Ragnarok

SIXTY-NINE

Aboard the Persephone, Fenris Kystby, Norway

4 November, 0415 Hrs

The huge flying-wing aircraft settled gently in the snow, the thrusters of the engines blasting the white flakes in all directions, clearing a landing spot for itself.

Lewis Aleman sat in the computer room with the makeshift desk and chairs, frantically searching for more information about portals, alternate dimensions, Fenrir and dire wolves, as were Sara Fogg, George Pierce and Black Five back in New Hampshire. He could feed anything they found to Deep Blue over the earbud communicator in their leader’s ear.

“So, we’re thinking that this Fenrir thing might be secreting scent out of glands. The scent could carry pheromones, and that would explain the control over some of the team. Look for something that looks like a sphincter, or large pore. If you could…”

Deep Blue cut him off. “Timing, Lewis, timing. I think that problem is solved for now.” Aleman could hear tons of background noise on the line. He knew Deep Blue’s helmet was off, but at the moment, his anonymity wasn’t a concern. “We’re seeing increasing numbers of dire wolves, too, and we’re down several men. We need a way to stop these things and to kill the portal. We might have to go with your plan for the Crescent.”

“Working on it.”

“I know,” Deep Blue said. “But work faster.” He clicked off and Aleman’s earpiece went quiet.

Aleman shouted in surprise as the metal door to the room slammed open.

King stood in the doorway, dirty, bloody and missing the top portion of his armor. He was out of breath from his sprint through the snow drifts to the Persephone.

When he spoke, his voice sounded like a growl. “I need you to do exactly as I say.”

That’s when Aleman noticed the suitcase nuke clutched under King’s arm.