Ragnarok (41 page)

He pulled a small brick of tan-colored C4 explosive from Velcro straps on the outside of an armored thigh, and then a tiny detonating blasting cap from his belt, which he inserted into the brick. He tossed the brick to the far end of the small room.

 “Ten seconds and counting,” he said before pushing the Russian toward the door, though he was more concerned with the second countdown running in his head, the one that was at twenty seconds.

King ran for the door, and then grabbed the woman by the arm and tugged her to the side of the wall by the broken door. They ran three more steps when the C4 detonated. The explosion ripped out the room’s other door and hurled it into the portal. A good ten feet of the brick wall on either side of the double doorway spat brick and mortar. A second larger explosion ripped through the main chamber. The concussion shook the walls and another huge portion of the ceiling over the giant room collapsed, taking catwalks with it.

DEEP BLUE REACHED the southwest corner of the catwalk and threw his large, brownie-sized block of C4. Anna Beck, who played college softball, threw three more blocks, aiming for the concrete bases of struts, though anywhere near them would do the trick. Bishop handled the remaining two, lobbing them far across the large room.

The timers were set for twenty seconds and set to go off as one. If someone dropped one, or didn’t throw it in time, they were dead. But this knowledge motivated them and the C4 bricks all landed around the room with seconds to spare.

Several things happened at once—the electrical room on the ground floor exploded, billowing fire and smoke that obscured the view of the portal.

The six bricks of C4 in the main chamber detonated all at once, pulverizing the concrete holding the struts on the floor and killing the remaining dire wolves.

The rest of the ceiling over the eastern part of the portal fell, taking parts of the northern catwalk just after Bishop leapt away.

The portal bulged and distorted as it ate the falling wreckage. The eastern catwalk broke loose on the northeastern end, and began to fall down.

Rook, closer to the upper end of the now slanting metal slide, grabbed the railing. Queen was back by the stairwell—the most structurally sound part of the room at the moment. Beck was with her. Knight slid down the angled catwalk, scrabbling with his fingertips to get a hold in the metal grill.

With a groan of bending metal, the catwalk tipped and fell, jolting to a stop a few feet later as one of the giant curved struts fell back against the wall, and the catwalk above, pinning the whole structure to the wall.

Then all the light and sound vanished.

They were plunged into darkness.

The portal was closed.

SEVENTY-FOUR

Somewhere

EIREK FOSSEN SPUN around as an unfamiliar whine tore through the air, standing his hair on end. He had walked with dire wolves and plotted with a God, but none of them frightened him like this sound.

It portended doom.

His
doom.

When he saw the sound’s source, he braced himself against the massive bone wall, growing week in the knees.

“Lord Fenrir,” he said, his voice oozing fear.

A giant plane, in the shape of a crescent, crashed through the portal, pushing Fenrir up and over. The giant toppled backward as though in slow motion. It roared in frustration and something else. Pain? Fossen didn’t think it was possible, but then saw his Lord’s lower jaw dangling loosely.

“No,” he whispered. “No...”

The ground shook as Fenrir and the plane stumbled back from the portal and crashed to the ground, pulverizing hundreds of dire wolves and scattering more.

Fossen took a step toward the portal. But what could he do? The plane was obviously a move of desperation. Things were not going well for their enemies on the other side. Fenrir might be injured, but it wouldn’t stop. As soon as it freed itself from the plane, it would return to the other side. And it would heal.

Something hard jabbed Fossen’s back. He spun, not realizing he’d been walking backward, away from the portal.

He found a cage, a fifteen-foot cube, built of bones—human and dire wolf—held together by some kind of solidified secretion. He stepped back from the cage, eyes widening at the sight of the human bodies that filled the cage. The corpses were hacked into pieces—arms, legs, heads, torsos—all packed inside, floor to ceiling. The body parts glistened and he realized that they, too, had been covered in some kind of secretion.

Preserved
, he thought, stepping back from the cage, but bumping into a second.

He leapt away from the second cage and spun around, finding himself surrounded by a field of the structures. Fear rose in his chest, but he squelched it. He knew Lord Fenrir killed and ate human beings, among other things. But she did not,
would not
, eat Fossen.

Gunshots rolled across the plains bringing his attention back to the portal. Lord Fenrir lay on Her back still, but was beginning to stir. Two figures ran over her body, heading back toward the portal. Fossen squinted his eyes. He couldn’t see the mens’ faces, but the shape and gait of one of them was familiar.

Stanislav.

He shouted the name, “Stanislav!”

But a moment later, the two men disappeared through the portal.

The crescent-shaped airplane shifted and fell partly away from Fenrir, who shrieked. She was getting back up, recovering from the blow, but slowly.

Fossen
, came Her voice.
You have failed
.

“No,” he said, feeling a tremble in his legs. “The portal is stable!”

But it is not secure. You brought the children of Adoon to my doorstep
.

“The children of what?” Fossen’s thoughts became panicked. “I didn’t know. How could I have—”

Fossen’s twitching body froze. Dust rose in the distance between him and the portal. He saw this world in shades of monotone gray, like old photos of his father, Edmund Kiss. It had unnerved him, but not nearly as much as what he saw now.

Dire wolves.

Perhaps a hundred of them.

Running toward him.

He’d been around the creatures a lot. He understood their moods. Their body language. These hundred predators were out for blood.

His blood.

“My Lord, why?” Fossen shouted.

No reply. Fossen ran away from the approaching horde, quickly arriving at the bone wall. Gripping the protruding bones, he climbed as fast as he could, reaching the top just as the hundred dire wolves arrived at the base and launched up toward him.

“The portal is open!” he shrieked.

He turned toward the glowing sphere.

Fenrir stood again, the plane falling away. The giant’s head turned toward him, its jaw dangling sickly, its body covered in white blood and ruptured wounds, looking very mortal.

Not a God.

Tears welled in Fossen’s eyes.

He stood still.

The portal winked out, drawing a gasp from his lips.

“We can start again,” he whispered.

The leash remains.

Her voice sounded almost sad now, as though filled with a disappointment more deep and complex than anything he had felt before. It brought tears to his eyes. He fell to his knees, weeping, waiting for the dire wolves to reach him and exact the punishment he now knew he deserved.

But then, as though by magic, the portal returned, blooming brighter than ever before. Fossen flinched away from the light, covering his eyes with his arm. A hot breeze washed over him. He chanced a look and in the fraction of a second he had left, he recognized the mushroom cloud rising into the gray sky. Then the shockwave hit, first melting and then obliterating his body, the dire wolves and the massive bone tower, leaving only dust and one more crater.

SEVENTY-FIVE

Outside the Gleipnir Facility, Fenris Kystby, Norway

4 November, 0520 Hrs

KING STUMBLED INTO the cold night, leading the remaining members of Endgame through the dark. Deep Blue, Knight, Queen, Bishop, Rook, Beck and the Russian woman had all survived the final confrontation and explosive finale. But they’d lost Carrack and the whole White team, Reggie and Black Six, not to mention Keasling in New York. Deep Blue hadn’t talked about it yet, nor had King, but Keasling was a good friend to them both. They would feel his loss for years, both personally and professionally, as he was their only trusted liaison to the US Military.

He pushed through a low-hanging pine branch laden with snow and held it. The clearing beyond was lit brightly by the
Perseph-one’s
spotlights. As the team hobbled into the clearing, the pilots and Aleman rushed out with med-kits.

With a smile, Aleman said, “Reports from around the world are coming in. Looks like you did it.” Then he saw their condition and grimaced. He tapped the med-kit in his hand and asked, “Who’s first?”

“Take her,” Rook said. He held Queen over his shoulder. She looked none too pleased about it, still, but wasn’t complaining. The two pilots laid a stretcher on the ground and helped Rook lower her. When he grunted in pain, one of the pilots saw his ruined shoulder and said, “You better come, too.”

“What about you?” Aleman asked King, who was clutching his side.

“Broken ribs,” King said. “Not a big deal. It can wait.”

Aleman shook his head. “You might be the only person on the planet who would say those three sentences in that order.”

King laughed, then grunted in pain.

Aleman turned to the Russian. “Who’s this?”

“Name’s Asya. She’s with me,” Rook said, as he helped the pilots guide Queen’s stretcher toward the plane’s loading ramp. “She’s okay.”

Aleman turned to Deep Blue who gave a nod.

But King wasn’t satisfied. When she turned to the plane, he took her shoulder and said, “Hold on.” She faced him, looking in his eyes. She stood nearly as tall as him, but he wasn’t interested in her height. He was interested in her face.
So familiar.
When their eyes met, he noticed she was looking at him the same way.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied.

“Haven’t figured it out yet?” Queen called as she was carried up the
Persephone
’s loading ramp. “Who taught you how to fight, King?”

A lot of people had taught King how to fight. Hand-to-hand combat instructors, martial artists, every enemy he fought, even Queen had taught him a thing or two.

As Queen disappeared inside the plane, she shouted one more time. “The
first
person.”

King’s eyes widened. The story, which he’d told the team over beers one night, came back to him in a flash. He was ten. Got the snot beat out of him by a couple of kids. While his mother, Lynn Sigler, pursued typical childhood diplomatic channels—calling the other kid’s mothers—King’s father, Peter Sigler, took him in the back yard and taught him how to fight. Some of the moves became part of his natural fighting style. He’d used a few in the brawl inside the—

So had Asya.

He staggered away from her as though he’d seen a ghost, shuffling through the deep snow. Recognition slammed into his gut now. The face. The eyes.

“What is it?” Asya asked, stepping toward him.

Deep Blue rushed over, placing a hand on King’s shoulder. “Aleman, get a—”

“It’s fine,” King said. “I’m okay. I—I just know who she is.” He stood straighter, looking into Asya’s eyes. “She has my mother’s eyes.”

Deep Blue looked like he’d been slapped. He whipped his head toward Asya, staring at her eyes. “My God.”

“Her eyes?” Asya said, still confused. “How—”

“Your last name,” King said. “Is it Machtcenko?”

She looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“Because it’s my last name, too,” he said. “My
real
last name. My parents were Russian spies. Their cover name was Sigler. My father taught us both how to fight. Fenrir’s roar didn’t affect me, probably because of a genetic trait passed down by my parents. You have that same trait.”

Asya’s eyes began to widen.

Despite being completely unnerved by the development, a smile crept onto King’s face and tears threatened to spill from his eyes. Since Julie’s death, he’d felt a void in his life. He’d grown up with a sister and missed that relationship greatly. But now...maybe he had a second chance? “You’re my sister.”

Dear Reader,

You are just an epilogue away from finishing this book and I wanted to take a moment to thank you for reading. I hope you have enjoyed the journey and that you will come back for more adventures. If you did enjoy the book, please show your support by posting a review at Amazon.com. The Amazon website works on algorithms, meaning the more people positively review my books, the more Amazon will recommend them to other readers. And the more people buy my books, the more I get to write them, which is a good thing for both of us (assuming you enjoyed the book).

So today's lesson is: good Amazon mojo + algorithms lead to more sales, even more positive mojo, more books, bigger releases, extra bonus features and eventually a glorious mojofest unlike anything the world has ever seen before. So support the mojofest and post a review...right after you finish reading the epilogue!

Thank you again and please forgive this intrusion.

-- Jeremy Robinson

EPILOGUE

Endgame Headquarters, White Mountains, NH

14 December, 1430 Hrs

SNOW FELL HEAVILY outside the immense open hangar door of the Endgame base, hidden under the large rocky face of Mount Tecumseh, in the White Mountains. King drove a black Humvee into the large hangar and parked it next to a Black Hawk helicopter that sat dormant, its rotor blades strapped down lengthwise along the vehicle with nylon webbing to metal rings sunk into the gray concrete floor.