Kane Gilmour - Ragnarok

The crescent-shaped airplane shifted and fell partly away from Fenrir, who shrieked. She was getting back up, recovering from the blow, but slowly.

Fossen, came Her voice. You have failed.

“No,” he said, feeling a tremble in his legs. “The portal is stable!”

But it is not secure. You brought the children of Adoon to my doorstep.

“The children of what?” Fossen’s thoughts became panicked. “I didn’t know. How could I have-”

Fossen’s twitching body froze. Dust rose in the distance between him and the portal. He saw this world in shades of monotone gray, like old photos of his father, Edmund Kiss. It had unnerved him, but not nearly as much as what he saw now.

Dire wolves.

Perhaps a hundred of them.

Running toward him.

He’d been around the creatures a lot. He understood their moods. Their body language. These hundred predators were out for blood.

His blood.

“My Lord, why?” Fossen shouted.

No reply. Fossen ran away from the approaching horde, quickly arriving at the bone wall. Gripping the protruding bones, he climbed as fast as he could, reaching the top just as the hundred dire wolves arrived at the base and launched up toward him.

“The portal is open!” he shrieked.

He turned toward the glowing sphere.

Fenrir stood again, the plane falling away. The giant’s head turned toward him, its jaw dangling sickly, its body covered in white blood and ruptured wounds, looking very mortal.

Not a God.

Tears welled in Fossen’s eyes.

He stood still.

The portal winked out, drawing a gasp from his lips.

“We can start again,” he whispered.

The leash remains.

Her voice sounded almost sad now, as though filled with a disappointment more deep and complex than anything he had felt before. It brought tears to his eyes. He fell to his knees, weeping, waiting for the dire wolves to reach him and exact the punishment he now knew he deserved.

But then, as though by magic, the portal returned, blooming brighter than ever before. Fossen flinched away from the light, covering his eyes with his arm. A hot breeze washed over him. He chanced a look and in the fraction of a second he had left, he recognized the mushroom cloud rising into the gray sky. Then the shockwave hit, first melting and then obliterating his body, the dire wolves and the massive bone tower, leaving only dust and one more crater.

Outside the Gleipnir Facility, Fenris Kystby, Norway

4 November, 0520 Hrs

King stumbled into the cold night, leading the remaining members of Endgame through the dark. Deep Blue, Knight, Queen, Bishop, Rook, Beck and the Russian woman had all survived the final confrontation and explosive finale. But they’d lost Carrack and the whole White team, Reggie and Black Six, not to mention Keasling in New York. Deep Blue hadn’t talked about it yet, nor had King, but Keasling was a good friend to them both. They would feel his loss for years, both personally and professionally, as he was their only trusted liaison to the US Military.

He pushed through a low-hanging pine branch laden with snow and held it. The clearing beyond was lit brightly by the Perseph-one’s spotlights. As the team hobbled into the clearing, the pilots and Aleman rushed out with med-kits.

With a smile, Aleman said, “Reports from around the world are coming in. Looks like you did it.” Then he saw their condition and grimaced. He tapped the med-kit in his hand and asked, “Who’s first?”

“Take her,” Rook said. He held Queen over his shoulder. She looked none too pleased about it, still, but wasn’t complaining. The two pilots laid a stretcher on the ground and helped Rook lower her. When he grunted in pain, one of the pilots saw his ruined shoulder and said, “You better come, too.”

“What about you?” Aleman asked King, who was clutching his side.

“Broken ribs,” King said. “Not a big deal. It can wait.”

Aleman shook his head. “You might be the only person on the planet who would say those three sentences in that order.”

King laughed, then grunted in pain.

Aleman turned to the Russian. “Who’s this?”

“Name’s Asya. She’s with me,” Rook said, as he helped the pilots guide Queen’s stretcher toward the plane’s loading ramp. “She’s okay.”

Aleman turned to Deep Blue who gave a nod.

But King wasn’t satisfied. When she turned to the plane, he took her shoulder and said, “Hold on.” She faced him, looking in his eyes. She stood nearly as tall as him, but he wasn’t interested in her height. He was interested in her face. So familiar. When their eyes met, he noticed she was looking at him the same way.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied.

“Haven’t figured it out yet?” Queen called as she was carried up the Persephone ’s loading ramp. “Who taught you how to fight, King?”

A lot of people had taught King how to fight. Hand-to-hand combat instructors, martial artists, every enemy he fought, even Queen had taught him a thing or two.

As Queen disappeared inside the plane, she shouted one more time. “The first person.”

King’s eyes widened. The story, which he’d told the team over beers one night, came back to him in a flash. He was ten. Got the snot beat out of him by a couple of kids. While his mother, Lynn Sigler, pursued typical childhood diplomatic channels-calling the other kid’s mothers-King’s father, Peter Sigler, took him in the back yard and taught him how to fight. Some of the moves became part of his natural fighting style. He’d used a few in the brawl inside the So had Asya.

He staggered away from her as though he’d seen a ghost, shuffling through the deep snow. Recognition slammed into his gut now. The face. The eyes.

“What is it?” Asya asked, stepping toward him.

Deep Blue rushed over, placing a hand on King’s shoulder. “Aleman, get a-”

“It’s fine,” King said. “I’m okay. I–I just know who she is.” He stood straighter, looking into Asya’s eyes. “She has my mother’s eyes.”

Deep Blue looked like he’d been slapped. He whipped his head toward Asya, staring at her eyes. “My God.”

“Her eyes?” Asya said, still confused. “How-”

“Your last name,” King said. “Is it Machtcenko?”

She looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“Because it’s my last name, too,” he said. “My real last name. My parents were Russian spies. Their cover name was Sigler. My father taught us both how to fight. Fenrir’s roar didn’t affect me, probably because of a genetic trait passed down by my parents. You have that same trait.”

Asya’s eyes began to widen.

Despite being completely unnerved by the development, a smile crept onto King’s face and tears threatened to spill from his eyes. Since Julie’s death, he’d felt a void in his life. He’d grown up with a sister and missed that relationship greatly. But now…maybe he had a second chance? “You’re my sister.”

Gilmour, Kane Robinson, Jeremy

Ragnarok: A Jack Sigler Thriller

Dear Reader,

You are just an epilogue away from finishing this book and I wanted to take a moment to thank you for reading. I hope you have enjoyed the journey and that you will come back for more adventures. If you did enjoy the book, please show your support by posting a review at Amazon. com. The Amazon website works on algorithms, meaning the more people positively review my books, the more Amazon will recommend them to other readers. And the more people buy my books, the more I get to write them, which is a good thing for both of us (assuming you enjoyed the book).

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