The Valhalla Covenant

On arrival at the mainland jetty, Reimas took over and manoeuvred the McLaren down the ramp, lifting the suspension more moderately. Jos got out and waited for Finn to make his way out of the wheelhouse where he’d been chatting with the skipper. The trucks were in the parking lot nearby.

Off the boat, Reimas accelerated towards the main road. Initially, the traffic was light but became heavier approaching the massive enclave gates at the Narrabeen Bridge. Heavy as they were they gave, as he well knew, little more than symbolic protection to those within, but more significantly they created a sharp delineation of the rich areas from the poor.

As usual, the city at large was busy and dirty. A long time had passed since services had kept pace with needs, especially since so many who had once lived in rural areas had been forced in.

Several times people staggered out in front of the car, avoiding serious injury as much through Reimas’s quick reactions as from the vehicle’s excellent dynamics and safety systems. Only one drunk hurled a volley of abuse in time for it to be heard.

After twenty or so kilometres grinding slowly through the north side, he made quicker time down the approach to the Harbour Bridge.

Smog lay thickly over the city buildings and the water as always had an oily sheen. The harbour had still been beautiful when he was a youngster, but not so much now, even on a rare clear day.

On the south side, the traffic came to a halt and he resolved to get off the main road. At Zetland, he cut down through the backstreets westwards towards the shady tangle of Enmore then turned off into some of the worst areas of the city, ignoring the warning signs against entry to the area.

Sydney’s ‘forbidden’ territory had an ancient, decaying air that best reflected the most recent chapter of its history as a gangster ghetto. Few showed themselves on the streets amongst the accumulated wrecks, rubbish and the toppled fences that lay partly across the tarmac at irregular intervals. Occasionally, old derelict buildings had yielded and fallen partially onto the road.

Despite it being late morning with the sort of clear-skied glow only a sunny autumn day can have, the place felt sombre and threatening. From moment to moment it looked like trouble was brewing, but in the end Reimas made it through without incident and rejoined the patrolled areas to the west of Alexandria.

Several more turns brought him to Edgeware Road — not far from the destination. An old stone church stood tall and substantial ahead amidst the general squalor and decrepitude. Seeing it, he found his way to the adjacent car park and drove in, winding up through three levels to the top.

The upper level was almost empty. He checked to see if there were any people in the few cars then, reassured, made his way to the storeroom.

The door was secured with a padlock but it succumbed to a couple of blows with a lump hammer. Returning to the McLaren, Reimas extracted the rocket launcher and rifle case from the trunk and carried them through to the storeroom. A small window within provided a clear view of the street below.

In a series of rapid, precise moves he assembled the sniper rifle and sights. Taking aim at someone on the sidewalk, he confirmed that the scope did deliver on-screen reports. A calm male voice let him know that the acquired target was not pertinent. Trust Cort to come up with something like that.

Reimas checked over the rocket launcher then kept his eyes on the road in the remaining ten minutes leading up to the deadline. When the two Institute trucks arrived and pulled over to the side one in front of the other, the two-way in his pocket clicked five times — the prearranged signal that indicated readiness.

Several SUV’s came up the road individually before three large black ones with obvious armour plating appeared in the distance.

Something about the way they moved indicated cautiousness, which in turn made Reimas wary. He gave the signal for approach of the target on the two-way and added another for caution, indicating that he thought Jos and Finn should leave as quickly as they could after they pulled out in front of the convoy.

As he ran his eyes over the scene below him, he noticed a dishevelled woman approaching via the nearer footpath. Covered from head to toe in the sort of tattered old garments that some half blind old beggar woman might wear, her stance somehow told another story. He flicked the rifle to safety and put the scope on her.

Definitely something strange.

Setting down the rifle, he slung the rocket launcher into position, and waited for the trucks to pull out in front of the black convoy.

A minute later as the convoy slowed, he took aim at the first SUV and pressed the fire button. Partially hidden to him from the rocket exhaust, the vehicle lifted right off the ground before flashing into a ball of flame.

As the smoke cleared he could see that the body was buckled and burning but essentially still in one piece. The next rocket shot out then a third, causing the other two vehicles to blossom into flame before any of the occupants emerged from the first.

When men did begin to climb out, Reimas tried the scope on each of them in succession. All of the first four registered as not pertinent. Two ran towards the Institute trucks, but Jos and Finn were already moving. Another fellow ran around in panic yelling for assistance while the fourth had a phone to his ear.

The occupants of the other two SUV’s leapt out while the flames licking over the bodywork were still relatively fierce. A core group of three gathered on the sidewalk not far from where the strange old woman stood, and appeared to be debating what to do next.

Reimas heard a police siren wail in the distance, which gained in volume as he locked onto each figure in turn. None registered a ‘pertinent’ result so he dropped the rifle and prepared to leave. As he turned, out of the corner of his eye he saw the old woman approach the huddled group.

“Good, god, woman, what are you doing?” he cried out loud in amazement.

Binoculars up to his eyes then, he saw something that confirmed an intuition so odd that his conscious mind had previously rejected it. There was a grenade in her hand and she’d just pulled the pin.

Seconds went by.

“Throw it,” he yelled, though there was no chance he could be heard down in the street. He had no great ill will towards Xoldin’s stooges, but the last thing he wished to see was some old woman that had probably been wronged blown up by her own hand.

At the last moment he looked away. A deep, thumping concussion shook the building. Turning back, he saw that men had gone down like ninepins. Yet they weren’t torn apart. Most would live — maybe all.

Thrown a little too late, and possibly underarm by the way the woman had been holding it, the device must have detonated too high above them to kill.

One man struggled to his feet and reached for his weapon, but the old woman sprang away and ran with a surprising turn of speed towards the car park. Very brisk for such an old thing, Reimas thought, confirming his earlier doubts.

Now way too curious to let the matter slide, he threw all his gear into the back, leapt into the drivers seat and slammed his foot hard on the accelerator. Smoking up all four, he launched the McLaren towards the ramp. Shrieks of persecuted rubber echoed sharply through the building as he descended through three levels in well under a minute.

As he slammed the howling machine through one last corner towards the exit, he saw the mysterious fugitive bolting in through the back of the car park.

Leaving no doubt now that she was definitely not as old as she seemed, she indecorously cast off a trail of excess clothing in her cheetah-like passage across the ground floor.

In pursuit, one of Xoldin’s men appeared from behind a pillar, pistol in hand, but Reimas nipped his initiative in the bud by emptying the best part of a clip in his general direction.

The woman paused then, apparently wondering if she was in the firing line.

“Get in,” Reimas called out in a tone that was unexpectedly calm — even disinterested.

Startled, she turned and focused on him, as if seeing the car for the first time.

“Why?” she replied, gasping for breath.

“You won’t make it very far — not unless you come with me.”

No young woman could ignore the risks of accepting a ride with a stranger in the city but this was no time to quibble.

Another shot rang out and in a snap decision she opted for survival and bolted towards him in a flurry of mismatched clothing.