Alex Van Helsing The Triumph of Death - By Jason Henderson Page 0,65

the chopper and were still getting into their seats as they lifted off the soccer field and into the air, a stream of motorcycles and vehicles following. Alex waved at them as they went.

As the chopper pitched and they put on their seat belts, the waters of Lake Geneva sparkled and zipped by below them.

Alex pulled a headset off the wall and spoke to the pilot. “Thanks very much.”

“No problem,” came the voice of the pilot. “So you have humanitarian work to do in the middle of the night?”

“We have an early morning.” Astrid was clearly full of questions, and Alex held up a finger to stall her for a moment. He asked the pilot, “How long till we get there?”

“Three hours. That’s why the dispatcher ordered a long-distance unit. Were those guys chasing you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alex answered. “Thanks again.” He put the headset away and turned to Astrid. “I called the States and had my sister Ronnie fake a work order. If anyone asks, we’re doing a humanitarian visit on the Brough of Birsay. That’s what we do.”

“Who?”

Alex tapped a plaque on the wall above the window of the chopper as they crossed over the other side of the lake, and the trees and land of France came into view. In a little while, they would be over the ocean.

The plaque read:

THE VAN HELSING FOUNDATION.

CHAPTER 22

It was a cold, gray dawn, and the helicopter bearing Astrid and Alex came to the Brough of Birsay, a desolate green island barely an eighth of a mile long.

As they neared, Alex’s eyes flickered open and he took in the island, where the Atlantic churned against rocky beaches and ancient ruins, and one structure was visible from miles away. “That’s the lighthouse,” the pilot yelled back to them. “Do you want me to put you there?”

The lighthouse, not as tall as the lighthouses on the eastern seaboard of the United States but very similar in its white wood and squat adjacent building, sat on the north shore, across the island from where they would be coming over land.

Alex blinked several times, coming awake from having allowed himself a couple of hours of sleep. “Hey.” He tapped Astrid’s shoulder. “We’re here.”

The young witch opened her eyes and stretched, looking out at the island.

Alex was watching the water around the island and then shouted to the pilot, “Wait, wait, hang back. Uh, keep your distance while we…decide.”

“What is it?” Astrid asked.

He had to raise his voice some for her to hear him. “This is Birsay. The Vikings called it Byrgisay, the fortress island. They built strongholds here, but as you can see most of those are ruins.” He swept his arm out across the island.

“You’ve been reading,” she said, just as loudly.

“Just a little after you fell asleep.” Alex was scanning the island, then realized he was looking for a hut or house like Mary Shelley described in the book, but of course that was absurd. He saw ruins scattered across the island, old stone foundations of Norse houses and churches. He had no idea where they would begin to look, but they could probably cover the whole island in an hour or less.

There was another angle he was considering as the chopper pitched eastward into the sun, staying away from the island and running parallel to the scrubby beaches.

“Where is Claire going to be?” he asked aloud. “If the Queen is going to set off her big Triumph, where is she going to do it?”

Astrid looked out. “If I had to pick, I’d go with the oldest ruins.”

Alex pointed to one end of the island. He saw a jumble of ruins, including a broch, a fortification of stones built by the Picts, ancient peoples who held the island until the Vikings drove them off. There were Christian and Viking ruins as well. “That all looks old.”

Astrid shivered, and Alex watched her eyes take in the whole island as she looked out the window next to him. “Yeah, there’s magic there, but there’s magic all over here; if feels like…Rome.”

“Ley lines?”

She nodded. “Magic real estate.”

“Yeah,” said Alex. He was eager to get a look at the ruins. But they also needed to set up their own HQ. He was about to tell the pilot to set them at the lighthouse when he looked down to the water, the gray foam churning with the heavy wind, and the chopper pitched and steadied. The long, dark shadow of a coral reef curved along below the