’d be safe from reprisals from the drug makers. Karen came across one of the drug gang’s scouts. Killed him. Nice piece of work, actually. Neat. Silent. You taught her well.”
Jack nodded at the compliment, and Anders continued. “Not long after that, she started acting funny. Twitchy. It was little things at first. Stuff that should’ve made her laugh irritated her. She started having trouble sleeping. Got more volatile. Stopped sleeping.”
“You think making the kill messed her up?”
Karen felt Anders shake his head beside her. “She handled it just right. Wasn’t thrilled to have had to do it, but wasn’t bothered by it. I don’t know what’s done this to her.”
“Is that all?” Jack asked.
Anders finished his quick debrief. “We need to call in the location of the drug lab and get a fully armed team to go out and deal with it, but the Samis’ cell phones and radios aren’t working. The Medusas figured out you’re jamming all communications signals in the area. Karen built a nifty little signal tracker and used it to home in on your position. We were going to zero in on you and make a simulated assault tomorrow.” He shrugged. “But instead, we have this.”
Staring down numbly at the ground, Karen saw when Jack rocked back on his heels. Her brain felt like mush. She was missing something obvious. Something important.
“Let’s get her warmed up.”
Right. Like that was going to do any good. But she let them lead her over to Jack’s igloo. Anders ended up crawling inside with her while Jack stayed outside, which was just as well. She couldn’t imagine letting Jack put his arms around her, share his body heat with her. He belonged to Vanessa. And then there was that whole bit about having just come very close to killing him.
Anders wrapped the two of them, parkas and all, in a couple of Mylar blankets and spread Jack’s sleeping bag over them. And then he hugged her close, murmuring, “I’ve got you now. You’re safe. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
She wasn’t the kind of person who let anything get the best of her. Ever. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done in her entire life, but she mumbled, “Help me, Anders. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
His arms tightened around her. Strong. Safe. A shelter from the monster. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”
“I can’t go crazy. It’ll ruin everything. The Medusa Project is too new. If a woman cracks up in the field, they’ll shut down the whole project. Oh, God. What if I hurt one of my teammates?”
“You’re not going to hurt anybody. And you’re not going crazy. Maybe sleep-deprived. Overstressed. But the very fact that you can ask such questions tells me you’re not crazy. Rest now, Karen. We’ll sort this out together.”
She subsided. The silence was deep and cold and complete. And for the moment, it quelled the source of her earlier, unreasoning rage. How long they lay together like that she had no idea. But Anders never wavered. He shared whatever warmth, whatever comfort, he had without reservation.
She might even have slept a little.
Some time later, she jerked to full consciousness when Jack appeared in the tunnel opening. His igloo was too small for him to come all the way inside with Anders and her already overfilling the space, but his head and shoulders fitted through. He propped himself up on his elbows to talk to them.
“I just had a very interesting conversation with your headquarters, Larson.”
“Do tell,” Anders said mildly, not letting go of her. Not shy about embracing her in front of Jack, was he? She couldn’t say the same. She was acutely uncomfortable cuddling up with Anders in front of anyone. Her feelings where he was concerned were too new, too deep, to want to expose to others.
“I mentioned that one of my operators had gone through an episode of some kind but was doing better now. And the controller commented that it sounded like what was going on down in Oslo.”
Karen closed her eyes as sudden understanding washed over her. Of course. Oslo. The drugs. Seizures followed by violent outbursts. She hadn’t had any full-blown seizures, but she’d been twitchy as hell. Unable to sit still long enough to sleep.
“The barrels of powder,” she muttered.
Anders nodded. “It has to be.”
Karen turned to Jack. “We know where the drug is getting made that’s making everyone go nuts in Oslo. It’s the same stuff that’s making me go nuts—I hope. When you tell the Norwegians about it, could you please give the Medusas the credit for finding the lab so we can stop romping with the reindeer trying to impress these guys?”
Jack laughed. “There’s my old Karen back.”
“You may have your Vanessa, but I’m not your Karen.”
“Like hell. I trained every one of you women. You’ve all saved my life and I’ve saved yours. We’re family whether you like it or not.”
Karen subsided. He considered her family? Her misery over having nearly killed him deepened. Was the attack only a result of the drugs or was it something else? Schizophrenia? A multiple personality disorder, maybe? Except she could remember what the other Karen, the one in the grip of the monster, had thought and felt. She was that other Karen, too.
Jack asked casually, “Do you remember what was in your mind right before you attacked me?”
“I was just thinking about that. I remember it all. How I felt, what I did. I’m not going split personality on you. Crazy, maybe. Possessed, even. But there’s only one of me.”
Jack shook his head. “You’re one of the most level-headed people I’ve ever met. I’ve seen guys crack in the field and this isn’t it.”
Anders chimed in, “Absolutely not. This came on too suddenly. And you showed none of the usual erratic behaviors of an operator losing the edge.”
Whether or not they were being truthful or just saying that to make her feel better, she didn’t really care. It was reassuring to have two such experienced Special Forces soldiers tell her she wasn’t going nuts.
Jack asked, “Is Mamba close by or is she back in the village?”
“All the Medusas are a couple miles from here. We figured it would take the whole team to knock out both you and Anders’ team.”
“When it gets light, I want to find her. Have her take a look at you.”
Karen nodded. “She treated a Sami kid last night who probably ingested the same stuff I did.”
Anders commented, “I spoke to the boy’s father earlier. He thinks his son has been doing drugs pretty steadily for the past several months. Maybe it takes building up a bunch of this stuff in your system to suffer the full effects.”
Yeah, like death. Karen sighed. “I doubt Mamba will be able to tell anything without running tests in a hospital.”
The men met that observation with silence. There wasn’t much else they could do for now.
She became aware of a new emotion roiling deep in her gut. Not rage this time. Oh, no. This was Fear. Capital F.
Did she have it in her to pull back from the precipice a second time? It had been a really close thing to regain her senses before she did something tragic and irreversible. What if next time she didn’t stop at the last second? What if Anders wasn’t behind her with a rifle next time, ready to take her out?
What if she lost it again, and next time she killed someone?