Tomb of Odin

Chapter 6

“Thanks for coming, Sam,” Purdue smiled as he stood in the open door. Sam’s taxi left and he was walked up the circular driveway toward the main wing of Wrichtishousis.

“Well, the fee you offered forced me to abandon my wits, I’m afraid,” Sam jested, his huge duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Had to find a babysitter for Bruich again. He is pissed, I’ll have you know.”

“The babysitter or your cat?” Purdue asked.

“I swear that cat is bipolar,” Sam added, “his chess game is way off lately too.”

Purdue chuckled and led the way into his home to show Sam to his room for the time-being until he had assembled everyone he needed for his excursion. When he turned to speak to Sam, the journalist had disappeared.

“Sam?” Purdue frowned.

From another room Sam asked, “What the fuck happened to your lawn, old boy?”

“Oh, you saw that,” Purdue said, “prematurely.”

“Aye,” Sam nodded, staring out the window at the devastation outside.

“Franz is going to be exceptionally upset at this unfortunate development,” Purdue lamented. “My gardener.”

“I see. Looking at this mess, I’d say he has every reason to be,” Sam agreed.

“The monument was struck by lightning,” he hesitated, half amused and totally flustered by the unsettling recollection. “Incidentally right after I told Thor to keep it in his pants, as a matter of fact.”

“Well done,” Sam congratulated him mockingly. “It seems to have been well received.”

“Actually that is exactly what I summoned you for, Sam,” Purdue announced. “Inside the broken cross I found something — something of historical significance, I think, but I cannot seem to find the foothold of the matter to start researching it.”

“And that’s where you need Nina,” Sam guessed.

“Have you been able to procure Patrick’s attention for that yet?” he asked Sam, looking hopeful.

“He is on it, he says. You know, I don’t want to sound paranoid, but if you cannot locate Nina, it is disconcerting,” Sam said.

“I agree. None of my less-than-legal, super-accurate methods have turned her up anywhere on the globe,” Purdue complained with no small measure of concern. “One would swear she disappeared off the face of the planet.”

“Maybe she has gone underground,” Sam speculated, trying his damndest to imagine where Nina would have gone. “But I’m sure Paddy will have more luck. I’m surprised that man has not found Jimmy Hoffa yet.”

They climbed the stairs to Purdue’s home office from where the view was now less magnificent with the broken cross outside. After pouring them both a stiff drink, Purdue ceremoniously removed the surface of his desk. Like a lid, the top sheet of expensively carved and glass-sheeted wood came off the support, which was actually converted into a hidden compartment the length and width of the desk itself.

“There,” Purdue boasted. “I found that inside the shattered circle of the cross head. Peculiar, or did I just miss the invention of such engineering marvels?”

Inside lay the remains of a great chain, reduced to eleven links. The chain links were each approximately 12 inches in diameter and 20 inches long. Even rinsed off from their granite tomb’s dust and wear, it was evident to Sam that the chain was unspoiled, with no signs of corrosion or erosion and not a sign of rust anywhere. It was of an odd color too. Unlike the usual silver or gunmetal hues of chains this size, it was a curious pale yellow, orange variety Sam had never seen before.

“What is it?” Sam asked. He was met with a most unnerving stare from Dave Purdue, a glare that somehow represented astonishment and annoyance together.

“Sam. It’s a chain,” he answered blankly.

“I know it’s a chain, Purdue. What is it made of? and why are you incubating it in your desk?” the journalist retorted impatiently.

“Oh, good, for a moment I thought you had gone simple on me,” Purdue admitted genuinely, provoking a grunt from his guest. “It is supposed to, by look and measure, be some sort of anchor chain of a boat, only… it is cast in pure gold.”

“That’s why it is such a strange color,” Sam exclaimed. “And that is why you are hiding it here.”

“Correct.”

“So what do you need us for? You know its gold. Who cares where it comes from?” Sam inquired, folding his hand under the opposite armpit while holding his glass of whisky.

“The artist who made this was Finnish. This chain had to be part of a bigger chain, I mean, look at this… eleven links would not be enough to close around anything big enough to merit this size of chain. It was part of something huge, Sam!” Purdue smiled. “Something massive.”

“Something massive… in Finland?” Sam teased.

“Drink your whisky,” Purdue sighed at Sam’s mischievous sarcasm. “This is why we need Nina. This cross was crafted in the time of the Second World War in Finland. I can feel it in my gut. There is a lot more to this, not only because it is fashioned from gold, but because by its crude looks you can almost imagine that it was actually used for something.”

“And what would you chain with gold if you could use iron or steel? That’s just weird. Have you researched it on the Internet?” he asked Purdue.

“Need I answer that at all?” Purdue asked.

“No. Nope. Daft question, sorry,” Sam agreed, swallowing the liquor while looking out at the obliterated cross. “It must have been quite beautiful.”

“It was. I suppose I could have it restored, but it would not be the same. Lightning struck it for the first time in almost a century, Sam, to reveal its secret. Wouldn’t it be special if such a thing happened for a purpose?” Purdue rambled in great excitement.

Sam scrutinized the broken relic and considered Purdue’s words. He set his glass down, his eyes never leaving the relic, and dreamily he had to concede that it would be a reach of chance to think otherwise. Gently, Sam noted, “Maybe it was meant to be discovered. Maybe Thor himself pointed you to it.”