The Valhalla Prophecy

2

Eddie Chase stared disconsolately up at the flaking ceiling, debating whether it was worth getting out of bed.

There was little to look forward to if he did. It was unseasonably hot and unpleasantly humid, the temperature in the cramped studio flat already uncomfortable even at this time of the morning, but things would be no better outside. He had no job, was almost out of money… and in the middle of a bitter separation from his wife.

What the hell had gone wrong? He and Sophia had married less than a year and a half earlier, in a mad whirlwind of passion that he thought would last for ever. But everything collapsed with shocking suddenness, leaving him stunned and blinking in the wreckage.

The wedding — practically an elopement — was only a month after they met, so the first time Chase was introduced to Sophia’s father was after the honeymoon. And Lord Blackwood had made it clear with every aristocratic curl of the lip that his daughter’s marriage to a soldier — not even an officer, but a common squaddie! — was something of which he utterly disapproved. Sophia soon afterwards found herself cut off from her father’s money for the first time in her life — and not long after that, Chase began to find himself on the outside looking in as she renewed old friendships. Friendships exclusively of the male, young, upper-class and wealthy variety.

So now he was here, alone in a crappy rented flat overlooking a congestion-clogged main road through one of the grottier parts of London. He couldn’t even open the window to let in cooler air without it being joined by noise and diesel fumes.

Staying in bed was not an option, he finally decided. If nothing else, years of military routine made inactivity seem almost criminally wasteful. He shoved away the covers and rolled upright.

The sight of his surroundings lowered his mood still further. One room; that was what his life had been reduced to. He even had to share a bathroom with one of the other tenants.

But the damp-stained studio was not nearly so depressing as what was on the little folding table by the door. Chase stared at the documents poking out of the torn envelope like spilled guts from a small animal. They were from Sophia — or rather, her solicitor — and one of them, once he signed it, would probably be the last thing she ever wanted from him.

If he signed it.

He let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a growl. Sophia was seeking a divorce, to get rid of him as soon as possible so she could hook up with whichever rich, braying arsehole from the City she’d set her sights on. Under British law, before a divorce could be granted husband and wife needed to be separated for at least two years, or there had to be reasonable grounds.

Adultery was one of these, and it had certainly been a factor; Sophia had practically rubbed his face in it before he finally moved out, unable to tolerate her taunting any longer. But there were two problems. The first, in which he saw the hand of her father, was that Sophia wanted Chase to be the one who admitted to an affair. Daddy dearest was protecting the reputation of his daughter — or, just as likely, the Blackwood name. An heiress sleeping around behind the back of her war hero husband was irresistible gossip fodder, whereas some yob from Yorkshire betraying a beautiful aristocrat would arouse nothing but sympathy for her.

The second was more simple. He didn’t want to end the marriage.

For all Sophia had done to him, for all the arguments and screaming and unfaithfulness… he still loved her. He had made a commitment to her, a promise, and the thought of breaking that promise was almost physically painful. Though he was no longer a member of the armed forces, he still placed a high value on duty, honour and loyalty — even if Sophia did not.

It also implied surrender, failure. As a former member of the Special Air Service, he was unwilling to accept either.

Another sound, this time definitely a sigh. Chase forced himself to his feet and stretched, working the stiffness out of his muscles. The mattress was as unforgiving as his wife. He crossed the room to the counter that acted as his kitchen and filled the kettle, preparing — however reluctantly — to start the day.

Half an hour later, he had eaten, showered and dressed. To his disappointment, the letter had not magically vanished in the meantime.

‘Buggeration and fuckery,’ Chase muttered, glaring at it. Sophia’s solicitors, he already knew from experience, would not hesitate to follow up on their enquiries by phone or even in person if a response didn’t come immediately. Their letterhead said they were based in the City of London, so they were probably charging her father a thousand pounds per hour for their time, while his own financial situation forced him to traipse across two boroughs to get what free help he could at the nearest Citizens Advice Bureau.

He tried to suppress a churning feeling of disgust. Money. That was what everything came down to. Sophia was used to it, couldn’t live without it, wanted more of it — and now that she had access to it again, was using it against him.

And she knew his sense of dignity wouldn’t allow him to beg others for it. He had friends all around the world, but while he could always rely on them for a favour, since he in turn would always help them if they needed it, the one thing he couldn’t bring himself to ask for was money.

So now he was trapped by his own pride. Whether he caved in to Sophia’s demands or asked for monetary help from others to fight her, it would feel like failure either way. At least in combat there was always the possibility of beating the odds to reach victory, but right now he couldn’t see any good way out short of a miracle…

His phone trilled. Chase knew it wasn’t Sophia; he had set her ringtone as Cliff Richard’s ‘Devil Woman’, but this was the cheap pre-paid Nokia’s default. He picked the phone up and flipped it open, seeing on the screen that it was a London number. ‘Is that you, Jesus?’

‘I’ve heard some strange things from your mouth, Eddie, but that’s got to be near the top of the list.’ Not a miracle, but the familiar voice was nearly as welcome.

‘Mac!’ Chase cried, smiling for the first time in several days. ‘Fuck me, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. I thought you were out of the country?’

‘I’m back, for the moment,’ said the Scotsman. ‘I’ll tell you about it — well, as much as I can within the bounds of the Official Secrets Act — if you’d like to meet up. Are you busy?’

‘Let me check my Filofax,’ Chase said sarcastically. ‘No, I’m free. Where do you want to meet?’

‘Come round to my place — you remember where it is?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good. Half eleven or thereabouts? Oh, and there’ll be someone else here I’m sure you’ll be pleased to see again.’ Even over the phone, Chase could detect the amusement in the other man’s voice. ‘An old friend.’

‘Well, fucking hell,’ said Chase, unable to hold back a grin. ‘Look who it is. Hugo Castille, the Belgian waffler.’

The lanky Castille sniffed through his beaky nose. ‘And Edward Chase, as polite and charming as always.’ He peered at the shorter man’s head. ‘Your hair… it is getting a little thin, no? Especially on top.’

‘Oh fuck off, Hugo.’ Still grinning, Chase shook the mustachioed Belgian’s hand, before the pair embraced and clapped each other on the back. ‘Christ, how long’s it been? A year?’

‘More than that,’ Castille replied. ‘I have not seen you since the wedding.’ His expression became mournful. ‘Mac told me what has happened with you and Sophia. I am very sorry.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Chase, rather brusquely, before moving the conversation along. ‘Everything’s good with you, then? Coping with civilian life?’

‘I have a new line of work. Not too different from my old one,’ he added with a sly smile. ‘I will tell you about it. You might find it interesting.’

‘Can’t wait.’ Chase turned to his former commanding officer. ‘What about you, Mac? How’s the leg?’

Jim ‘Mac’ McCrimmon shifted his stance to put his left foot forward, supporting himself on a metal cane. A faint creak came from the ankle joint — not of bone, but aluminium and plastic. ‘Bearable. They think that given another two or three years, I should regain more or less full mobility. I intend to do it in one.’

‘Anything I can do to help, you just say the word.’

The tall, bearded Scot smiled. ‘You already did, Eddie. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have lost more than just a leg to those Taliban bastards.’ He gestured for Chase to take a seat in one of the deep red leather armchairs in his living room. ‘In fact, we might be able to help you.’

The Yorkshireman didn’t move, his expression darkening. ‘I’m not here to take charity.’

‘And I didn’t ask you here to offer it. I know you better than that, Eddie. Come on, sit down. I’m going to, whether you do or not.’ He rapped his left shin with the cane. ‘Standing on this bloody thing isn’t exactly comfortable.’

Chase reluctantly sat as Mac and Castille did the same. ‘So,’ he said, ‘you’ve become a spook, eh? You bloody sell-out.’

Mac chuckled. ‘Yes, I remember what you think of the men and women of our intelligence services. But they’re not all that bad. Well, a few of them. Actually, I’ve been working with somebody you’ve already met.’

Chase pulled a disgusted face. ‘Aw, not that fucking Capri-driving bell-end Alderley, surely?’

‘The very same.’

‘How’s his nose?’

‘Still crooked where you broke it.’ A wry grin. ‘He remembers you too, funnily enough.’

‘Good. Can’t believe you’re working with that twat! At least I’ll never have to deal with him again. Tosser.’

‘So, you have been in Africa, Mac,’ Castille said. ‘What have you been doing there?’

The older man’s grin widened. ‘Nothing I’m going to tell you about, Hugo. I know you don’t mean any harm, but if I even gave you a hint, you’d be chatting to some random stranger in a bar about it before the end of the day.’

‘That is not true!’ Castille protested. ‘I do not give away secrets.’

‘Only because the rest of us tackle you to the fucking floor every time you open your mouth,’ Chase told him, laughing.

‘Let’s just say I’ve been doing some consulting work on behalf of Her Majesty’s Government, and leave it at that,’ said Mac. ‘The main thing was, it got me back on my feet — foot — and actually doing something useful again. Which after three months in hospital and most of a year withering away convalescing was a huge relief. It felt better than any amount of talking to the shrinks, put it that way. Made me realise just how much I need to do things, to contribute. To have a purpose.’

‘I think we are all like that, no?’ added Castille.

Chase eyed him. ‘This is the bit with the hard sell, right? The reason you asked me here?’

‘Partly,’ Mac admitted. ‘But Hugo was right — I think you’ll be interested in what he’s got to say.’ A hint of concern entered his level gaze. ‘It might be exactly what you need right now, considering what Sophia’s been putting you through.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it, for someone who’s been out of the country.’ Chase gave him a suspicious look. ‘For that matter, how’d you get my number? I only got that phone after I moved out.’

‘I’ve been working with MI6, not 118. They can do quite a bit more with their directory enquiries. But that’s not important.’ He nodded towards the other man. ‘Hugo, why don’t you tell him about the job?’

Castille straightened in his seat. ‘I am working for a private contractor,’ he told Chase. ‘There is a job that has just come up — I would like you to join me on it.’

Chase shook his head. ‘I only got out of the military last year; I don’t want to be going right back into it under another name. And I know it’s big business right now, but I really don’t want to traipse around some godforsaken desert shithole acting as a human shield for a bunch of arseholes from an oil company.’

‘No, no,’ said Castille, gesticulating enthusiastically, ‘this is nothing like that. Do you remember Hal Sullivan?’

Chase glanced at Mac. ‘Your old mate from the Kiwi SAS?’

‘More than just a mate, Eddie,’ Mac told him, nodding. ‘He taught me practically everything I know about being a soldier. He’s a good man.’

‘I have been working for him,’ Castille continued. ‘And it is not bodyguard work. It is, how to describe it? Aid and rescue work — in places where there are men who do not want people to get aid or rescue.’

‘Troubleshooting,’ added Mac. ‘Humanitarian work, but with a fist in the glove if it’s needed. Hal actually approached me about being a partner, and I might have considered it if not for this.’ He thumped his artificial heel on the carpet. ‘It’s right up your street, though. You’d be using your skills to help people. And I know how important that is to you.’

Chase considered his words, before cautiously asking Castille: ‘What’s the job?’

‘A rescue mission,’ said the Belgian. ‘A team of aid workers in Vietnam has been kidnapped by bandits. The father of one of them called on Hal to rescue them; he is putting a team together now.’ A beseeching look. ‘You would be a great help, Edward. You have experience of just this kind of mission.’

‘Yeah, and look how it turned out,’ Chase replied, voice drenched with sarcasm. ‘I married the hostage. And why isn’t the Vietnamese government sorting it out, instead of someone having to hire mercs?’

‘They’re dragging their feet, apparently,’ said Mac. ‘From what I gather, these bandits have the local authorities in their pockets. And going through normal channels in Hanoi could take days — which the hostages might not have.’

‘I am flying out from Heathrow tonight,’ Castille said. ‘Do you have a visa?’

Chase nodded. ‘All the stuff I got in the SAS is still valid, far as I know.’ As part of the preparation for a mission in Cambodia — the very one on which he had met Sophia — he had been issued with visas for all the neighbouring countries, in case the team needed to exit the region by an alternate route.

‘The plane takes off at nine o’clock.’ Castille regarded him hopefully. ‘It would be very good if you were on it with me. I would like your help.’

Chase said nothing, conflicting thoughts running through his mind. His practical side knew he should be demanding more details: the exact location of the operation, who else would be involved, pay and conditions, extraction options. But all those were irrelevant without another question being answered first. ‘Why’d you come to me?’ he finally asked. ‘I’ve been out of the Regiment for a year, and I haven’t exactly been keeping in shape. Married life does that to you — the most exercise I’ve had has been dodging the plates Sophia’s thrown at me.’ That was an exaggeration, as she had only done it once, but it had been a deciding factor in prompting him to move out. ‘And don’t say it’s to help me out of a bind. I told you, I’m not here to accept charity.’

Castille held up his hands. ‘And I am not here to offer it. Edward, I came to you because you are my friend, and I know how good you are at what you do.’

‘Only I don’t do it any more.’

‘There’s nothing worse than a man who wastes his potential,’ Mac said quietly.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Chase snapped, with genuine irritation. ‘I’m in the middle of a fucking divorce! I’ve got her solicitors breathing up my arse trying to make me sign something I don’t want to — if I jet off to bloody Vietnam, they’ll probably use it against me as a case of unreasonable behaviour.’

‘Eddie, you may not want to hear this, but that could be the best thing for you as things stand,’ said the Scot.

‘Maybe it would,’ Chase countered, bitterness now entering his voice, ‘but maybe I don’t want what’s best for me. Maybe I want what I want — which is not to get fucking divorced!’

Mac shook his head. ‘I know exactly how you feel. I’ve been there. But sometimes these things happen — they have to happen. It hurts at the time, but it’s less painful in the long run.’

Chase fixed his former commander with a penetrating stare. ‘And that’s how you felt about splitting up with Angela?’

Mac’s own gaze did not waver. ‘I did what had to be done. The fact that I wasn’t at all happy about it didn’t stop it from being right.’

Another silence, this one longer, before Chase turned back to Castille. ‘Hugo, I’m sorry, but… no. I can’t do it. Thanks for the offer, but… things are just too fucked-up and complicated right now.’ Castille’s expressive face clearly revealed his disappointment. ‘You’ll have to find someone else.’

‘But you are the best person by far,’ the Belgian objected.

‘What about Jason Starkman?’ Mac suggested.

‘Starkman? Fuck him,’ Chase spat with a vehemence that startled both the other men. On their questioning looks, he continued: ‘He’s one of the people Sophia was banging behind my back!’

Mac was genuinely shocked. ‘Jason did that to you? I would never have…’ He shook his head in dismay. ‘Bastard.’

‘Yeah,’ said Chase, still seething. ‘So I wouldn’t exactly recommend him.’

‘He was not on my list,’ Castille said apologetically, ‘but I shall put him on it so I can cross him off again!’

‘Why weren’t you considering him?’ asked Mac.

‘I do not know where he is. I heard he had been approached by some organisation, but since then…’ A shrug. ‘He has vanished. Nobody knows what he is doing.’

‘If he’s got any sense, he’ll stay a long fucking way from me,’ Chase growled. ‘But I can’t do this, Hugo. Sorry.’

The Belgian sighed. ‘I am sorry too, but… I understand.’

There was an awkward pause, which Chase broke by leaning back in his armchair with exaggerated casualness. ‘So. What else have you two arseholes been up to since I saw you last?’

Castille’s offer was not mentioned again during the couple of hours Chase spent with his former comrades, although its shadow was ever-present. Finally, and somewhat reluctantly, the Yorkshireman said goodbye, making mutual promises to keep in touch. ‘If you change your mind…’ said Castille hopefully.

Chase shook his hand firmly. ‘Good luck in Vietnam, Hugo. Keep your head down, eh?’

‘I will.’ Again, Castille’s disappointment was obvious, but this time he let the matter drop. ‘And you do the same, no? I would rather be dodging bullets than dodging lawyers!’

‘Yeah. At least when you’re dodging bullets you get to shoot back.’ Another handshake, both men grinning, then Chase turned to Mac. ‘See you around.’

‘Fight to the end, Eddie,’ Mac replied.

‘Always do.’ They shook hands once more, then Chase departed, heading back out into the cloying urban heat.

He had barely turned the corner from Mac’s house before despondency settled over him like a heavy cloud. Castille’s offer might have come out of the blue, and — Chase kept telling himself — it just wasn’t practical to accept right now, but at least it would have been something. Would tramping through a jungle on a rescue mission really be any worse than sitting around in his miserable little flat?

That thought kept returning during the two bus journeys it took him to return to said residence. There was mail waiting for him, but any hope that there might be a job interview amongst it was soon dashed; it was all junk. He slumped into the lone armchair. The flat was hotter than ever, but the clatter of traffic outside reminded him that opening the window would bring its own unpleasantness.

‘Fuck,’ he muttered.

He stared blankly across the room for several minutes. This wasn’t how he’d expected his life to turn out after leaving the SAS. Then he’d been newly married and in love; now, he had a table strewn with divorce papers, and whatever his own feelings for Sophia, they were not mutual…

Cliff Richard squalled tinnily from his phone. Speak of the devil.

He flipped it open. ‘Hi, Soph.’ At the back of his mind he still had hope as he waited to hear her voice. Maybe her tone would have changed, maybe she would want a reconciliation…

That hope was impaled by a stiletto heel. ‘Eddie,’ Sophia said, her crystal accent filled with impatience and disdain. ‘Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all morning.’

‘Turned my phone off,’ he replied. ‘Had a… job offer.’

She expressed no interest. ‘Well, I need to talk to you. Can you come round to my house?’

‘Not sure I know where that is, Soph,’ said Chase. ‘Is it anywhere near our house?’

He expected a sarcastic retort, but got only a huff of irritation. ‘You know exactly what I mean. Come over as soon as you can.’

‘That could take a while, seeing as I don’t have a car any more.’

‘Then take a cab.’

He could no longer hold in his own exasperation. ‘Fucking hell fire, Sophia! I guess you forgot what it was like when your dad cut you off. Remember, when you had no money? When your credit cards might as well have been cream fucking crackers for all the good they were? I can’t just hop in a taxi and cruise over to Chelsea, because I can’t. Fucking. Afford. It. You get that?’

Another huff, this time overflowing with undisguised disgust. ‘Oh, very well. If it’ll get this sorted out, I’ll come to you. Where are you?’

He gave her the address, then closed the phone with an angry snap. ‘Fuuuuuck…’ he said, kneading his forehead.

Sophia arrived a mere twenty minutes later; considering London’s traffic, Chase imagined she had driven at Formula 1 speeds through the city’s rat-runs. Not wanting to give her any further ammunition, he went down to meet her on the street rather than letting her inside the dismal apartment. ‘Nice car,’ he snorted on seeing what was parked on the double-yellow lines, hazard lights flashing. ‘Which Hooray Henry did you get to pay for that?’

‘No one you know,’ Sophia told him, giving the brand-new Maserati Coupé a casual glance through her sunglasses before curling her glossed lips at the surroundings. ‘So, this is where you’re living now? I’m not impressed.’

‘Can’t say I am either, but needs must. What do you want?’

She took off the glasses and shook out her long black hair. ‘My solicitors told me you haven’t replied to their last letter yet. I thought I’d see if a personal visit would prompt a response.’

‘I didn’t reply to it ’cause I don’t agree with it. You’re asking me to say something that isn’t true. I wasn’t the one who was sleeping around.’

Sophia bared her teeth. ‘We’ve been through this, Eddie. It’ll make things much simpler if you just bite the bullet and go through with it.’

‘You mean it keeps your name clean while I get shat on.’

‘A crude way of putting it, which I suppose I should expect by now, but yes. You have to admit, the financial settlement we’ve offered is more than adequate.’

‘The financial…’ Chase shook his head. ‘You make it sound like a fucking business deal. It was a marriage, Sophia! Maybe that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it does to me. I made a promise.’

‘Sometimes promises have to be broken.’

‘Not by me. If I give someone my word, I move heaven and fucking earth to keep it.’

‘Ah, the knight in shining armour rears his head again.’ Sophia looked away, taking a breath before rounding on him once more. ‘Eddie, I’m sorry to be so blunt, but clearly I have to in order to penetrate that armour — I don’t want you any more.’ Chase felt as if he had been kicked in the chest, but she kept talking. ‘We were in love once, but that was the past. Things change. I changed.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Maybe that’s the problem. You have all these noble, romantic ideas about true love and how marriage should last for ever… but this is the real world. It didn’t work; it’s over. The best way for you to avoid any more pain is simply to sign the papers and finish it, quickly and cleanly. I’ll expect my solicitors to hear from you soon.’ She returned to the Maserati, hesitating as she opened the door to give him a slightly softer look. ‘I’m sorry, Eddie, but we just weren’t right for each other. Maybe someday you’ll meet the right person for you. I hope you do.’

Chase wanted to reply, but found his throat clenched tight by a torrent of emotions. By the time he managed to force them down, Sophia had climbed into the sports car and started the engine. The Maserati carved out into the traffic with a V8 bellow, leaving him standing uselessly on the pavement. He stared after it, hoping it would turn around and bring her back to recant, but it was quickly lost to sight.

Numbed, he headed indoors, collapsing once more into the armchair. The solicitor’s letter was still on the table, taunting him. Just sign, and it will all be over…

His clenched fist thumped down on the chair’s arm. ‘Fuck that!’ he snarled. Mac’s words echoed in his head: fight to the end. His SAS unit’s unofficial motto, but one that he lived by. He knew now in his heart that he would never get Sophia back, but he wasn’t just going to surrender meekly to whatever she wanted.

And he wasn’t going to roll over and die in his own life, either. He was going to do something.

Chase took out his phone and thumbed back through the recent calls to return one. ‘Mac,’ he said on getting an answer. ‘What’s Hugo’s number?’