The Eriksson Bequest: A Jack Carpenter Novel

Dedication

To Glenise and Laura, the two most influential people in giving me encouragement and keeping me on the straight and narrow in yet another intense but enjoyable project.

To all of those women who over the centuries have faced suppression through archaic cultures, religious paradigms and modern-day pent up male anger. Jack’s second adventure shows how the female side can rise above all of this to win the day and maintain their rightful place in society.

A WORD OF WISDOM

Age appears to be best in four things; old wood best to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read.

- FRANCIS BACON

Key Places

Key Players

Glossary

Family Trees

Introduction

When Vikings Ruled Their World

Many of us have the misconception that the Vikings had remained, within reason, localised and focused on conquests adjacent to their homes in Sweden, Norway and Denmark. How wrong could we be?

Yes, there were the early attacks close to home, but their realm had no bounds and their incursion into Europe and western Russia in a relatively small time slice of three hundred years, sculpted the culture of these mediaeval countries for centuries to come.

A furore Normannorum libra nos, Domine! - From the fury of the Northmen deliver us, O Lord!

This is the horrific cry that would be drawn out of many a final breath of clerics and their followers as the Vikings laid waste to kingdoms and bishoprics alike as early as the eighth century.

Depending upon which language or dialect, similar cries of warning resounded across Europe from the west to the east. Repeat raids over the ninth century and beyond meant that their prime targets, Scotland, England and Ireland could never rest comfortably.

The Viking fleets grew exponentially in size and range as a product of wealth extracted from their spoils. Neither oceans, seas, nor rivers were safe from Viking plundering such were the versatility of their craft.

They extended their fighting territory not only by ship range, but by building remote strongholds or longphorts, fortified coastal bases not only in Ireland and Scotland, but as far south as Germany and France.

During winter Vikings would remain at these bases rather than head home to face the impossibly unnavigable icy seas to the far north.

Most unnerving of all was when large Viking groups decided to forego their typical pillaging raids to pursue large-scale, permanent conquests.

It was debated over the centuries about why Vikings resorted to conquest and settlement of foreign lands. Not because the small amount of arable farmland in their northern homes could no longer support the growing population, but to create their own power bases outside these homelands.

The conquered lands were forums where ambitious Viking pirates with low standing in the pecking order back home could escape these stigmas, improve their fortunes, and become their own masters.

From there the Vikings targeted the early mediaeval Franks, the forerunners of the French, Dutch, west Germans and Belgians.

It took years, but eventually, the Vikings received significant resistance from the Franks, as they had from every kingdom they had plundered earlier.

Where else could they go but those lands that had exhibited weakness before?. England was again a prime target. She was relatively tiny compared to the aggregated size and strength of the Frankish countries and more importantly was not unified; a collection of small kingdoms. To Englanders, the Vikings became the Great Fleet as they marched the length and breadth of the land.

Three legendary Viking kings; Ivar the Boneless, Hafidan and Ubbi, led the charge, the culmination of which saw the conquest of York, a bloodbath that had not been seen before and leaving York the largest Viking stronghold in all of England for more than a century.

It was only Alfred the Great in the Kingdom of Wessex who could stem the Viking bleed tide. Again the Vikings gave in when it all became too hard and allowed Wessex to remain under England rule. The Norse zone, stretching throughout all of England except for Wessex, was known as Danelaw.

It was not long after Alfred’s death that his son Edward the elder and his warrior sister stood up and launched campaign after campaign to the soon to be vanquished Vikings as they fled England.

So the pattern repeated. The Vikings, finally driven from England, rolled on to their next conquest. By the early nine hundreds they had moved once again into Ireland. This time using more sophisticated, versatile longboats, using the seas and rivers to wreak their havoc.

Unsurprisingly, the strength of the Vikings came in numbers as their wealth and manpower grew. Whilst all of Ireland’s attacks were being rained down by a sizeable proportion of the Norse Vikings via Scotland and England, there were still significant forces extant in the longphort bases in southern and western Europe.

A Viking fleet of more than a hundred ships left the base on the Loire and approached the northern shores of the borders between Spain and Portugal. Defenders of the Christian kingdom repelled the attackers, who pressed on southward to the Muslim nation of Cordoba. There they sacked Lisbon and Cadiz leaving a wake of devastation before eventually being defeated by a local Muslim army.

Again the pattern repeats. Once more the Vikings; so near yet so far.

The Vikings’ conquests were never well planned. They would blunder their way through but sooner or later would be forced to retreat; their axiom ‘live to fight another day’. All bravado and not a lot of brains. The dose was repeated over and over.

Whether it be France, Spain, or later what is now known as Italy, the Vikings leading their flotilla would eventually sail home with much less riches and pride than they had anticipated before embarking.

But like dogs with a bone, they would not let go. The Vikings would eventually head for the east to conquer the Byzantine Empire and other kingdoms that dwelt along the banks of the Black Sea and beyond. The native Slavic people dubbed the Vikings as the Rus. Many of these Viking leaders in the east were the subject of folklore and historians’ writings over the coming centuries as they settled in an area which later became western Russia and today the Ukraine.

The Rus eventually settled down as farmers, assimilating into whichever society they chose.

Some Vikings did remain as warriors and, known as the Varangians, became a highly trained and skilled army, the Varangian Guards, whose sole responsibility was to protect the Byzantine emperors.

This nomadic urge to fight, pillage and plunder, many times beaten off, yet still willing to shake themselves awake from the defeats to come back for more.

Eventually, the female side of Viking royalty and in turn folklore would prevail; commencing with a forthright and focused young woman who would stand up to her father and would represent the beginning of the most lauded line of female Viking leaders and warriors of all time.

She would see the start of a dynasty of Viking explorers, rather than plunderers. Expansions throughout the Atlantic Ocean would be through settlement, community and building relationships.

But this Viking warrior queen ran deeper than that. Her own and her descendants’ explorations would lay a solid foundation of power and wealth; a foundation that would remain embedded in Icelandic folklore for a thousand years. A legacy that would threaten the lives of more than half the population of this sometimes barren but beautiful land.

Part 1 - Bibles of the Eras 1 - Sagas.

Chapter 1 - Code Red

Eighteen months had come and gone. The bond between Jack, Agnetha and Danny had become more than cohesive. They were inseparable, to say the least. Their union in life and business, seamless at best, and the icing on the cake. Musketeer-like, to use a literary analogy.

Jack was the driving force within their tiny but powerful clique. His resilience. His initiative. A leader and champion for the twenty-first century.

Jack’s mother, Eva, Agnetha’s brother and sister, Daniel and Julia, and Jack’s hitherto unknown half-sister, Elisabeth, all surviving the trauma of Jack’s initial mission outside the Army.

What better way to start a second life? A renaissance, if you will. Agnetha, a new partner in life. A new career and a shoring up of a life-long friendship with his best mate, Danny.

Danny’s office - Arthur’s Creek, northern Melbourne

8th November 2013

‘Jack, code red. Activate now, mate! Now!’ Danny’s accelerated heart rate was manifested by the higher than normal tone of his delivery in opening their, what was to be, one-sided and brief conversation.

Since Jack, Agnetha and Danny launched their private investigation agency, JADE, they’d agreed they would take on a broad spectrum of clients. So far most of them were day-to-day tasks. Following money trails, skip traces for suspicious spouses and in-house testing of bank security systems.

Their first six months in operation proved fruitful, without leading to a well-funded early retirement. This was their first code red. A means of communication, devised by Danny, so that each or all of them could give the signal to act. What would follow would be an encrypted email that could only be accessed by one of three satellite phones.

Danny had sounded pressured. He knew he was supposed to leave them be. After all, it was their honeymoon, and after the traumatic year in Vilnius they had finally settled in as one extended family in Melbourne. They had finally nailed everything down and had their ducks in a row.

The ceremony was simple and attended by a select few. What awaited was meant to be the pressure valve release of a lifetime. The real celebration of the bond they have. Together. Alone. An exotic beach away from everyone. Before they started their lives together in earnest, a time to reflect and refresh.

Whilst Jack and Agnetha waited patiently for Danny’s encrypted email, they packed everything in their Samsonites, knowing full well that the severity of a code red would mean a quick incursion to wherever the instructions led.

Keflavik international airport, Reykjavík, Iceland

10th November 2013

Flight FI 455 from London Heathrow was the final leg of a broken journey for Agnetha and Jack. What could be compelling enough to draw them away from the warmth of the Maldives at this time of year? Ten hours to London Gatwick Airport. Then the tedium of navigating the transport systems of London, the culmination of which was a two and a half-hour transit on not one, but two trains, from Gatwick to LHR. and a further three-hour flight to Keflavik International.

The twin Pratt and Whitney engines of the Boeing 757 were working in harmony as they orchestrated their descent into Reykjavik. The symmetry of the chaotic yet orderly circular swirl of the jet-stream accentuated by the inhalation and expulsion of the sub-zero air, the product of the heavy snowfall of autumn, was a sight to behold for those that were witness on the ground. The two hundred passengers were deprived of the show, oblivious to the beauty of the jet propulsion’s effect on the sleet and snow.

No surprise to those regular commuters at this time of year. Snow always fell around now and had a purchase on falling during at least three of the four seasons. Even in summer, if you were brazen enough to call it that, temperatures rarely got into double figures. Jack and Agnetha’s Boeing touched down and pushed back on time at 2310.

Their late-night arrival was a blessing in disguise. Under normal circumstances, the weather, the remoteness and the last minute booking into the one and a half star dump of a hotel would cause them to blanch with dismay. But the nature of the call to Jack’s private mobile phone, the number of which was held only by three people, Danny, Agnetha and himself, had cause to shake them both into action once Danny had laid out the detail.

Their propensity for visiting cities with, what one might say, less than ideal taxi regulations continued here as the 1980s Ford cab wove through the narrow streets, dodging people, cats and, of course, other cars whose drivers were sufficiently intrepid and had their vehicle insurance paid up. The snow had transformed the already perilous ride into a deadly game - slipping and sliding, a reminder of those rides Jack was accustomed to back at Luna Park. Only then he knew he had a better than fifty percent chance of going home alive.

They checked in. The honeymoon suite came to mind, but that idea was soon dispelled as Jack and Agnetha looked left and right at their surroundings in this poor excuse for a pension. Jack had better digs in his early days in Afghanistan.

Their breath had to fight to get out as the glacial overhang had left their lips frozen to the point that words were almost impossible to form. Jack merely waved his credit card at the concierge and picked up the key to their double on the third floor. As they traipsed upstairs, lips and throats red-raw from the cold and, even under their thermal gloves, fingers that felt like dwarf stalactites about to plummet to the ground to disturb their sister stalagmites, they both prayed in unison that these godforsaken, poor excuses for hotel rooms were heated, even if it was basic.

Under normal circumstances they wouldn’t be daunted by a cold bed chamber. After all, they did have each other. It was still officially their honeymoon, but as they reached the landing just outside their room they looked at each other and without words knew that the free-spirited love that filled their nights in the Maldives was gone. They wouldn’t undress. They would leap into bed and hold each other close until morning.

Having picked up some takeaway local fare of puffin and jellied sharks’ fin on the way to the pension, a risk in and of itself asking the cabbie to stop somewhere unscheduled in a city they knew little about, they settled into their warming dinner to plan their approach to Danny’s encrypted email.

Jack wasn’t sure if he was shivering from the cold or the life and death mission that was no doubt before them.

They had an early start and needed to get to downtown Reykjavík to meet with Sigur Rós, the patriarch of many large family businesses. The driving force behind the majority of Iceland's wealth.

Rós tower

Corner Borgartún and Nóatún, CBD Reykjavik, Iceland

0900 11th November 2013

Their elevator was express to the forty-second floor in the tallest building in Iceland. It was remotely programmed to allow them to enter the elevator from the lobby once they had called up to Sigur Rós’ security team as instructed in Danny’s despatch the night before.

They were greeted by two of Rós’ personal bodyguards, each at least two metres tall and one hundred and fifty kilograms. Jack and Agnetha were dwarfed by their imposing stature. As it was, they were both well over one hundred and eighty centimetres. After being escorted into the ante-room adjacent to Sigur Rós’ office they waited what seemed an interminable time until they were buzzed in by Lómell, Rós’ personal assistant. Then they were ushered in to Rós’ office to at last meet their mysterious client.

That was all either of them could recall before the lights went out. It all happened so quickly. Ros’ security guys’ stealth belied their size as they applied the chloroform face cloth, followed by a black balaclava with no eye sockets. The latter of which being superfluous given their now state of unconsciousness.

Somewhere remote, near Isafjörծur, northwest Iceland

Jack was blinking his eyes open and shaking his head back to consciousness. His head thumping in time with the sleet as it beat against the sides of the building in which they were held captive. Agnetha was still out of it, but without her hood.

His thinking still affected by the anaesthetic, Jack puzzled, I thought we were supposed to be this guy’s saviour. Danny’s note was unequivocal. Yet here we are, God knows where, brought to bear by God knows whom.

Their manacles were old and oxidised. Had not been used for years. Yet they were effective. Jack’s struggles against the clasps were futile, and without lock picks he had to cede to their immovability.

Jack peered out what he believed was the only window in the shack in which they were held captive. The red and grey grime built up on the perimeter of the glass and frame meant that the aperture for viewing anything of import was all the more reduced.

What he did see was a veil of empty beauty. Layers of snow, but still relatively thin allowing some of the volcanic rock cooled over millions of years into a surreal hexagonal form, to lurch above the arctic white of the crisp snow. Beyond the near distance, the contrasting grey hue of the boiling water and steam spewing forth from the subterranean geothermal activity was melting any proximal snow and ice, clearing the way for the red and yellow tinges of the sulphur and copper deposited over the millennia.

Jack mused as he absorbed the sights of a land truly foreign to him, if I didn’t know better I could be anywhere in this solar system other than Earth. The otherworldly surroundings of this makeshift prison cell had left Jack uncharacteristically on the back foot.

Mesmerised by the sneak preview of the environs, Jack didn’t notice Agnetha stirring and groaning from the after-effects of the chloroform. She remained speechless. Lost for words, that’s a change from the norm my darling, Jack thought fondly, hoping Agnetha couldn’t read his mind.

Jack wasn’t himself. Accustomed to taking control of just about every situation that confronted him, here he was, shackled to an old rocking chair in a land that he had no idea about. Nor had he the opportunity to perform any research prior to the code red. Unlike Vilnius last year, he was vulnerable. Underprepared. Only Agnetha to back him up. No SVR elites to come to their rescue, and more importantly no Danny.

He hadn’t even met this Sigur Rós, but he wouldn’t mind betting that there would be as much intrigue in this Norse assignment to unravel as there was last year. Little did Jack know that the origins of the mysterious landscape he could just see through the murk of the only window in his confinement cell would provide the same backdrop through the ages that would define what made Sigur Rós sufficiently paranoid to engage Jack’s team.

As Jack’s mind wandered again, he started to convulse, noticing Agnetha re-entering unconsciousness as his thoughts turned to his blurred vision of what he could see out of that single portal to the outside world. Surely, I haven’t been taking in the landscape long enough for it to be dark outside. Although this is the Arctic Circle and the transition from day to night is smoothly continuous. The change imperceptible.

Between his convulsing and his increasingly heavy eyelids Jack realised that Sigur Rós had administered a drug more complex than chloroform. Slow release, designed to allow the victim to establish their surroundings before being re-secured in their state of insentience, only to be released when Rós was good and ready.

Everything then went the deepest shade of black. Again!

Somewhere remote, near Isafjörծur, northwest Iceland

At least twenty-four hours later

0900 12th November 2013

Jack and Agnetha were finally stirring. It would seem that their re-awakening was more permanent this time, yet they were still groggy from the aftereffects of whatever magic potion Sigur Rós’ goons had administered almost two days ago.

The only exit or entry portal that Jack could see from his fettered position was a door that was securely locked with two chains and bolts at symmetrically located points on the left side of the door jamb.

The door itself consisted of rotting timber of massive thickness, with cross members manufactured in what appeared to be the same termite infested timber. One thing though, the cross-members just might have provided enough support to prevent a handcuff-free Jack Carpenter from kicking the door in.

Jack was musing on the way out of his anaesthetised stupor about the combined strength of the layers of centuries old wood, if only I wasn’t shackled, I reckon I could land enough power…

CRASH!... All Jack saw from the other side of the room was the number fourteen boot-sole come rushing through what looked rapidly less and less like a door. Splinters flew everywhere, adorned by the combination of dust clinging closely to the decades old spiderwebs that were once attached to the hinges.

A tall, dark form burst through the door that Jack recognised as one of the security guards from Rós Tower a couple of days prior. He had both arms fully laden with three large tomes, layers of grime had formed making their old green covers almost unrecognisable.

Following close behind was Lómell, Sigur Rós’ personal assistant. No need to buzz us in Lómell, we’re already here, as captive an audience as you’ll ever see, Jack’s sardonic thoughts heralding the return of his wry sense of humour after two days in the mental wilderness.

The first two through the door entered without fanfare. Not so the third and final member of the trio.

‘Captain and Dr. Carpenter, welcome to Iceland, more specifically Súðavik, a somewhat lonely outer suburb of Isafjörծur.’ Finally, they meet their mysterious client. Sigur Rós. His introduction delivered in a well-educated English, a deep and refined accent no doubt the product of an Oxbridge education.

‘I believe you have already met Lómell, albeit very briefly, and allow me to introduce Magnus, one of my twin protectors.’ Turning to Magnus without taking a breath, Rós continued, firstly to Magnus then back to Jack and Agnetha. ‘Magnus, drop those books on the table you’ll do yourself an injury.

‘Now, Jack and Agnetha, if I may be so informal?’ Rós swivelled one hundred and eighty degrees to address them. ‘Let’s get down to business.’

Motioning Lómell to remove the manacles, Rós revealed what Jack and Agnetha had waited two days to hear. Now made all the more complex by the forty-eight hour hiatus that they had just experienced.

‘I had no alternative but to put you through such a bizarre ritual. Rites of passage in the true sense of the words. A necessary evil given my present tenuous circumstances.

‘As it is, I have those that envy my position. Mere mortals, but with means at their disposal, and hardly legal, that would facilitate their ability to take down my empire and relieve me of my wealth and power. But now, other factions have surfaced. More legend based, fanatical and less susceptible to conventional means of protection.’ Rós paused to reflect and pointed at the three dusty volumes on the wooden table in the centre of the room.

‘These books represent powerful forces from bygone days. The book of Icelandic Sagas, the Northern Grimoires, the book of Icelandic magic, and the only existing first edition of the Lutheran Augsburg Confession, a confessional benchmark for the entire island with its well-practiced theological accents.’ Jack and Agnetha were unshackled but didn’t flex a muscle, all the while focused on Sigur Rós’ discourse, knowing that his explanation would reach its inevitable conclusion sooner rather than later.

‘There are modern-day Icelanders still practicing ancient mediaeval spells and incantations in their efforts to achieve a return to the halcyon days of the Icelandic Sagas. The Lutherans, the majority of whom are good people, also have minority sects within that would seek to return Iceland to the sixteenth century.

‘They see my wealth, fifty percent of Iceland’s entire GDP, a threat to this vision of an ancient rural, post-apocalyptic Iceland. A vision they will stop at nothing to achieve.’ Jack and Agnetha remained silent throughout, awaiting the burning question. Why compromise their trust as he had done over the past two days?

‘Back to the here and now. My paranoia had reached such proportions that I could trust no-one. I had taken it upon myself to research both your pasts, given each of you only converged recently following very diverse paths to your eventual coming together last year. SVR. Lithuanian Mafija. Teutonic Knights and Australian Special Forces training. You must admit a recipe for disaster if applied in combination against me. A formula for success and ultimate protection if harnessed as a positive.’ Rós then motioned them to rise and follow him, Lómell and Magnus through a rear door they hadn’t noticed before, mainly because they were shackled to the chairs facing in the opposite direction. As he did so he also motioned to Magnus to gather the three Bibles of the Eras and bring them through

As he was striding along, giant steps for a giant man, of at least two hundred centimetres, he continued, ‘My sources were thorough. You have indeed checked out as a genuine possibility as an answer to my prayers.

‘Lady and Gentlemen, our command centre. Your pay cheque, one million US dollars should you succeed in eliminating all threats to the nebulous hold my empire has on survival. A bonus half million if you locate my kidnapped wife, Unn, and deliver her to safety.’ Sigur Rós elucidating the second part of the assignment with equal parts anxiety and sadness in his voice. Both Agnetha’s and Jack’s hearts skipped a beat.

‘Your reputation last year precedes you and your qualifications are second to none in bringing about historical revenge to those who would usurp what is not rightfully theirs.’

Agnetha and Jack turned to face each other as they entered the command centre with a ‘here-we-go-again’ look.

Their thoughts synchronised and focused on the Code Red delivered what seemed so long ago now, but was only seventy-two hours prior. What have you gotten us into now, Danny?!

Chapter 2 - The Reach and the Resource

Súðavik, near Isafjörծur, northwest Iceland

Sigur Rós’ command centre, Ground Floor

1000 12th November 2013

As Jack and Agnetha entered the command centre, sandwiched between Magnus and Lómell at the front and Rós at the rear, they focused on what appeared to be an endless array of LED screens affixed to the walls of the fifty-metre long room. Down the full length of the room was a central walkway, surrounded left and right by workstations, twelve in all. Seated at the workstations were twelve individuals intensely focused on dual displays, alternating between the two, as the data displayed dictated, after each iteration of their workings. The small twenty-four inch monitor at their Ikea desks and the fifty-five inch screen on the wall nearest their workstations. The large screens synced with their workstations as appropriate. Their necks swivelled in unison like the mechanical laughing clowns at Luna Park.

From behind, Jack and Agnetha prepared themselves for continuing narrative and direction from Rós on what would be an engagement that was growing far more complex than they had anticipated, even following Danny’s Code Red.

‘I have given you the opportunity to absorb the level of resource I have devoted to the crisis in which I find myself. These twelve men and women are experienced and qualified in all things technical and intelligential in relation to present-day Iceland and Scandinavia. Their experience ranges from Icelandic Coast Guard intelligence through to the combined federal secret police and local police - the Lögregla. Their technical qualifications, all of them graduating with IT and Humanities double degrees from some of the most prestigious tertiary institutions worldwide. M.I.T., the Sorbonne, London School of Economics and, close to home for you Jack, University of Melbourne. Dr. Carpenter, their intellect would be not out of place in your elite company. Your expertise in eastern Europe and Russia now world renowned.’

Jack was taking all of this in, and at the same time was able to ponder his surroundings. Not just the level of technology applied, but the environment in which it all sat as the command centre, as Sigur Rós so eloquently put it. The room was well served with natural light. But not from traditional fenestrations that would be typically strategically placed to capture the Iceland sunlight, a phenomenon that can play tricks with most architects who don’t take into account the strange Icelandic summers and winters.

To serve this purpose in the command centre, however, there were skylights the full length of the room, the two end panels with reflectors to capture the sun when it was at its nadir. Particularly important in winter when the sun only surfaces for a couple of hours. The bank of sun replicating LED tubes that paralleled the skylights had already kicked in, the sun well on its way in its premature descent to the horizon - and not yet lunchtime.

Instead of windows, the entire east and west walls were clad with heavy black material, that weaved its way behind each large screen to re-emerge and drape the wall until it reached the next monitor and had to duck behind it, only to resurface again when it finally reached the end of the room. The two ends of the room were reserved for smart cabling for wireless activation of all the centre-room technology.

No wonder this guy is paying us seven figures. Jack thought. This room would have set him back the entire GDP of any third world country. There must be more to this than meets the eye.. If only Danny were here to analyse this equipment and particularly what the mysterious black sheeting is. Does anyone else in Iceland know about this setup or are we the only ones?

Sigur Rós continued his monologue, oblivious to Jack’s on the run mental summation of their environment. ‘The twelve have been segmented into three teams for their technical and intelligence research. As you can see, each team of four has been separated by a revolutionary soundproof screen so their concentration cannot be broken.

‘They are clearly desktop research people. Each team, expert at not only present-day Icelandic culture, in particular the illegal subculture that exists in each corner of our beautiful country, but each one assigned to focusing on one of the three Bibles of the Eras. The Sagas, the Book of Northern Grimoires and the Lutheran Confessions.

‘Dr. Carpenter, you may have noticed I said ‘assigned to’ rather than ‘expert at’ these ancient practices. Well, my dear, this is where you come in.’ Rós’ tone was a tad condescending for Agnetha’s liking and born from complete ignorance of her short fuse and physical capabilities. ‘Your qualifications as Doctor of Philosophy in…’

Before Rós could get anywhere near finishing his monologue, and unbeknownst to Magnus and Lómell, Agnetha, whirled around and with her right elbow angled at slightly greater than ninety degrees, leapt upwards to entwine it around Rós’ neck. Everyone was taken by surprise, even Jack.

‘I have a name. It is Agnetha. Do not treat me like one of your lackeys or two things will happen. You will not get my considerable talents, as you put it, to decipher this web of Icelandic folklore, and I will tighten my grip, making your other concerns pale into insignificance. You will have your life drained from you inside thirty seconds. No more need to have anyone be ‘an answer to your prayers.’

Rós was starting to cough and splutter, surprised at Agnetha’s strength and his inability to break the hold she had on him. His ruddy complexion was already showing signs of a sickly pallor, on its way to a spectrum of blue before unconsciousness would take over. Magnus had only taken a split second to respond. He was a man of elephantine strength. But still, it took most of his immense power to break Agnetha’s grip. Once he did she fell to the ground on all fours like a tiger ready to pounce again. But before she could, Jack had her on her feet and in his arms.

Sigur Rós continued as he rubbed the area near his carotid artery and then his Adam’s Apple, expecting the bruising to surface sometime soon. ‘Agnetha, I had no intention to demean your status within the assignment. I now see how foolish I was to even contemplate flippancy when addressing you. If I may continue?’ A rhetorical question, so Rós pressed on.

‘Your qualifications in your intensive study as a PhD graduate from St Petersburg, in particular in the area of anthropology and ancient and medieval folklore are respected globally. Having been put to the test last year, you came through. Your talents were the basis of the most significant breakthrough in solving a five-hundred-year old puzzle that re-united Lithuania with its medieval crown jewels. Not to mention bringing down one of Europe’s most tyrannical Mafia lords of the twenty-first century.’ Sigur Rós paused to allow Agnetha to respond in a more civilised manner.

‘I appreciate your kind words, Sigur Rós, but as they say in the classics, ‘to refuse praise once is to seek praise twice’. I am but thankful that my skills were of use in support of Jack, Danny and Ivan’s team in bringing about the success of our mission. You must also remember I had a lot at stake personally, and that does have an overarching motivating effect.’ Agnetha’s modesty underlying, and somewhat masking her apprehension on what Rós would expect from her in this engagement.

‘You speak of your wife, Unn, and how she has been kidnapped, almost as if it were an unrelated matter to preserving your wealth and power from attack by the forces you have outlined. In fact, does it not tell a tale of your priorities inasmuch as you offer twice the fee for your fortune than you would for the safe return of Unn.’ This time it was Sigur Rós’ turn to react strongly to what he interpreted as a slur on his character. Clearly, Agnetha had deliberately sought to reveal the passionate side of Sigur Rós, a tactic that she found effective in evincing the veracity of a tale that otherwise seemed restrained in its full nature.

‘Agnetha,’ Rós shouted with an intensity that hadn’t yet surfaced in their brief time together. ‘You have no idea what Unn means to me and Iceland. This country’s history is steeped in ethereal traditions handed down through forty generations, from the time of the pre-mediaeval Nordic and Irish settlers. Unn’s family line extends back eleven hundred years. The Sagas of the Laxardl centre on her ancestor, Bjǫrn Grímsson and his granddaughter Auðr.’ Sigur Rós’ emotions were heartfelt and were steeped in his patriotism for present-day and ancient Icelandic lore.

‘But why downplay her importance in all of this?’

‘In reality the fees I offer total one and a half million US dollars. I separated them to give you an idea about the connection, not to lessen the importance that Unn has as my partner and soulmate in life.’ Agnetha listened intently, as she and Jack were eager to allow Rós to display his true colours. It would give them the best opportunity to solve the case. No holds barred. Facts on the table.

‘You see, the three factions I spoke of briefly are backed by serious criminal connections, all members of each of the various factions, but none displaying the intense will to grow their beautiful Iceland as did all of their forbears. They would seek to gain power through decimating all forms of industry and initiative. The few despots leading the charge have disguised this with cunning to the rest of the faction, who genuinely seek to return to the Iceland of old, with its folklore, magic and puritan ways.

‘They have not only taken my beautiful Unn but have turned her against me and are using her and her lineage to champion their sick cause. She actually believes this is the right thing to do.’ Jack couldn’t remain silent for any longer.

‘But Sigur, how can you be so sure? You haven’t mentioned anything about having made contact with your enemy or indeed Unn.’ Jack also feared that Sigur Rós had been holding back.

‘Jack, Agnetha, please come with me. We will be back here once we have commenced our work, but I need you to see this.’

Súðavik, near Isafjörծur, northwest Iceland

The rear quarters - south of the command centre

1100 12th November 2013

Beyond the command centre, Jack had not seen the tiny exit door with double deadlocks carefully hidden behind the cabling wall. Sigur Rós motioned for Lómell and Magnus to remain behind. They remained tacit to the order, bemused that their leader would proceed somewhere alone without their advisory and physical support. Dumbfounded, they looked at each other as the other three disappeared behind the door, Rós having to duck to clear the one hundred and eighty-five centimetre doorway. Jack and Agnetha only just fit through in a normal stance.

They afforded a sideway glance at each other as they took in their surroundings. Jack thought, Now I’ve seen everything. This makes the command centre look like a caravan annexe. Their looks turned to astonishment as they saw the expanded footprint of what must have been at least one hundred squares. A three-storey mansion but much, much more.

Jack and Agnetha could only gape at the thirty-metre wide window. Glass from ceiling to floor overlooking what could have been a breach in the space-time continuum. Almost, but not quite sunset in Súðavik, Superb green-blue water two hundred and seventy degrees as far as the eye could see. Cliffs just below the ground floor they stood on. The home of at least a thousand of the most magnificent birds you could imagine. To think they were feeding on jellied puffin only two days ago in that dump they were forced to stay that first night. Beyond the circus of puffins, a person could peer intensely into the distance and spy several pods of whales diving and surfacing with an eerie synchronicity. Stunning beyond belief.

To the left and the right as they got nearer the panoramic portal to the sea, they noticed fully equipped living rooms and bedrooms, all with en suite bathrooms. All with state of the art accessories fit for a king. There were five bedrooms in all.

Sigur Rós gestured to them to follow him upstairs, with no words necessary until they got to the top of the stairs, an open plan of at least three hundred square metres. The magnificent view from the level below contiguous and still visible as they had ascended. ‘I think you now both understand that this is no game we are playing. The command centre you see downstairs on the west side of the building is for my resource to focus their efforts on the three factions. Here is where you will focus on the three Bibles of the Eras, their decrypting and interpretation being overlaid on the present day intelligence from my team.

‘Your work will require interaction and commuting between this floor and the command centre where all the outcomes will be collated into our final intervention plan.’ Jack was impressed at the level of detail applied by Sigur Rós in the logistics in all this, but needed the full picture of what the real threat amounted to before he would commit to anything. Expect the Best. Plan for the Worst. Prepare to be Surprised. Jack’s thoughts turned to that catchcry that had served him so well in the past.

‘These factions will be operating out of Reykjavik following intense regional preparation, so we will be against centralised and decentralised groups providing a complex matrix of enemies.’ Sigur Rós then pressed a button on a remote control handset and three large duvetyne backed curtains descended in unison, gradually sending the magnificent view into oblivion. The touch of another button and a one hundred and twenty inch projection screen slid down once the blinds had done their job.

‘Now remember, my enemies nor my forcibly estranged wife have no inkling that your organisation is involved, so please listen carefully, Jack and Agnetha, you are the only ace I have up my sleeve.’ With that Rós activated a streamed video with the press of a third button and the most beautiful looking mature woman faded in to view. There were no terrorist guns. No banners claiming responsibility and what was more disconcerting, no apparent threat to whom Jack and Agnetha knew was Unn.

Sigur Rós turned towards a small ante-room they had just passed. The door was closed just seconds earlier, but now slowly opened with the assistance of a mystery guest. ‘Mr Millard, you may come out now.’

Jack and Agnetha could not believe their eyes, all the while Jack thinking, Now Danny you really have some explaining to do.

‘Jack, I know you must have a plethora of questions for me, all based around why I am here and without announcement.’ Danny was also pleased to see Jack. He felt this would be one of their most challenging jobs since leaving the service.

‘Rós here reached my direct line not long after his security guys contacted me to raise the Code Red.’

‘That’s true Jack, I was concerned that there were only two of you and you would need backup from your comms specialist…at the very least.’ Sigur Rós, felt he needed to put some substance behind Danny’s surprise appearance.

‘That’s all very well Rós, but that’s my call. If you want our services then we do it our way.’ Jack said with a half serious glare at Danny. ‘…and you and I mate need to have a chat…but first…down to business’

Chapter 3 - The Threat is Real - Divergent

Súðavik, near Isafjörծur, northwest Iceland

The rear quarters - south of the command centre

Midday 12th November 2013

The screen that had just come to life showcased Unn in her natural glory. Her tresses, platinum blonde and shoulder length, with a hint of grey only serving to heighten the effect of her champagne locks.

Jack was thinking of the first time he reunited with Eva last year. Unn would be the same age, and although Eva’s beauty and imposing physique belied her age, Unn was different. Her hair. Her eyes, a disturbing shade of grey which ran deep and contrasted eerily with her hair. High cheekbones causing her unusually tanned skin to almost erupt, the dimples in her cheeks the valleys to these. An almost otherworldly beauty, a hypnotic face and she hasn’t even spoken yet. Is it any wonder Sigur Rós is pining his loss, but with his cryptic monologue surrounding Unn’s mysterious disappearance, this goes far deeper?

Unn was seated in a high-backed leather office chair, clearly with no expense spared by her captors. The desk at which she sat, hands together, fingers intertwined, as if presiding at court was at least two metres wide and inlaid with leather, a verdant green. The most exquisite piece of nineteenth century Scandinavian furniture.

No makeup, Unn didn’t need it. All that remained for her small but attentive audience was for her to break the silence and the suspense with her reason for being there.

The feed wasn’t live but would be just as chilling as if it had been. Sigur had recorded the live stream as he was watching it just hours before he made that call to JADE, Danny answering in Jack and Agnetha’s absence.

‘Now listen very carefully, Leif, my darling, but do not fear if you miss some of the details, you can replay me to your hearts content. I know you are recording this, and whilst I do not know whom or how many, by the time you have finished seeing this for the first time you will have engaged an external resource and they will no doubt be viewing this with you. A cosy little gathering I imagine, just like we used to do at the Bíó Paradís cinemas in Reykjavik when you were courting me.’ They all looked on, Jack and Agnetha in particular, amazed at the coldness of this woman’s delivery. Agnetha immediately thought, this was no ordinary kidnapping, she’s under what appears very little duress.

But Jack, also pondering Unn’s surroundings, wasn’t convinced. This seems too staged, too choreographed. I’ve seen the Taliban broadcast with captive allied forces’ officers, their demeanour was the same. Calm, but with an underlying fear almost impossible to gauge.

As if on cue Unn continued. ‘You all may be asking yourselves, ‘Why am I so calm? So positive? Surely, she cannot be onside with those who would seek to usurp her precious Leif’s fortune and the hold he has on our beautiful country?’

‘You have no doubt, Leif, already apprised your friends about my glorious past. My roots weaving their way back to the ninth century, not documented fully until the twelfth century when the Icelandic sagas were commissioned by the mediaeval pagan chieftains to be written by historian, poet and politician Snorri Sturluson.

‘Sturluson was a key lawmaker to the Alþing , the parliament of the day. It was about the time of the emergence of the Northern Grimoires, of which, no doubt Leif will have also briefly mentioned. The combination of the Sagas and the nouveau form of Icelandic magic, the Grimoires, made for a step-change in our enchanting and isolated island back in the day. Gone were the days of the saga wars, the weaker families tilling the land for the benefit of those who considered longevity of settlement held precedence. Gone were the days of the underprivileged.

‘This same combination will triumph, even in the twenty-first century. Yet another metamorphosis that on this occasion will withstand the test of time.’ Unn had only just started her build up to the horrendous truth that surrounded her motives and those of whoever was leading the charge. Jack, Agnetha, and now Danny had so many questions but waited for Unn to reach the climax of her narrative. The capstone of which no-one could have predicted.

This complex tale would unfurl slowly but dramatically. The recorded time of last week’s live feed displayed more than forty-five minutes remaining. Our trio could only pause to reflect the magnitude of what Unn and her as yet unknown cronies had planned for this isolated nation. In a global technology environment how could any country, third world or otherwise, be plunged inexorably into a future that had no future, and for what? What would Unn’s benefactors stand to gain from an entirely agrarian society?

Jack would wait patiently but his mind wandered as he looked at Danny and Agnetha mesmerised by the recording, waiting for Unn to continue, her thirty-second caesura achieving its objective of unnerving everyone in the room, her husband included. There is a deeper, more sinister aim beyond a ‘back to our forebears’’ society behind all of this. The panic behind Sigur’s half-million dollar offer to bring Unn back. His withholding information about the nature of her disappearance and now this video, turning the whole thing on its head and purporting Unn as the perpetrator rather than the victim. Jack then turned his face once more to look at Unn who was about to restart her dramatic transmission.

‘Our return to the Iceland of the halcyon days will be swift and you will be helpless to prevent it. Our sagas, our magic and our old pagan ways, the latter of which the only flawed aspect and major hurdle to morphing into the perfect race.’ Jack couldn’t help but compare this to the Teutonic Knights. They’d become temporary puppets to Hitler and his Nazi regime in the nineteen-thirties, Unn’s vivid description of their intentions was shaping up the same. An Aryan race. The cleansing of Iceland first, and then what?

‘This will be realised when we recycle our pagan roots through the sieve of our newly formed relationship with the German Lutheran movement. A centrifuge that will expel all of the modern misgivings of our Icelandic society and send it to the bottom of the test-tube. Perfection rising to the surface.

‘As you all know, whilst Catholicism is a significant religion here, Lutheranism has grown. It has many devout followers all of whom secretly yearn for the removal of the contamination that other religions bring. And all of this achieved without even a modicum of technology. No need for billionaire oligarchs. The wealth and power imbalance is about to change forever.’ Jack motioned to Sigur to pause the video. There were too many questions so far and he knew that if they were going to add value to the chase this was the best way to approach the lengthy message from whoever was behind this.

Jack, yet to be convinced, broke the deathly silence that shrouded the massive home theatre now that the pause symbol had been activated. ‘OK! Agnetha, Danny. Over there.’ Jack gestured to the leather chesterfields in the retreat at the rear of the third floor cinema. At the same time, nodding his head to Sigur to join them.

Comfortably seated, with the one hundred and twenty-inch still of Unn’s captivating beauty overlooking them, Jack started abruptly. ‘I have some issues with what we’ve seen so far.

‘One. How long have you and Unn been together?’

‘Twenty years. Funny. We actually had our first date at the Bíó Paradís to see Schindler’s List. The irony. One man’s struggle for those who were perceived to be the antithesis of the Aryan race, and that man of Aryan blood himself.

‘We were very much in love, and still are. At least up until last week when she was taken. You must find her. She is in grave danger in spite of what you see I’m sure.’ Sigur’s answer to his first question was what Jack wanted to hear. Any unusual relationship behaviour, sudden outbursts of anger, anything that would indicate subversion was imminent. But no, it would seem that their love for each other remained undiluted, in spite of what they had viewed so far.

‘I’ll get to that, but first things first.’ Sigur was on the verge of breaking down completely, Agnetha and Danny sitting in silence. Jack was clearly in charge.

‘Two. Alright. Leif. Unn kept referring to you as Leif. This deserves an explanation. Sigur.’

‘Very well, I have been Sigur Rós since I entered into my first Government contract. The birth of what you now see as a vast empire. It means Victory Rose, you know. I was positioning myself as a new-age Icelander. I wanted to shake off the ways of the pre-mediaeval stigma that existed with the agrarian days of the sagas.’ The three others were listening intently. There now, a twist in the tale to which they had originally been exposed.

‘Leif Eriksson was one of the most revered Icelandic explorers in all of recorded history. Contrary to popular US historical archiving, Leif discovered mainland North America five hundred years before Columbus. What made it even more grating, land was first made by Leif in what is now Newfoundland, mainland Canada. Very hard for the Americans to take.

‘Icelandic surnames are a patronymic tradition, being made up of their father’s first name with the Scandic form of son, sson. My lineage can be traced back directly to Eirik Raude, or Eric the Red as he is known in English. You see whilst Unn has ancestry from the Saga of the Laxardls, my DNA is influenced by the Saga of Eric the Red. You may well have deduced by now that my real given name is Leif. My surname Magnusson. Leif, Magnus and Eirik, all traditional names handed down through forty generations since the ninth century.

‘I didn’t want any association with my past. Those slow moving, slow thinking farmers. Yes, they may have been the founders of the most beautiful island on God’s earth, but what credibility would I have had from my financiers and business partners? Entrepreneurs didn’t operate ploughs or shuttles. They worked the stock market, bought and sold futures, embraced technology.’ Jack didn’t expect such openness, much less detail, but could see it all coming together as he was forming a scenario of what may have been the lead up to their complex circumstances.

‘Three. Now I know we have only seen about twenty percent of the feed, but my gut tells me that Unn’s message is not what it seems. It appears choreographed to the point that granted, on the surface she’s calm, in control. I really need to see how this plays out in totality, but my guess is that whoever is orchestrating this entire threat is cleverly using Unn against you, making it appear that she is the bad guy.’ Jack put both hands up before Danny, Agnetha or Leif could jump in at this last contentious statement.

‘Four. What I really don’t get is that Unn remains unconcerned for her own safety, putting on the front that she is in charge. But there is something deeper. Leif, are you giving us the complete picture? Your empire, Unn… but there must be something else. That undertone Unn exudes in her delivery. The memory of my own mother, Eva last year when we met for the first time in fifteen years. She was hiding something, just as Unn is right now.’ Jack wanted to get this off his chest. The best way to resolve a conflict is to confront it full on, Jack thought as he turned to Leif. Complete silence, his way of allowing Magnusson to let them in on the real threat. Both to them and his beloved Iceland.

‘When I made that call to JADE it was only after I had my executive check out the parallel of my problems with those you resolved just last year. Yes, at face value there are significant differences, but there is one aspect that does parallel and another that diverges.

‘Firstly, the divergent.’ With that, Leif raised the remote control and restarted the downloaded feed, Unn recommencing with a shake of the head as if waking herself up from a deep sleep.

As if she hadn’t ceased her exposition at all, Unn continued, about to lead into the key facet of the broadcast that would expose the threat that Leif had dubbed the divergent one. That mechanism that made these ultimatums differ from Jack’s experience in Vilnius last year.

‘The imbalance of what I speak, the greed of the rich few, less than five percent of the population who would not bat an eyelid at the ongoing suppression of ordinary Icelanders. Those who would perpetuate the tale that Iceland is the richest country in the world, highest average wage, no unemployment, no poverty. All oligarchy propaganda. The cost of living is so high some Icelanders are living without essentials such as heating, nutritious food and clothes that sufficiently cope with our harsh winters. Our isolation ensures costs of essential services and products remain high without relief.

‘Those living below the poverty line would disagree strongly with the disinformation that flows endlessly from the capital, and once we roll out our plans we will have their support. We may not be a large country by international standards, but the majority are proud of their heritage and workaday life. They don’t want for riches, it is the privileged few who covet their wealth and say to hell with the rest.’ Jack noticed that Unn took great pains to remain silent on accusing Leif, all throughout her dissertation. The so-called oligarchs and business moguls were nameless faces.

Here came the crunch that Jack, Agnetha and Danny had anticipated when Leif spoke of the Vilnius divergent. ‘We do not trust any of you to re-distribute your wealth voluntarily.’ She said with a wry smile. She seemed strained, a little less comfortable than at the commencement of her video-ransom note.

‘The Lords of Snæland, a radical group of wealthy Icelanders with strong roots to our Viking forefathers are claiming responsibility for the