The Valhalla Prophecy

8

‘This whole thing’s not right,’ said Chase. ‘I don’t like it.’

‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Sullivan told him, though with considerable disquiet. ‘We’ve still got to get those hostages out of there, no matter what. But…’

‘But they are obviously not just bandits,’ Castille said, finishing his thought.

‘Then who are they?’ asked Rios.

‘You said they were all carrying 74Us?’ Sullivan asked Chase, who nodded. ‘The only Vietnamese who are issued those as standard are members of their special forces — or TC2.’

‘What’s TC2?’ said Lomax.

‘Tông cuc Tình báo — Vietnamese military intelligence, officially, but it also acts as secret police and a spy agency. But I can’t think of any reason why they would be taking aid workers hostage.’

‘And what about these Russians?’ Chase asked. ‘It looked like they were in charge of whatever they were doing to Natalia. But what were they doing, and why her?’

‘First things first,’ the New Zealander said. ‘We’ve got to rescue her and the others — and if these people really are TC2, then that makes doing so with a zero body count even more important. If we kill members of their secret police, then believe me, we will be hunted down.’

‘I don’t see how we’re going to manage that,’ said Hoyt. ‘If there’s as many of ’em as Chase said—’

‘We find a way,’ Sullivan snapped. ‘Understand? I got a taste of communist Vietnamese hospitality in the seventies. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy — and I sure as hell don’t want to experience it again!’

‘If we’re going to go in stealthy, this is the best time,’ Chase pointed out. ‘The storm’ll give us cover. No bugger’ll go out into this if they don’t have to.’ Even in what shelter they could find, the mercenaries were still drenched.

Sullivan peered over the rock behind which they were crouching. ‘There’s still only one sentry on this side of the camp,’ he reported, spotting the speck of torchlight. ‘Looks like he’s sticking to the same route. If we time it right, we should be able to take him down without any trouble. Non-lethally,’ he added, giving Hoyt a warning look.

The American made a sarcastic sound. ‘Yeah, yeah. I got the message.’

A plan was rapidly worked out, then the six men advanced on the camp. Having already covered the ground, Chase took the lead. Pausing occasionally to confirm the sentry’s position, he moved in until he reached the line of footprints, then signalled to the others.

No words were needed; everyone knew what to do. Chase hunched down behind a bush a few feet from the path, while Castille took up position nearby. The other men spread out behind them, ready to react if needed.

The wind gusted, raindrops bursting against the Englishman like little bombs. For all the dryness his poncho provided, he might as well not have bothered wearing it. But it served another purpose, the blotchy camo pattern breaking up his outline. With his head low and the bush’s branches further hiding his shape, the sentry wouldn’t see him until he was just a few feet away.

He hoped…

A glance to the side revealed a crouching shadow: Castille. In the other direction, the light gradually got closer, its bearer taking on form as he plodded along the track. A faint gleam of wet metal showed that the gun was still slung over his shoulder. As before, the torch’s beam was mostly following the path, only occasionally checking the undergrowth on each side.

Fifteen feet, ten. Chase tensed, ready to strike. Five feet, and the torch briefly swept over the bush — then abruptly snapped back towards him—

He sprang, slamming his shoulder into the Vietnamese man’s stomach and knocking him to the ground. The sentry tried to cry out, but only managed a choked gurgle as he took a savage elbow to the groin. He convulsed in pain. Chase rolled and wrapped one arm tightly around his throat as Castille rushed over to toss the AKS into the bushes.

Chase tightened his chokehold. The man writhed, clawing at his face with one hand, but then Castille pinned him and the result was inevitable. Eyes bulging, the sentry made a last strangled moan, then went limp. Chase maintained the hold for a few more seconds to make sure he wasn’t faking, then eased the pressure. The man’s head lolled. He quickly checked his pulse. He was still alive.

Shapes rose from the undergrowth. ‘Is he okay?’ Sullivan asked.

‘He’s out,’ Chase reported, pushing the unconscious man away and standing.

‘Good.’ Sullivan looked round. ‘Hoyt, Rios, tie him to that tree there. Gag him, too — he probably won’t be able to shout loud enough for anyone in the camp to hear him over this wind, but let’s not take chances. The rest of us’ll move on. Eddie?’

Chase took point again, retracing his earlier path to the edge of the encampment. Before long, the team were in the bushes behind the largest tent, Rios and Hoyt soon catching up. ‘No one in the open,’ said Castille, surveying the scene.

‘Two men guarding the hostages, yes?’ Rios asked.

Chase nodded. ‘Better check nobody else has gone in there, though.’

Hoyt glanced towards the dark block of the cabin. ‘What are we going to do about the girl?’

Sullivan considered the question. ‘We deal with the guards inside this tent first,’ he decided. ‘Once they’re out of the way, you and Eddie go and get her while we secure the rest of the hostages.’

‘The two guards were at opposite ends,’ warned Chase, ‘and there’s only one entrance. If one of them raises the alarm we’re fucked, so how’re we going to get ’em both at the same time?’

Sullivan grinned, reaching under his poncho to take out a glinting knife. ‘Make another entrance. Okay, let’s move.’

The group split into two teams of three, Chase accompanied by Castille and Sullivan. They went to the closed end of the large tent, while the other mercenaries crept towards its entrance. The Englishman peered through the plastic window again. ‘Still two guards,’ he whispered as he rejoined his companions. ‘One’s sitting by the door — back to it, watching the prisoners. The other’s got his back to the other end of the tent.’

Sullivan quietly used his radio headset to relay the information to the others. Rios gave him a thumbs-up. ‘All right,’ said the New Zealander, ‘let’s open up another door…’

He examined the tent’s corner, then with intense concentration and precision pressed the tip of his knife against it, about four feet above the ground and right beside the supporting pole. The wet canvas strained, then split as he applied more pressure. The constant beat of the rain covered the thin crackle of fibres being severed. Slowly he forced the blade downwards. It was extremely sharp; the fabric peeled apart as if he were slicing a boiled egg. Castille held the material in place as the cut lengthened.

Finally the blade reached the groundsheet. Sullivan withdrew it, taking hold of the bottom corner of the slashed canvas to prevent it from flapping in the wind. A nod to Chase, who in turn leaned around the side of the tent and signalled to the men at the other end. He got another thumbs-up in reply. ‘They’re set,’ he whispered.

‘Weapons ready,’ Sullivan ordered. Making sure Rios and the others could see what he was doing, Chase carefully unshouldered his Kalashnikov. They did the same. He nodded to the mercenary leader to confirm this. ‘Okay. Tell them to go in five.’

Sullivan moved back a little, using his boot to hold the canvas in position as he readied his AK. Castille took up a firing stance as Chase held his hand out, all five fingers extended. He waited until he was sure the other three men had seen it, then brought in his thumb. Four. Forefinger, three…

With the countdown established, there was no need to keep displaying it. All six men knew exactly how long they had to wait. Chase gripped his gun in both hands, feeling a rush of adrenalin. Ambushing the lone sentry was one thing, but any mistakes here and people would die.

Two, one—

Sullivan yanked back the flap, hissing a warning in Vietnamese for both guards to freeze as Chase ducked through and jammed the muzzle of his AK-47 against the closest man’s neck. Castille was right behind him. Simultaneously, the tent’s entrance was thrown open and Rios and Hoyt rushed in. The Spaniard pointed his gun at the startled second guard beside it — but Hoyt had already flipped his rifle around and smashed its butt against the man’s skull. He tumbled to the floor. ‘Don’t you fuckin’ move, Charlie,’ Hoyt growled, planting a foot down hard on his back and bringing his AK back round to push it against his head.

‘Enough of that,’ snapped Sullivan as he entered the tent. He issued an order in the guards’ language. Chase’s prisoner scowled, but raised his hands behind his head before kneeling. ‘Are we still clear outside?’

Lomax peered in through the entrance. ‘Yeah, we’re good.’

‘All right. Keep watch.’ The American nodded and returned to his position outside. ‘Secure these two.’

The weapons pointed at them deterred the guards from offering any resistance as they were bound and gagged. Once they were secure, Chase checked the hooded figures. The nearest was a woman; her clothes were dirty, but with no sign of blood. The other captives were in much the same state. A couple of the men had visible bruises, but they were days old, received when they were taken hostage rather than from subsequent beatings.

‘Okay, we’re here to rescue you,’ Sullivan announced quietly. ‘We’re going to untie you. Don’t make any noise, okay? If you understand me, nod your head.’ All but two of the prisoners responded. ‘Free the ones who nodded so they can tell their friends that we’re getting them out of here,’ he told his team, before signalling to Chase and Hoyt. ‘Okay, you two get Natalia. Be careful — we still don’t want to risk a firefight.’

‘Don’t marry her,’ added Castille with a smile. Chase flicked him a cheery two fingers before ducking out of the back of the tent.

The rain hit him again like a fire hose. Behind him, Hoyt muttered an obscenity. ‘Which way?’

‘Round here.’ Chase dropped low and made his way through the undergrowth around the edge of the camp. As he approached the cabin he spotted the second sentry’s light amongst the trees, but it was some way distant. There was no movement in any of the smaller tents. ‘All right, here we go.’

He emerged from the bushes by the cabin, Hoyt following. The slatted blind behind the single window was still closed; no way to tell if the Russians had gone back inside. He readied his rifle and climbed the steps. ‘Okay, on three…’

Another silent countdown — then he turned the handle and darted inside.

Natalia was still unconscious on the table. But she was not alone.

The red-bearded man, wearing a white lab coat, was taking a blood sample from her arm. He looked round, annoyed at being interrupted — then his expression flashed to fear as he saw the two armed intruders. He whirled, rushing for a walkie-talkie beside the computer—

Chase shoved open the sliding door and thrust the Kalashnikov at him. ‘Freeze!’

Hoyt took aim at the Russian’s head. ‘You heard him. Don’t move.’ The man hesitantly retreated.

‘Watch him,’ said Chase, entering the inner chamber to check on Natalia. The syringe that had been inserted into her arm was slowly filling with dark blood. Even asleep, the young woman’s expression was one of discomfort. He rounded on the Russian again, frowning. ‘What’ve you done to her?’

Hoyt stepped closer, hefting his weapon threateningly. ‘Answer him, Ivan. Or don’t you speak English?’

The man blinked. ‘Vy Amerikanskya?’ he said, before following it with a rapid-fire protest in Russian. Chase had no idea what he was saying, but the man’s fear was mixed with anger — or outrage.

Hoyt’s response was to shove him hard against the wall. ‘Just stay there and shut the fuck up,’ he said, holding his AK with one hand while he started to open the drawers and cabinets with the other. ‘She okay, Chase?’

‘No fucking clue, I don’t know what they’ve been doing.’ The bruises on her arms stood out clearly under the harsh overhead lights. He turned angrily to the — doctor? Scientist? ‘What’s in those drips? Will it hurt her if I take them out?’ The man regarded him uncomprehendingly, so he took hold of one of the plastic intravenous lines as if to pull it out. The Russian’s expression changed, but not to the worry Chase would have expected of a doctor faced with a threat to his patient; more a dismay that he was about to lose something important. ‘I’ll take that as a no.’

He peeled away the tape holding the needle in place, then pulled out the IV feed. A small bead of blood swelled at the centre of the exposed bruise. The scientist objected; Hoyt thumped him in the stomach with his rifle butt, the Russian collapsing to the floor. Chase removed the other lines, then carefully extracted the little syringe from Natalia’s arm and tossed it away. ‘Natalia?’ he said, leaning closer. ‘Can you hear me?’ Her eyelids twitched slightly, but she was a long way from being conscious. ‘Bollocks. We’ll have to carry— What’re you doing?’

Hoyt had shrugged off his backpack, sliding the laptop inside before resuming his search of the drawers and stuffing handfuls of what Chase guessed were research notes in with the computer. ‘Finding out what they’re working on.’

‘That’s not why we’re here. Help me get her up.’

‘In a minute. She ain’t going anywhere.’

‘She won’t be if you don’t give me a fucking hand,’ Chase complained, but the American was still rifling through the cabin’s contents. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he muttered, before turning back to the young woman. He gently patted her cheek, but there was no response.

She was still connected to the medical monitors. Chase glanced at them, hoping they would show some change in her condition.

Hoyt was reflected in one of the screens. His gun swung towards the Russian, who was trying to push himself back upright—

The Kalashnikov’s thudding bark was almost deafening in the small space as it unleashed a three-round burst. The scientist’s white coat erupted with splashes of deep red as the bullets tore through his chest.

‘Jesus Christ!’ Chase yelled, his ears ringing. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

‘He was coming at me,’ Hoyt replied.

‘No he wasn’t — he was just sitting there, you fucking psycho! Now the whole fucking camp knows we’re here—’

The smoking AK swung round on a new target: Chase. ‘Drop your gun,’ the American ordered coldly. ‘Do it, or I’ll put you down too.’ Chase reluctantly let his rifle clatter to the metal floor. ‘Okay, you’re gonna be my pack mule. Pick her up. Now!’

The Englishman lifted Natalia off the table. She moaned faintly, but was still limp. ‘You bastard,’ he growled as Hoyt closed his backpack and reshouldered it. ‘You knew they were doing this to her, didn’t you?’

Hoyt ignored his question, instead gesturing towards the exit. ‘Okay. Get her outside, and we’ll—’

The door opened. The man with the feeble moustache rushed in, rain-soaked hair draped over his forehead. He started to say something in Russian, only to halt abruptly as he took in the scene. Hoyt’s gun locked on to him. The new arrival stared at the American, watery blue eyes wide — then with a startled gasp he stumbled backwards down the stairs into the storm.

Hoyt watched him run, then snapped his gun back to Chase. ‘Go.’

Chase carried Natalia to the door and looked outside. The gunfire had roused the camp, people scrambling from the tents. The running man reached one just as another Russian emerged. Chase recognised him as the lean-faced man who had been with the scientist earlier. He was not just the leader of the Russians; from the responses of the Vietnamese as he shouted orders, he was in overall charge of whatever was going on.

‘Move it!’ Hoyt shouted. Chase descended the stairs to the waterlogged ground. Natalia was instantly soaked by the lashing rain, her thin medical gown sticking to her skin. ‘Get to the trees!’

Two of the ‘bandits’ ran towards the cabin, their AKS-74Us raised — but an urgent command from the head Russian stayed their fire. Hoyt, however, had no such restraints. He unleashed a swathe of bullets that took down both men, then leapt from the doorway to follow Chase into the undergrowth.

Shouts came from the big tent. Chase saw a Vietnamese man rush from its entrance, waving frantically. He wasn’t one of the guards: that meant Sullivan, Castille and the others had already got the prisoners out without being seen.

But they couldn’t have gone far in so short a time. He expected some of the kidnappers to start after them — but instead their entire focus was on the two men and one woman who had just left the cabin.

They want Natalia back — but why?

Chase had no time to dwell on the thought. Squinting as the wind sent stinging rain into his face, he ran deeper into the jungle. Behind him, Hoyt stopped and took something from a pocket. He lobbed it through the cabin’s open doorway. A couple of seconds later there was an explosion, followed by a swelling, crackling roar. An orange light washed over the encampment. The grenade was an incendiary, setting the laboratory — and everything still inside — aflame.

The American set off after Chase. But the gap between them now gave the camp’s inhabitants a chance to fire without risking Natalia’s life. More yelled orders, the Russian commander’s voice joined by angry calls in Vietnamese. Shots ripped through the trees. Chase looked back. The spreading blaze provided enough light to show Hoyt ducking into cover before returning fire. A scream came from the camp as another man was hit.

The Englishman also saw others spreading out, trying to cut off his escape. He changed direction, weaving between the swaying trunks. Getting away from Natalia’s captors was now his primary objective — but escaping from Hoyt was a close second. He didn’t doubt for a moment that the American would kill him to protect his secret.

Hoyt and the Vietnamese exchanged more shots. Chase kept running. He had lost his bearings in the confusion, pounding across a steepening slope, but couldn’t do anything more than head away from the camp. No way to tell where Castille and the others were…

The radio. He could warn Sullivan about Hoyt!

Chase raised his arms, clumsily shifting Natalia’s weight as he tried to switch on the walkie-talkie. He finally found the dial and turned it, hearing a click from the headset. ‘Hal! Can you hear me? This is Eddie, do you read me? I’ve—’

The ground disappeared in front of him.

With a yelp, Chase threw himself on to his back just in time to avoid careering over a near-vertical drop. Natalia was not heavy, but she still weighed enough to wind him as she landed on top of him. He dug his heels into the mud and pushed himself away from the precipice. He was at the edge of the valley he had seen on the map, the dark chasm below ready to swallow the unwary.

He struggled back to his feet. The radio crackled, Sullivan’s voice barely discernible. ‘Chase? Where are you? Are you okay?’

He set off again, angling up the slope. ‘Hal, I’ve got Natalia, but Hoyt—’

The crack of a gunshot and the thud of a bullet hitting a tree right beside him were simultaneous.

Chase spun, adrenalin and fear surging. He expected to see Hoyt, but the shape approaching through the rain-filled murk was smaller. A woman — one of the Russians — took on form, a white coat partly visible under her rain gear and a pistol in her outstretched hand. She shouted at him, but he didn’t understand the words.

Sullivan spoke through the headset again, but Chase didn’t answer. The woman advanced, aiming at his head. She almost stumbled as a gushing rivulet caused mud under her foot to slip away, but with Natalia in his arms Chase couldn’t do anything to take advantage.

The Russian repeated her demand, flicking the gun towards the ground for emphasis. Put her down. Now. She was easily close enough to shoot him without risking injury to Natalia; the only reason she hadn’t done so already was that if he dropped her, she might roll down the slope and go over the edge.

They were determined to keep her alive, then. But that wouldn’t help him without a major distraction…

One arrived — from an unexpected source.

A hissing rumble came from uphill, growing louder every second. The streams of water running down the slope suddenly became torrents, spray bursting up from rocks and roots. Chase and the Russian woman both looked around—

For a moment he thought the whole hill was melting… before realising he was staring into a mudslide.

Part of the waterlogged hillside had given way under the relentless force of the tropical storm, and now it was thundering straight at him. The sludgy wave front was only about eight inches high, but that was more than enough to sweep the muddy ground out from under his feet.

Still clutching Natalia, he toppled and slithered helplessly down the slope — and fell with the screaming Russian over the edge into the blackness below.