his visions merely the product of an unhinged mind. But she had seen him read, and there had been no trace of the crazy there, only a man who was tortured by what he saw.
“Yes, I want to go. But can you at least get me a weapon?”
“Head for London City Airport and we’ll sort out a flight to Glasgow, and a helicopter from there. There’ll be a box waiting for you. Stay in touch, Morgan.”
Marietti hung up and Morgan stood in the busy atrium of the library, surrounded by the bustle of the readers, wondering whether this was the right decision. She appreciated Marietti’s trust, his lack of micromanagement of his team, but she also felt a little alone without her partner, or without even Blake at her side. Then, she remembered the grotesque death of the curator, the violence of the Valkyrie in her quest. She pushed open the doors and headed for the taxi rank.
Chapter 10
MORGAN STEPPED OFF THE charter boat onto the white sandy shores of Iona, turning back to take her bag from the charter boat skipper. One of the Inner Hebrides, Iona was situated off the southwest tip of the Isle of Mull. West from the island was the broad Atlantic, all the way to Newfoundland. The charter flight to Glasgow, the helicopter to Mull, and finally the boat to Iona had only taken a couple of hours, but this place was another world compared to the teeming city she’d left behind.
The light was beginning to fade as Morgan looked around at the little village of Baile Mòr, its stone houses staring back toward the mainland. This was a hardy land, with a small population who preferred isolation and solitude to the bustle of the city. Morgan could only imagine the hell London would be for these people, for here time was measured by the tides, the shifting wind and the cry of the skylark.
A little way from the village streets, the mottled stone walls of the Iona Abbey stood proud, built on the site of the monastery founded by St Columba in the mid-sixth century. It had been a beacon for early Christianity, influencing the spread of faith amongst the Picts and the Scots. Although she had been brought up in Israel, her father Jewish, Morgan felt a momentary longing to find a bed in one of the Christian retreat centers and just close her eyes. The intensity of her missions with ARKANE had taken their toll, and she had the sense that things were only speeding up, that the world was spiraling toward some kind of terrifying end. The glimpses she had experienced were only one piece of the information, but she knew that Marietti understood some of the bigger picture. The ARKANE director had become haggard of late, his beard whitening in recent months. Perhaps it was almost time to ask him to share what he knew.
“Can I help you, lassie?” The broad Scottish accent was welcoming. “I saw you coming from the boat there.” The man wore just a t-shirt despite the chilling wind, his bare arms roped with muscle as he carried a box wrapped in brown paper toward the charter boat that was preparing to leave again. His face was rugged, with deep laughter lines. “Are you with those others?”
It had to be the Valkyrie’s group, Morgan thought. They had a head start on her, but they couldn’t have been here too long.
“Yes, I’m with them,” she smiled as she spoke, “but I missed a connection. Do you know where they went?”
“They’re up at the abbey, all dressed up it seems. But we get all sorts here, to be sure.”
The man shook his head. So many pilgrims came here to worship and pay homage to history, to find their sense of God in this wide open space, that Morgan guessed he witnessed a lot of strange people coming through.
“Thank you for your help.”
The man walked toward the boat, calling to the others to wait up for his package. Morgan bent to her small pack, and with her body shielding the view from the boat, she checked to ensure the Barak SP-21 pistol was loaded .
A rumble of thunder made her lift her head to
“Yes, I want to go. But can you at least get me a weapon?”
“Head for London City Airport and we’ll sort out a flight to Glasgow, and a helicopter from there. There’ll be a box waiting for you. Stay in touch, Morgan.”
Marietti hung up and Morgan stood in the busy atrium of the library, surrounded by the bustle of the readers, wondering whether this was the right decision. She appreciated Marietti’s trust, his lack of micromanagement of his team, but she also felt a little alone without her partner, or without even Blake at her side. Then, she remembered the grotesque death of the curator, the violence of the Valkyrie in her quest. She pushed open the doors and headed for the taxi rank.
Chapter 10
MORGAN STEPPED OFF THE charter boat onto the white sandy shores of Iona, turning back to take her bag from the charter boat skipper. One of the Inner Hebrides, Iona was situated off the southwest tip of the Isle of Mull. West from the island was the broad Atlantic, all the way to Newfoundland. The charter flight to Glasgow, the helicopter to Mull, and finally the boat to Iona had only taken a couple of hours, but this place was another world compared to the teeming city she’d left behind.
The light was beginning to fade as Morgan looked around at the little village of Baile Mòr, its stone houses staring back toward the mainland. This was a hardy land, with a small population who preferred isolation and solitude to the bustle of the city. Morgan could only imagine the hell London would be for these people, for here time was measured by the tides, the shifting wind and the cry of the skylark.
A little way from the village streets, the mottled stone walls of the Iona Abbey stood proud, built on the site of the monastery founded by St Columba in the mid-sixth century. It had been a beacon for early Christianity, influencing the spread of faith amongst the Picts and the Scots. Although she had been brought up in Israel, her father Jewish, Morgan felt a momentary longing to find a bed in one of the Christian retreat centers and just close her eyes. The intensity of her missions with ARKANE had taken their toll, and she had the sense that things were only speeding up, that the world was spiraling toward some kind of terrifying end. The glimpses she had experienced were only one piece of the information, but she knew that Marietti understood some of the bigger picture. The ARKANE director had become haggard of late, his beard whitening in recent months. Perhaps it was almost time to ask him to share what he knew.
“Can I help you, lassie?” The broad Scottish accent was welcoming. “I saw you coming from the boat there.” The man wore just a t-shirt despite the chilling wind, his bare arms roped with muscle as he carried a box wrapped in brown paper toward the charter boat that was preparing to leave again. His face was rugged, with deep laughter lines. “Are you with those others?”
It had to be the Valkyrie’s group, Morgan thought. They had a head start on her, but they couldn’t have been here too long.
“Yes, I’m with them,” she smiled as she spoke, “but I missed a connection. Do you know where they went?”
“They’re up at the abbey, all dressed up it seems. But we get all sorts here, to be sure.”
The man shook his head. So many pilgrims came here to worship and pay homage to history, to find their sense of God in this wide open space, that Morgan guessed he witnessed a lot of strange people coming through.
“Thank you for your help.”
The man walked toward the boat, calling to the others to wait up for his package. Morgan bent to her small pack, and with her body shielding the view from the boat, she checked to ensure the Barak SP-21 pistol was loaded .
A rumble of thunder made her lift her head to
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