Lindisfarne Priory, Holy Island, Berwick-upon-Tweed
Landvik turned on the spot, disconsolate. Rain plastered his hair flat to his head, ran in cold rivulets down the back of his neck. He hadn’t known what he might find, but had been sure he would find something. After all, others here would never have expected to discover Mjolnir. They wouldn’t be looking for clues to its location. But he knew greater truths, and he was a man of great faith. All he needed was a little more indication, some tiny sign. But all he found was wet stone and disappointment. Perhaps he needed to change the way he looked, maybe reconsider what he expected to see. Perhaps there were clues elsewhere on the island.
A short, rotund woman in a green rain coat with Lindisfarne stenciled across the back stood in the broken down front doorway to the priory. Her back to him, she hunched against the rain and seemed to be watching out past St Mary’s Parish Church. Landvik waved his man over.
“Anything?”
Brushing rain from his eyes, the man shook his head. “Nothing.”
Landvik approached the woman in the green jacket. “Excuse me, do you work here?”
The woman laughed, rolling her eyes dramatically. “For my sins! There’s a guided tour due to start in five minutes and in this weather I honestly don’t expect anyone to show up for it. But you never know, and I have to be here just in case.”
“A guided tour?”
“Yes. I lead the group around the priory and surrounds, talk about the history of the island, its place in the development of religion and so on.”
“And the Vikings?”
The woman’s face brightened. “Oh yes, of course the Vikings. You know...”
Landvik cut her off. “You know anything about any Viking-era artifacts that have been recovered from here?”
“Well, there have been all kinds of archeological digs and programs. Any number of things from across hundreds of years have been unearthed.”
“Yes, yes, but Viking artifacts?”
The guide seemed a little put out by Landvik’s gruff questioning. He realized he was being rude, but was too wet and too annoyed to care. “Well,” she said, “if you go back down toward the town and turn right on Marygate, you’ll find The Lindisfarne Heritage Centre. There’s an exhibit inside dedicated solely to the Viking influence here and there’s a number of artifacts on display there.”
Landvik brightened, a thread of hope igniting again. “Right, okay.” He began to turn away but caught the flash of a frown pass over the woman’s face. “Thank you,” he added.
She smiled uncomfortably and nodded.
Landvik whistled once, sharply, caught the attention of his other man still roaming about between the headstones in the small cemetery. “Back to the car,” Landvik called out.
Rose fought desperately against the blackness closing in around the edges of her vision. The man’s hands clenched her throat like a vice, his eyes wild in his furious face. He had clearly completely lost control, one too many strikes from Rose hurting him enough that he no longer cared about anything except hurting her back. Permanently.
She tried to gasp for breath, tried to tell him that Landvik needed her memories and for that she had to be alive. She wanted to plead with him for her life as the terror of actually dying became an all too real possibility. After everything she had been through since this whole ridiculous drama had begun, it was surely impossible that she was about to die now at the hands of an ignorant, musclebound idiot.
Darkness closed in further, her vision narrowing to a pinpoint showing only Grigor’s grimacing, blood-stained face, and Rose’s consciousness, her very life, ebbed away.
The iron pressure of Grigor’s grip suddenly vanished. Still blinded by lack of air and panic, Rose could only gasp, her chest tight, her throat on fire. She heard a cry of surprise, a fleshy thwack, as she gasped again. Through blurred and swimming vision she watched Grigor dragged backwards through the now open car door on his side. She caught a glimpse of Crowley’s face, hair slicked to his scalp by rain, mouth twisted in a snarl of rage, but refused to believe it was real. Surely she was hallucinating from lack of oxygen to the brain. Was this some strange fantasy of rescue, her brain softening the agony of her last moments before death? But she felt the cold wind coming into the car, heard the rain more loudly, spattering against the bitumen outside.
The other back door behind her head popped open, more cold, wet air gusting in. She dragged more life-saving breaths into her straining lungs. A strange man with deep olive skin and black hair as wet as Crowley’s called her by name. She twisted in the seat to see him more clearly, trying to order her thoughts. Unsure who this stranger was, she scrambled forward anyway, desperate only to be out of the car, with a chance to get away from all of this.
“I’m with Crowley,” the man said. “My name is Cameron. Come on!”
Too woozy to argue, she stumbled into his waiting arms. He held her up and produced a small pocket knife that he flicked open with the hand holding it. A wash of panic slipped through her, and then he dragged the blade up through the plastic of the zip tie around her wrists. It fell away and her arms swung free. Nothing had ever felt so good. She vigorously rubbed at each wrist with the other hand, moving her elbows and shoulders as she did so.
Over the roof of the car she could see Crowley tussling with Grigor. It really was him! Where had he come from? The thug was bigger than Crowley, but not gaining much ground against Crowley’s trained skills. A number of tourists milled around, faces stunned in expressions of shock. At least two were pulling phones from their pockets, pointing them at the action.
Crowley and Grigor ducked and moved, Grigor throwing out a heavy looping punch that Crowley caught on one forearm as he ducked in and delivered a rapid double uppercut to Grigor’s liver. The big man grunted in deep pain, folding over Crowley’s fist, then a voice cut through the wind and hiss of rain.
Landvik came running from the gate of St Mary’s, water slashing up from the recently filled puddles in the gravel path. His other two heavies were right behind. One of them pulled an automatic from his jacket, raised it over Landvik’s shoulder and fired. The low popping of its report hinted at a silencer, but still the gawking crowd began screaming and running randomly left and right, all generally heading back down the road away from the ruins.
The first two shots hit the car, shattering windows.
“No wonder,” Rose thought distantly, the idiot firing a handgun at range while running. But he was getting rapidly closer.
Cameron dragged against her arm and turned her toward a large white Land Rover Discovery parked behind them, with both front doors open and the engine running. It must be the car Crowley and Cameron had arrived in.
Crowley ducked and caught Grigor across the jaw with a fast jab. As Grigor stumbled, Crowley slipped behind him and lopped one arm around the man’s neck. He dragged Grigor backwards as a human shield as he came around Landvik’s car, heading for the Discovery.
Rose dove into the big white car and scrambled into the back seat as Cameron jumped into the driver’s seat. Another bullet kicked up dirt at Crowley’s feet, then she heard two wet thuds, strangely loud, and Grigor cried out in pain and fell limp. Crowley dropped the dead weight of Grigor’s corpse and leapt into the passenger seat as Cameron gunned the engine and the Discovery skidded in a wide arc and began to power away down the narrow road. Cameron ducked as his side window shattered and showered his lap with glass.
“Are you hit?” Crowley yelled.
“No.” Cameron’s voice was tight, his focus entirely on driving.
Tourists leapt aside, many screaming and shouting, as another couple of bullets pinged against the car’s bodywork. The rear window suddenly burst into a crazy field of glass cubes, made Rose cry out in surprise, but it didn’t fall, then they were gaining speed back between the houses.
“That guy would make a great Stormtrooper, right?” Rose quipped, her adrenaline a furious rushing in her ears.
Crowley laughed, his face flushed from his exertions as he looked back from the front seat. “Sounds like you’re okay then?”
“I’ve been better,” Rose admitted. “But I have never been happier to see someone in my entire life!”