Page 10 of Whispers at Dusk
He didn’t know what it was about the way she was looking at him. Challenging him? Or seeing something in him he really wasn’t sure of himself.
He looked from her to Adam Harrison and then to Jackson Crow.
“So,” he said with resolve, “we’re leaving tonight. I take it we’ll be briefed—”
“Every file from every country will be sent to your inboxes immediately. Along with connections here in the home office for any help you need, and bios on the members of European law enforcement you’ll be involved with. We will be planning a larger team, of course, but this came up suddenly. And they need our help. Also, one of the officials in Norway has a suspicion the Vampire might well be an American.”
“American?” Mason said, surprised. “I understand there were similar killings here thatmighthave been this killer’s start-up. But now, thedisplayof the killings has apparently stretched from country to county. Maybe he’s gotten it all right where he wants it to be, but these killings have been in Europe—”
“I think, in the killer’s mind, the killings have been perfected in Europe,” Jackson said. “I believe the killer’spracticeswere here in America. I have been involved in this for a long time, and I consider it an educated theory. You’ll find everything you need will be sent to you, every piece of information or even supposition that we have. I’ve done all the reading on this and, trust me, there’s plenty of reading material for a long flight.”
Mason nodded.
“All right. So, tonight. When and how do we leave?”
“Private jet, Krewe jet,” Adam told him. The older man shrugged. “I’ve been lucky in life. The plane is my gift to special agents who are...special.”
“I’m packed and ready,” Della said. She looked at Mason.
“I’ve been living out of a suitcase here in New Orleans. I’ll get my things from the hotel.”
“We’ll meet up at Louis Armstrong International,” Della said, rising. She nodded to Jackson and Adam. “I know we’ll have cooperation, and I truly hope we’ll do the Bureau proud.”
“I know you will,” Jackson said.
It took Mason less than fifteen minutes to collect his belongings from the hotel. The drive to the airport where he returned his rental car took another forty-five. He met up with Della Hamilton at the coffee bar in the terminal.
“You’re here,” she said.
“Of course, I’m here. I said I would be.”
“But you don’t seem pleased with the assignment.”
“Oh, you’re wrong,” he said. “I’m just enthralled.”
“You’re just enthralled,” Della murmured. “Strange choice of words.”
“I was obviously being sarcastic,” Mason told her dryly.
“I didn’t miss your tone,” she assured him. “It’s just that we’re headed for Norway. The wordenthralledcomes fromthrall—which is what the Norse called the human beings they enslaved. People tend to think the Vikings were after gold and jewels—and they were, but they were also slave traders. They needed slaves to build their ships and sew their sails and work the land when it was workable, but they also found great wealth in the slave trade.” She paused, shaking her head. “Humanity hasn’t changed. Of course, it wasn’t just the Vikings. The Romans were big on enslaving conquered people, and so on throughout history. And still, though we try to stop it, there are still some places today that enslave others. Anyway, the conquerors could be cruel. Some of the sagas that were written in Iceland in the fourteenth century portray the invaders as great heroes—and the thralls as dull and stupid creatures who needed owners since they were fit for little more than slavery. They’ve found iron collars and chains in archaeological digs, proof of man’s treatment of man, or in slavery, more of woman. But anyway, beingenthralledmeans you’re basically enslaved by someone or something.”
“Woah!” Mason said. “Woah, so, I’m traveling with a walking encyclopedia! But, hmm, you are hard on those people. Are you sureyoushould be going to Norway?”
She shook her head impatiently. “I hardly blame anyone today for the Viking age. It ended a long, long time ago. We call the Dark Ages the Dark Ages because that’s what they were—dark. Torture chambers abounded! Oh, and I love Norway and the Norwegian people. My maternal grandparents were born there.”
“Ah, that’s why they’re sending you,” he said. “You know the terrain?”
“Hopefully, they’re sending me because I’m a competent agent, capable of rolling with whatever comes up. And yes, I know some of the terrain, of course. We traveled fairly frequently when I was a kid.”
“Rich kid?”
She shook her head. “My parents just knew how to make travel with the family into both a fun and profitable event. My mother was an artist and my father was a great marketer—he found buyers for her work all over in ad campaigns and the like. So yes, I know and love Norway.”
“And the Bureau?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I was majoring in criminology when an old friend suggested I use everything I have to get bad guys. I went into the academy straight from college.”
“A dead friend?” he asked quietly.
