The Valhalla Covenant

Sasha spoke French passably well from having lived in Paris for a couple of years as an exchange student, and was pleased, when a number of dark and curious leads were traced there, to be placed in charge of strategic planning for the operation.

She knew from local experience that with her svelte figure, dark hair, ivory complexion and green eyes, she rated as extremely attractive. The basis of her plan was to use herself as bait to draw out the worst elements.

Since this required putting herself in potential danger, the backup party that accompanied her was larger than most. Jos, who spoke a little French and had considerable experience organizing such operations, went with her. So too did Sebastian, Julian and Marcus, who were all fluent.

Sasha aimed to attract attention by walking alone through Paris at a variety of times during the night and day, dressed seductively. She’d been well aware of the danger when she went to try to kill Zian Xoldin, and had dressed down then to minimize the danger. For this mission, she was outfitted somewhat differently.

Her hair and skin were in particularly good shape since she had been in the GI. Reimas made a point of making sure they all ate well and she was generally well looked after by some of the other women — Erin most of all, who had formed a particular friendship with her. Her clothes and shoes were bought in Paris and her makeup was done in the fashionable minimalist style shortly before she went out.

Fortunately, the weather was fantastic, and her costumes revealed as much skin as possible short of what might have seemed overly sluttish. A schedule of appearances in public escorted by various GI members completed the initial picture. She was a study in beauty, an unknown quantity and seen in all the most chic and expensive places. No courtesan or cheap tart, she was a hot target for the interest of determined men.

After her initial arrival on the scene, she made a point of walking between several fashionable hangouts. On the way she met several men and spoke with simple charm to each. Seeming to be unattended, she was always covered by a hovering flyer, by Jos close by on a motorbike and by a van full of GI operatives.

All of the men she encountered did their best to secure her company for the rest of the day, but after ten minutes or so chatting to each, she pleaded a superfluity of commitments and proceeded alone.

At around three, the day began in earnest for her with a late lunch in the company of several admirers. After that, she joined a large protest against Global Unity that had nothing to do with the GI. Some in the crowd were members of the local ‘Le Petit Fleuve’ but there did not seem to be any coherent leadership.

After meeting some of them there, however, she was reassured that they were good people and so took up an offer for late lunch and drinks in an edgy new underground music bar.

By early evening, she left alone and walked casually through the streets, admiring the scenery, the people and the ancient buildings. She loved, better than almost anything else in Paris, Saint Chapelle in the Chateau Vincennes, and wished to see it again at sunset, as had been her habit in times more peaceful.

On the way there, Julian alerted her by wire to a possible suspect that appeared to be tailing her. As time went by, they grew more certain. Sasha allowed herself to feel a degree of panic, knowing well that it would add an air of authenticity to her situation. She walked faster, as she entered the grounds of Vincennes, looking around occasionally and brushing past others with less apparent goodwill than before.

Near Saint Chapelle, she turned and her eyes were drawn to a figure across the square. The man was tall, wore a dark business suit and large sunglasses. He also held a cane, or at least something that looked like one. Hurrying around the corner, Sasha intended it to look as if she were trying to disappear down the way while actually making for the main door.

Inside the church, she made straight for the celebrated “Rose Window’ and was immediately struck again with its beauty. She stood at the side towards the back, as if attempting to hide, and admired the stunningly ornate and colourful Gothic artistry.

Before long, a slight scuffing of shoes on the stone floor gave away her pursuer’s entry. Sebastian, up in the flyer confirmed that it was he, and that, strangely, a fast and flashy Alpina had pulled up outside. Vehicles were not normally admitted to the chateau grounds.

Hurrying in, the man looked right then left before he spotted Sasha. He slightly overshot her position, giving her the opportunity to get out past him, but just outside, there were two others. They grabbed her, and as she fought them off Jos roared up on the bike. Leaping off, he tackled Sasha’s attackers alone before Marcus could even exit the flyer.

Things looked grim for him for a moment until he remembered his stun gun. Blood streamed from a cut on his forehead and he reeled under a cudgel blow before he squeezed the trigger and felled the first opponent. Marcus took the other two by surprise.

Sasha was wired with a remote link to the brain scanner in the flyer. In case they failed to capture such targets, the readings would at least help them form useful conclusions. All she had to do was look directly at each of the men in turn, which she did as well as the scuffle allowed. Capture was, however, the plan and the plan, such as it was, was well executed.

Marcus’s stun attack left two more twitching on the pavement while the driver took off, leaving his cohorts.

“The stunner seems to have worked well,” Marcus commented as he nudged one of the limp bodies with his shoe.

“Yeah, perhaps a little too well,” said Sasha, bending down to take a closer look.

She shook her head.

“Sebastian, can you get any readings on these three?”

“No life signs,” he replied over the wire.

She stood up and looked hard at Jos.

“How safe are those stunners?”

“Perfectly,” he protested. “Literally perfect. Many years ago, there were cruder devices that caused a statistical number of deaths, but not these. They’ve never been known to kill — not before, in any case.”

“Well, they have now. What are we going to do?”

Fortunately it was near dark and nobody was about.

“Leave them here.”

“Do we have readings?”

“Yes,” Sebastian answered, hearing her perfectly well and responding over the wire. “Like no others, I might add. In fact, I’d say this is what we’ve been looking for. Wait till you see it. It’s like these guys had no emotions — all of them.”

Jos searched all three, quickly but thoroughly. They had money and cell phones but no identification. The cells had no contacts in the memory and unregistered cards. He plucked hairs from each and placed them carefully into separate plastic bags.

“We’ve as good as got what we came for,” he said. “Let’s get out of here before someone happens along.”

The next day, nothing happened at all. Sasha spoke to plenty of men, but no attempts were made to abduct her. Several men, including one young lad of no more than seventeen, were persistent in their attentions, but the brain scanner showed nothing out of the ordinary. It seemed they were simply impressed by her charms. The team had the distinct impression that the elements they were targeting were now avoiding her.

Throughout the afternoon, the weather deteriorated and so did the social climate. Amongst other incidents, the protest from the day before was rejoined and became a riot.

When the police arrived, the riot dissipated initially, only to clone and grow in absentia, spreading out through the city. Ill feeling in France, now, was as great as almost anywhere else. Successive governments, reactionary or otherwise had failed to sufficiently prune the rich and give reasonable facilitation to the lives of the poor.

Everyone knew that it made no sense in economic terms. Even teenagers with fuzz and pimples knew that growth could only come from giving more money to those who would almost be guaranteed to spend it, while governments still fell for the tired lines of conservative commentators.

Now they were beginning to pay the price. Agents other than the GI had created the climate of confusion and mistrust necessary for rebellion, and now the simmering tension had become a pot that had boiled over.

By mid afternoon, the trouble in Paris was so widespread and severe that all the GI agents could do was watch for incidents where their limited input could prevent tragedy or great material loss.

Not long before dark, a large group of rioters gathered outside the Louvre and began to throw stones. Soon the stones became Molotov cocktails and before the hard-pressed riot police could arrive they were in the process of smashing their way through the locked doors.

The cultured Sebastian, observing quietly overhead in the flyer, was driven to greater rage and disgust than he had yet experienced, and leapt into the gunnery seat before anyone could stop him. Riff-raff never created anything — what right had they to destroy what their betters created?

Lindel jumped up from the pilot’s seat and grabbed him from behind, but before she could drag him away, he’d unleashed two short bursts of fire.

A huddle of bodies lay bleeding before the main entrance and the rest ran in shock and confusion. Sebastian fell down, then, in shock, amazed at his own sudden brutality, and Lindel tried to calm him.

Minutes later, the gendarmes arrived and, taking in the scene before them, could see the full tragedy of what their city was now facing. The beauty of the past had been protected, but France’s people knew all too well how desperate the poor could become.

No one knew or even suspected who had protected the Louvre. Those gendarmes that attended knew also, that despite potentially great damage to their cultural artefacts having been narrowly averted, the wave that was coming might well set such a momentary triumph to naught.