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  “I knew that ten years ago,” Francesca said.

  Brynhild’s thoughts were on the future, not the past. “You’ve instructed my technicians so they can make the process work?”

  “Yes. I had to make only a few adjustments in the procedure. You were quite close to perfecting the process, you know.”

  “Then we would have developed it in time?”

  Francesca thought about it a moment. “Probably not. Your process and mine were like parallel lines. No matter how close they come they never touch. Now that I have done what I said I would, it is time for you to fulfill your side of the bargain.”

  “Ah, yes, the bargain.” Brynhild took the radio from her belt and switched it on. She smiled, her cold blue eyes boring into Francesca’s, and said, “Tell the Kradzik brothers that the NUMA woman is all theirs.”

  “Wait!” Francesca grabbed Brynhild’s muscular arm. “You promised-“

  Brynhild easily shook the smaller woman off. “I also re minded you that I could not be trusted. Now that you have demonstrated your process, your friend is of no use to me.” She brought the phone up to her ear again. Her smile suddenly vanished, replaced by a frown. “What do you mean?” she snapped. Storm clouds gathered on her wide brow. “How long ago?”

  She tucked the radio in her belt. “I‘11 deal with you later,” she promised Francesca. With a military heel spin she marched for the staff elevator.

  Francesca was frozen in shock. Then, as Brynhild’s treachery sank in, the fiery anger that had sustained her for ten years was rekindled. If Gamay were dead, it would only make her decision easier to live with. With her jaw set in renewed determination, she headed back into the labyrinth of pipes.

  Chapter 39

  Gamay was almost relieved when the pair of husky guards came to take her away. She was bored to pieces, having concluded that the cell was escape-proof un less she could figure a way to blow the door off its hinges. She re solved to talk to someone at NUMA about coming up with James Bond gadgets. But that would have to wait. Her only option now was to watch for a chance to run for it once she was out of the cell.

  Her heart sank as the guards ushered her through a maze of corridors. She would become lost before she went ten feet. They stopped in front of a pair of heavy bronze doors at least eight feet high. The surface of the doors was cast with mythological scenes. The theme was heavy on skulls, but for variety there were giants and dwarfs, strange monsters, fierce horses, twisted trees, runes, and lightning around a central motif, a sleek double-ended sailing ship.

  One guard pressed a button on the wall, and the doors swung in noiselessly. The other guard prodded her into the room with his gun.

  “This isn’t our idea,” he said in what sounded like an apology. The doors clicked shut, and she looked around to get her bearings. “Charming,” she murmured under her breath.

  She was in an enormous chamber bigger than a football field. She could trace its outline by the torches lining the walls of the cavernous space. In the center of the room, illuminated by four tall braziers, was a ship, its one square sail unfurled, that looked like the twin of the vessel carved on the doors.

  Before becoming a marine biologist Gamay had been a nautical archaeologist, and she knew immediately that it was a Viking ship or a very good replica of one. She wondered if she were in a museum. No, she decided, it was more like an elaborate crypt. Maybe the ship served as a sepulchre as was the custom of the Norsemen. Partly out of curiosity, but mostly because there was no alternative, she began to walk toward the vessel.

  As she made her lonely way across the great hall two pairs of red-rimmed eyes observed her progress from the shadows. The same eyes had hungrily watched her earlier on a TV monitor as she languished in her cell. The Kradzik twins had spent hours in front of the screen. They had taken in her every physical feature, from the distinctive dark red hair to the long, slim legs. There was nothing sexual in their voyeurism; that would have been too natural. Their interest was purely in inflicting pain. They were like a dog trained to balance a treat on its nose until the owner gives the okay to swallow. With Gamay enticingly within their reach, their sadistic urges surfaced. Gamay and the other woman had been promised to them. With Brynhild busy in the lab, they decided to claim their toy.

  They ordered Gamay brought to the Great Hall. The guards obeyed with some reluctance. The small army that protected Gogstad and occasionally projected its reach, as in Alaska, were all ex-military men, plucked from elite services around the world. In their ranks were former French Legionnaires, U.S. Special Forces, SEALs, Red Army infantry, British paratroopers, and other assorted mercenaries. It was jokingly said in their barracks that a dishonorable discharge was a minimum requirement to work for Gogstad, and jail time was worth a bonus. They would shoot to kill on order, but they considered themselves professionals simply doing their job. The Kradziks were different. Everybody knew the stories of massacre and murder in Bosnia, and there were rumors of their special assignments for Gogstad. The men also knew of their close ties to Brynhild. When they were ordered to deliver the prisoner, they did so without argument.

  Gamay was halfway to the ship when she heard the unmistakable sound of motors starting up. The staccato snarl was made even more intense as it echoed off the hard stone walls. Single headlights appeared to the right and left of the ship and began to move slowly in her direction.

  Motorcycles.

  She could see the silhouettes of the riders. Gamay felt like a deer caught crossing a highway. Then the motors revved up to a high-pitched whine, and the motorcycles came at her like twin rockets.

  Her eyes went to the sharp-pointed lances resting on the handlebars.

  The riders came at her like grotesque caricatures of jousting knights. Just when it seemed the spears would penetrate her midsection, the motorcycles swerved off. They quickly reversed course and came in behind her. She whirled as they flashed by in a precision crisscross. They spun around, their motors idling, and once more the headlights faced her on either side like the glowing eyes of a huge purring cat.

  The Kradziks were riding the Yamaha 250 dirt bikes that the security guards used to patrol the perimeter of the giant com pound. The lances had been borrowed from the weapon collection decorating the Great Hall. The twins were not imaginative men, and their activities, whether the victim was a teenage girl or an elderly man, always followed the same formula: intimidate, terrorize, inflict pain, and kill.

  A voice came out from the darkness on the left: “If you run

  Then from the right, “… maybe we won’t catch you.”

  Fat chance, Gamay thought. She could tell from the voices that she was dealing with the same metal-mouthed morons who had broken into her house. It was obvious to her they simply wanted a little challenge in their sport. She called out, “Let me see you.”

  The only sound was the popping idle of the motors. The Kradziks were accustomed to having victims cower and beg for their lives. They didn’t know how to deal with questions, especially from a defenseless woman. Curious, they edged their bikes closer and stopped a few yards away.

  “Who are you?” she said.

  “We are death,” they said as one.

  The short reprieve was over. The motors revved. The motor bikes reared up on their back wheels. The front wheels came down and, with a double shriek of burning rubber, the bikes shot forward, did another crisscross, then began to circle. They wanted Gamay to spin until she became dizzy and collapsed into a helpless, blubbering heap. She refused to play their game. Instead she stood her ground with her eyes straight ahead, arms tight by her side. The wind created by their passes blew choking exhaust fumes in her face. It took every measure of self-control not to bolt for it. They’d be on her in a second and use their spears to cut her legs out from under her.

  When they saw she had no intention of running, they angled in. A spear tip came so close that it lacerated the front of her shirt. She sucked her stomach in. This wouldn’t do. She began to walk. Sh
e moved deliberately with measured steps so she wouldn’t throw their timing off. Delighted at the new challenge, the riders took turns cutting in front of her, pulling their spears away at the last possible second. She kept on going, her ears filled with the whine of motors. She refused to break her stride. Gamay knew they could kill her any time they wanted to.

  She heard a bike coming in from the right. Taking a big chance, she stopped suddenly. The rider misjudged and went wide. The bike skidded around in a tight turn, but the move threw off the uncanny communication the riders seemed to have, and they wheeled around in confusion. She ran past the upturned bow of the boat, intending to vault onto the deck, but she encountered a barrier of overhanging round shields that protected the side above the oar ports. She saw why the Kradziks had let her get this close to the boat. They knew there was no way she could easily climb over the shields.

  The only access to the deck was-a ramp near the stern. They probably hoped she would run for it. She made a motion in that direction, and they shot over to cut her off. She grabbed one of the shields off the side of the boat, then turned and held it in front, her back to the boat. The twins spun around and came at her with lances leveled. The heavy shield, made of thick wood braced with iron, was designed more for a brawny Norseman than a slim woman. Fortunately Gamay was tall and athletic and managed to get her left arm through the straps and hold the shield in front of her.

  Just in time.

  Tunk!

  The spears hit the front of the shield as one. The force drove her back against the side of the boat and knocked the wind from her lungs.

  The bikes peeled off to the left and the right, did quick turns, and headed back. Gamay put the shield down on the floor, braced her foot against it, and pulled out the spears. In contrast to the shield they were surprisingly light, with thin wooden shafts and slender bronze tips. They were probably de signed more for throwing than for jousting.

  She held the spears vertically and the shield at ready. With their weapons gone, she assumed the brothers were making a feint, but there was a blur of motion as a spiked ball whirled at the end of a chain slammed into the shield. Even with her legs braced she was thrown back and went down on her right knee. She managed to keep the shield high in a move that saved her life as a punishing blow from the second rider crunched into the shield and splintered the outer layer of protective wood.

  The brothers had exchanged their spears for maces, the weapons developed to smash their way through armor. The bikes swooped down on her before she had the chance to stand. Again the spiked iron balls crashed into the shield. The wood protected her from the main shock but disintegrated after the second blow until all that was left were the leather straps and useless frame work.

  She grabbed for a spear and held it at an angle. The bikes held off their attack and went back and forth. Then one attacker came in. The spear spun in his direction like a compass needle. Gamay held her breath. At the last second he turned away. The other came in from her left. She pivoted quickly to face him only to be distracted by another attack on the right. It was a classic flanking tactic. They were not ready for a full press yet, probably just testing to see her reaction.

  One bike passed directly in front of her, its rider thinking he was safely beyond the reach of the spear. Instead of jabbing, Gamay brought the spear back on her shoulder and hurled it at the rider. He was moving fast. Her aim was too low. The spear hit the spokes of the front wheel. The force of the wheel shattered the shaft, but not before the skinny, knobbed tire turned at a sharp angle. The bike jackknifed, and the rider flew over the handlebars. The bike skidded along the floor leaving a trail of red and white sparks. Gamay saw him hit the floor and lie still.

  The second motorcycle halted its attack, and the rider pointed his headlight at the still form. He dismounted, but he knew even before he crouched down beside the twisted body that his brother was dead. He had felt his brother’s fear and pain as his neck snapped. Then came a moan that rose to an agonizing scream. A chill went up Gamay’s spine as the remaining Kradzik brother began to howl like a wolf. She edged toward the rear of the boat, hoping that if she made it to the deck she’d find another weapon. The brother saw her move. He straddled his bike in an instant. She held her spear out straight. As he came in from the side she felt the spear jerk, then heard a clink of metal. He had chopped the spear tip neatly off with a short handled battle-ax. He stopped and held the ax high above his head with both hands. Then he came for her.

  She ran for the stern of the boat. He caught up in an instant and crashed his motorcycle into the back of her legs, knocking her down. Pain shot up from her knees and elbows as they smashed against the hard floor, but she had more to worry about. A figure was standing over her. “My brother … is dead …”

  He spoke haltingly, as if he were waiting for a cadenced answer from his twin.

  “You killed … now I will kill you. I will start … with legs. One by one. Then your arms.”

  With his black leather pants and sleeveless jacket, he looked like an executioner. His teeth gleamed as he grinned in anticipation. Gamay tried to roll out of the way, but he put his boot on her ankle and she cried out.

  As the ax came up there was a whirring sound, and he grunted in surprise. His free hand reached up to feel the shaft of a crossbow bolt protruding from the side of his head, but he was already dead by then. The gleam disappeared from the red rimmed eyes, and he keeled over. Gamay rolled out of the way as the falling ax clanked onto the floor. She heard quick footsteps, strong arms were picking her up, and she saw Zavala’s familiar grin. Then Austin appeared. He was holding an old crossbow in his hands.

  “Are you okay?” Austin asked.

  “Nothing a good skin transplant won’t cure.” She saw that Joe was carrying the gun he had borrowed from the guard. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but why play William Tell when you had that thing?”

  “This throws quite a spray of bullets,” Zavala said. “It’s great for cutting down a full assault but not very good for a precision sniper shot. I would have backed Kurt up if he missed.” He knelt beside the dead twin. “You were supposed to hit the apple on top of his head.”

  “Next time I’ll aim higher,” Austin said, tossing the crossbow aside.

  She gave them each a peck on the cheek. “Nice to see you even if I have to endure your dumb wisecracks.”

  Austin inspected the dead man near the motorcycle. “It looks like you were doing pretty well on your own.”

  “I was about to go to pieces,” Gamay said, wondering how she could joke about her near dismemberment. “Where are we?”

  “Lake Tahoe.”

  “Tahoe! How did you find me?”

  “We’ll explain after we pick up Francesca. Can you walk?”

  “I’ll crawl on my knees to get out of this dump. Nice out fits,” she said, eyeing their white caps and suits. “Is that what got you past the guards at the door?”

  “There weren’t any guards.”

  “I guess they didn’t want to be responsible for Daryll and Daryll.”

  “Truth is, we blundered in here. We saw you playing a losing game of tag with your friend. I grabbed a crossbow off the wall and watched as you set him up beautifully for a shot.” Austin took a pistol from one of the dead men. “What say we saddle up before the posse comes?”

  Gamay nodded and started to limp toward the doors, protectively flanked by the two men. The doors opened, and Brynhild stepped in. She was alone, but that didn’t make her any less imposing as she strode across the hall. She barely glanced at the dead bodies as she came over and stood before them, muscular legs spread wide apart like tree trunks, her hands on her hips.

  “I take it this is your handiwork,” she said.

  Austin shrugged. “Sorry about the mess.”

  “They were fools. If you hadn’t killed them, I would have. They disobeyed my orders and defiled this sacred place.”

  “Still, I know how hard it is to get good help these days.”


  “Not as hard as you think. There’s no shortage of people who like to kill. How did you get in here?”

  “We walked in the front door. What is this place?”

  “It’s the heart and soul of my empire.”

  “You must be the elusive Brynhild Sigurd,” Austin said.

  “That’s correct, and I know who you are, Mr. Austin, and your friend, Mr. Zavala. We’ve been watching you since you visited our facility in Mexico. It was thoughtful of you to honor us with your visit.”

  “Don’t mention it. You must let us know who your interior decorator is. What do you think, Joe, early Addams Family or late Transylvanian?”

  “I was thinking more like Munster modern. The boat-shaped coffee table is a nice touch.”

  “You will learn,” the woman said. “That boat symbolizes the past, the present, and the glorious future.”

  Austin laughed. “An appropriate symbol. That boat isn’t going anywhere, and neither is your empire.”

  “You NUMA people are becoming tiresome.”

  “I was just telling Joe the same thing before you arrived. We don’t want to wear out our welcome. If you’ll excuse us, we’ll be on our way. Saddle up, guys.”

  Zavala, who was in the lead, tried to step around Brynhild. Out of habit he flashed his trademark smile. Brynhild was a freak, he reasoned, but she was still a female. The famous Zavala charm was lost on the giantess. She reached out and grabbed him by the shirt, shook him like a terrier with a rat, then with her great strength threw him onto the floor. Zavala quickly re gained his feet. Ever the gentleman when it came to women of any size or age, he smiled again. “I know how you feel, but this isn’t a good way to end our relationship.”

  Brynhild replied with a backhand slap across his face. Joe staggered back a few steps and wiped the blood that was trick ling from a corner of his mouth. Brynhild cocked her right fist for another blow. Austin moved in to protect Joe. He was watching Brynhild’s hands, so when she lashed out to the left leg in a classic kickboxing maneuver he was caught by surprise. Her boot smashed into his chest. He felt ribs crack from the tremendous force even before he slammed against the floor with an impact that rattled his teeth.