The Viking Seal

CHAPTER 14 - Preparations and Machinations

Arnold watched Gretta place the last of her belongings in the small suitcase and zip it closed with a dramatic flare.

"Voilà! I'm ready to rumble." She pumped a fist in the air and tossed him a brilliant grin. "All your stuff packed?"

"Yep. I'm actually looking forward to this. I've never been down east before."

"Well you won't be doing much sightseeing. We fly into a little airport at a place called St. Anthony, just south of L'Anse-aux-meadows and from there we pick up the boat, so you'll be maybe one night in Newfoundland and then at sea."

"I'll get to see the coast."

"Rough, rugged and colourless." She hefted her bag onto the bed and went to the night table and took out her gun. "Before you say anything, Arny, it's a safety precaution and it's going with me." Her look was as final as her statement.

"Is Stone packing too?"

"Packing? God, Arny, you sound like an old gangster movie."

"Gretta."

"Yes, I expect he is. An ounce of prevention and all that."

"More like nine millimetres." He sighed and hoisted his own bag onto the bed. "Guess you should know," he said, "I've got my knife from Mexico in here."

"Why Arnold Wainright, you sneaky devil." She slipped her gun into the pocket of her suitcase and clambered over the bed to where he was standing. "I hope you haven't become some new, tougher version of the man I love."

"Would that be bad?"

"Arny, there isn't room for two superheroes in one relationship." She flung both arms about his neck and wrestled him to the bed, sending the luggage crashing onto the floor. "I'm just glad you've come to terms with our—the Congress's—priorities."

"I reserve the right to reassess my opinion . . . meanwhile . . ." He surprised her by getting the upper hand in their little tussle.

****

Sunlight streamed through the living room window of the apartment, and through the bedroom doorway, forming a brilliant yellow, distorted rectangle. Standing with her feet in its warmth, Melanie slipped the sweater off the hanger and began folding it on the bed. Stone sat in a small chair with his feet on the windowsill, watching her.

"Are you sure you want to come? It'll be tough to arrange any flights if something crops up with your dad."

She placed the sweater in the bag and reached for another article of clothing. "I spoke to the hospital last night, he's doing fine and they think he will be out of critical care and into his own room by tomorrow."

"Okay, long as you're sure. Actually, I'm glad you are coming, I don't know how much of Arny I can take if he keeps up his negativity."

"He just worries about Gretta, I think that's cute."

"Cute?"

"Sure. He must like her an awful lot to protest like that over the dangerous work she does."

He considered her expression for a minute. "How come I don't hear any protests from you?"

"Would they do any good?"

"That's not what I meant."

Melanie closed her bag and zipped it shut. "I know what you meant, Jeb. Would I come half way around the world to join somebody I didn't care for?"

He swung his legs down and hauled himself to his feet, stretching. "I certainly hope not, I don't think I could stand two downers."

"Try giving him a break, Jeb, this isn't really his world. Come to think of it, it wasn't mine either until I met you. I still don't want to be a part of some of the things you do."

"Don't blame me for that. It was your dad's expedition. The other stuff had nothing to do with me."

"Who found the mysterious Amin with the legend of the curse?"

"Are you finished packing? I'm getting a little hungry." He stepped around the bed and ducked as she playfully swatted at him.

"No answer for that, eh, Mister Wise Guy?"

****

Balsam Grove enjoyed the reputation of being the ultimate conscience salve for the wealthy elite. An old, established institution catering to those who needed a perceptively correct place to store those family members who were either too old, too ill or too restrictive to be maintained personally.

Once a grand hotel in the early 19th century, Balsam Grove had been saved from the wrecking ball by an astute group of businessmen, refurbished to a laudatory state and converted to a retreat that boasted the cream of the medical and management professions. It was here that Wayne Jenner paid handsomely for his wife to leak out her remaining years in her terminally depressed condition.

He parked his Lexus on the crushed brick drive, next to the main entrance, and heaved a large sigh before climbing out and making his way to the front doors.

"Mister Jenner, how nice to see you again." The severe looking woman greeted him on the front steps, her hands clasped one over the other as if cradling a small secret. Wayne smiled softly and accepted one of the cool hands from Balsam Grove's, manager and client representative. Ms. Duncan was excruciatingly correct in her dark blue power suit with a rose-coloured blouse, held closed at the neck by a silver broach.

Her perfectly sculpted face of impossibly clear, smooth skin, precisely balanced beneath a crown of auburn hair arranged itself into a polite reception, and Wayne reflected on his private description of the woman—polished plastic. He wasn't even positive if she was human.

"Would you care to undertake the business portion of your visit now before you see Mrs. Jenner? I may be otherwise occupied when it comes time for you to leave us." She placed spidery fingers on his sleeve and encouraged him toward her office beside the entry.

He stopped and took a cheque from his inside pocket and handed it to the woman. "I have it all ready, I'm running late this trip so I can't spend too much time on business. Sorry. You understand, I'm sure."

Ms. Duncan accepted the cheque with a frosty tilt of her head. "How sad. I will miss our little chat this time. They are so infrequent." Wayne bowed slightly and turned, hearing her haughty intake of breath as he left and made his way up the grand staircase to the lounges. She followed his progress with a calculating stare.