Maedhros

by Scribe

Seq to Triumvirate- Frank Miller become involved in an archaelogical project called Maedhros & inadvertently stumbles into a strange new world. As Frank uncovers the secret behind Maedhros, his existence is revealed to enemies he cannot fathom. COMPLETE.

6. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Artifact

Gardermoen Airport was very much like the country of its birth.

This, Eric Rowan decided when he and Jason Merrick entered the terminal following the flight from Reykjavik. On first appearances, the design of the building was very reminiscent of some of the older landmarks scattered across Europe, with its huge gray columns that kept the high walls and floor from meeting. However, the effect was superficial because once one shed the jet lag or disorientation associated with a new place, they would see the outside world through the sheets of glass walls. The inside of the airport was more or less sprawling since there was few internal walls within the main ones. The airport felt like a nexus between the old and new, which was rather appropriate since Eric had always considered airports the crossroads of the modern world.

It was early morning and the airport was bustling with activity.  Eric was somewhat grateful for this organized chaos because it meant that their arrival would be difficult to track.  Ever since they had crawled out of that freezing river in southern Iceland and found their way to a local farmer's house, he had been looking over his shoulder for the assassins that were undoubtedly still hunting them.  Somehow, they had made it to Rekjavik and managed to leave the country without being seen.  He had feared the authorities would give them trouble when they attempted to pass through customs with the artifacts.  Fortunately, airport security these days were more concerned with hijackers to pay too close attention to two journalists carrying a partially exposed crystal embedded in rock and a helmet that could have been bought from any antique shop.

After Jason's lapse in bringing the assassins right to them, Eric had become paranoid of letting anyone know where they were. He knew he should have reported into his news editor Robert, but considering how Robert felt about him at this time, the man would not go to any lengths to protect him if anyone came asking after them. As it was, the man's first order when Eric revealed to him that they had survived the massacre was to sit tight and wait for instructions.  So far, nothing had been heard from the man and though he did not voice it to Jason just yet, Eric wondered if the lack of response had anything to do with the fact that Robert did not expect them to be alive to receive instructions.

Eric made a mental note to contact Dominique when time permitted and see if she knew anything about Robert's possible links to Malcolm Industries.  While Eric was not entirely ready to believe that Robert hated him enough to sell him out to the assassins, he could not discount the possibility either.  Besides, Jason was correct, he did try to bang the bosses' wife and most men reacted rather badly to that.

After arriving at the airport, they took a taxi to the City Center. It was not far from where the University of Oslo was located in the area of Blindern. Checking into the Grand Hotel, Eric had hoped for far less ostentatious accommodations. The Grand Hotel was an exercise in elegance with all the modern amenities and possessed the most important thing that two travelers from Australia could want, a predominantly English speaking staff. With the main language of Norway being Bokmål, a Danish –Norwegian dialect based on Danish, Eric thought it was a necessary requirement. Hopefully their business with Professor Skogull would not take too long and they could get out of the city without having to remain at the Grand for too long.

After checking into the impressive hotel and thanking the gods of credit that they could bill the cost of their accommodations to their company charge account, Eric and Jason took the opportunity for a good night's sleep before seeing Professor Skogull in the next day. 

Taking a taxi to the university a day later, they had seen its outskirts during the drive from the airport and were impressed by its size. It was one of the most prestigious universities in Europe and when one saw it face to face, it was easy to discern why.  Eric could imagine why most of Petra Tebben's colleagues had come from here. It was truly the center of academia for the entire country.  He only hoped that Jason was right about Professor Skogull being able to understand what the artifact was and why someone was willing to kill for it. 

Neither Eric nor Jason had made mention of the supernatural aspects of the situation.  Despite everything he had seen, Eric was simply not convinced that these killers were the boogey men Jason claimed them to be.  There had to be a logical explanation to all this, he told himself.  Eric knew he was being stubborn and his reason for being so adamant had to do with his fear that his beliefs about the world were about to endure a spectacular challenge.  Yes, he did notice the odd things. The fact that the helmet had sizzled when it made contact with the assassin's body.  He did not reveal to Jason that they scared the hell out of him from the moment he had laid eyes on them and it wasn't simply because he knew they were killers. It was a fear borne from under the skin that was almost primordial, the way a mouse knows instinctively that the cat was its natural enemy from the instant it laid eyes upon the beast.

Not that Jason would have noticed the conflict. Since the incident at Hofskojull, Eric had noticed that Jason had trouble sleeping. In the twin share room they had occupied the night before their flight, Jason's sleep had been restless. At some points during the night, Eric was certain Jason had awakened in a cold sweat. He would have asked the younger man about it but since Jason did not make comment, Eric allowed him his privacy.  Even during the flight when he had dozed off, whatever was bothering him in the twilight hours had followed Jason and there was more than one occasion when his eyes flew open in his seat and Eric was certain he was ready to jump out of his skin.

"You okay?" Eric found himself asking during the taxi ride to the university.

Jason turned to him a few seconds later, realizing he had spoke, "you say something?"

"I asked if you were alright," Eric repeated, becoming increasingly concerned about his young partner in crime.  "You seem a little out of it."

"Its nothing," Jason shrugged, "too many thoughts going through my head. None of it making sense."

"Want to talk about it?" Eric offered, seeing that it was not all right.  Whatever worried Jason was reflected in his eyes and it showed Eric that his concerns ran deep.

"Its nothing you to want to hear," Jason retorted, a little angry at Eric because he would not believe that they had stumbled into something dark and sinister, that could not be explained by normal rules of logic.

"Try me," Eric offered, telling himself that he would be supportive no matter how skeptical he was of Jason's fears or beliefs that they were being chased by supernatural creatures.

Jason dropped his gaze to the knapsack at his feet, as if he could see past the canvas into the rock that awaited scrutiny at Hans Skogull's hands.  It was a few more seconds before he raised his eyes to Eric and trusted his friend enough to answer.  Eric may be an ass at times but he was a good friend and Jason was reasonably confident that he was capable of empathy not derision if Jason confided in him.

"That thing," Jason said after a pause, "I think he knew me."

"Knew you?" Eric's brow wrinkled in confusion. "What do you mean knew you?"

"He came after me," Jason tried to explain himself. "When everyone was being gunned down, he came specifically after me.  Why? If it was because I was apart of the news team, they would have come after you."

"Don't sell yourself short," Eric replied quickly. "They could have just as easily been working their way through the room."

However, he could not deny the truth of Jason's allegation. When the leader had seen the young Kiwi, nothing else had seemed to matter.  He had more or less forgotten the others in the room and headed straight for Jason.

"He knew me Eric," Jason insisted, "he knew me personally and he kept asking me about a woman."

"A woman?" Eric's brow arched even higher. "What woman?"

"The Shield Bitch he called her," he answered, "is the shield bitch here too? That's what he said."

"Shield bitch?" Eric burst out because it sounded absurd. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Jason confessed, "but when he said it, there was something in his voice."

"What?" Eric leaned in closer as he waited for the answer.

"Fear," Jason met his eyes.  "There was fear."

**************

It did not take them long to arrive at the campus and Eric was grateful that it was midday since hopefully, the professor would not be teaching a class at lunch time and would have time to talk to them. As it was, Eric wondered how much they ought to tell him since the man would have almost certainly have heard about the deaths of the excavation team by now. He and Jason decided to play it by ear for the moment.  If it became necessary to tell him the whole truth, Eric hoped Hans was capable of hearing it because beyond this particular course of action, Eric had no other plan save running home to Australia and somehow, he had the sense that they were no safer there than there were here.

It did not take them long to find their way to the Paleoanthropology Department with Eric paying little attention to the plethora of pretty co-eds that happened past with their Nordic good looks and perfect bone structure. It was certainly a testament to the urgency of their situation. It seemed so profane as they walked along the manicured lawns and tree-lined paves that little more than a day ago, they were fighting for their lives in a freezing cold river being pursued by possibly supernatural monsters.

When they were finally shown into the office of Professor Han Skogull, they were confronted by a man in his late fifties, dangerously close to retirement age, with snow-white hair and a face leathered by an outdoor life.  They had not made an appointment out of some irrational fear that Malcolm Industries might have Skogull's ear and to do so would be giving the enemy another opportunity to ambush them again.

"Doctor Skogull," Eric introduced himself after he and Jason were invited into the room. "My name is Eric Rowan and this my associate Jason Merrick, we're from Channel Nine News in Australia.  If you're not busy we would like a word with you."

"What does an Australian news team want with me?" He asked with genuine curiosity.

"We've come a long way to see you in order to get your opinion on artifact that has come into our possession," Eric continued, aware that he was being evasive but short of telling the man the truth, it was the best he could do.

"Really?" Skogull looked the two men curiously, wondering what could be so important to bring it to him personally.  "Tell me about it," he asked reaching for his spectacles at the corner of the desk.

Eric nodded at Jason who reached into the knapsack and produced the objects in question. Placing it on the desk, Skogull's first impulse was to reach for the helmet. He studied it for a few moments, his brow arching periodically as he scanned the artifact closely. Of course it was impossible for him to make any astonishing revelation from just this observation alone and Eric was reluctant to tell him about Petra Tebben's estimation of its correct age, not until he heard what Skogull had to say.

"Where did you find this?" Skogull asked putting down the helm after a few minutes of interminable silence.

"Iceland," Eric answered gingerly, "it was found in the a chasm about a kilometer from the surface."

"This isn't exactly my field but the design is unusual," Skogull responded. "Not to mention the size. This is too large for human and the fossilization around the metal seems to indicate extreme age, consistent with what I might have found on fossils of early man."

"Tell him the truth Eric," Jason said suddenly because Skogull could not help them if he did not have all the facts.

Eric stared him. "Jason..."

"Tell him the truth because we need answers and we don't have time to wait," the younger man insisted. "Those people were his friends, he has a right to know what happened to them."

Eric swore under his breath at Jason's outburst. The kid was too damn noble for his own good. It was always a sore point between them out in the field.  Jason had great difficulty maintaining the emotional detachment journalists were meant to have and there had been too many occasions when Jason had complicated their assignments with his idealism.  Unfortunately, it was also one of the qualities that Eric admired in Jason, the fact that despite all the ugliness he saw, Jason honestly believed that people were good and could be trusted if offered the chance to prove it.

One of these days, it was going to get them killed.

"Explain yourselves gentlemen," Hans declared, making the connection with far greater speed than Eric would have given him credit.

"Professor," Eric cleared his throat and threw Jason a dark look, "we took these items from Petra Tebben's archaeological excavation in the Temple Glacier. We were there the day the team was killed."

"What?" Hans exclaimed, rising to his seat, his face turning so white that it almost resembled the shade of his hair.

"Doctor Tebben had requested a news team in order to expose her find before Malcolm Industries had the opportunity to cancel her grant and stopped the work," Eric continued. "She called us in to do a story, hoping that the finds which included that helm and something else she found, would gain national acclaim and she could justify the continuation of the work."

Eric went on to explain how he and Jason had been shown the helm and the primary artifact, the curious crystal like object trapped in a shell of stone. He told the professor of how nine men in dark clothing had appeared in the cavern where the dig was situated and opened fire, killing everyone and might have done the same to them if not for their escape. He omitted the supernatural aspects of the tale, certain that Skogull would find it even more difficult to accept than Eric himself.  However, what he did reveal was enough.

"And there is no way to prove it?" Skogull managed to say after their narration was over.

"Not a one," Eric shook his head. "You can check our credentials if you like and contact the Icelandic authorities. I'm sure my allegation is filed somewhere but truth is, the men who killed the excavation team want us dead and we have to know what is so important about these objects, they were willing to kill everyone to hide its existence from the world."

"But it is impossible," Skogull stammered. "This cannot have been made a hundred and fifty thousand years ago," he said staring at the helm. "Mankind was able to fashion tools and objects out of bone, stone and wood but not metal and certainly not like this. For all its degradation, the work is extremely fine.  Craftsmanship like this is not a mere aberration, it is sophisticated and requires technique perfected over time."

"And this?" Eric gestured to the artifact that Skogull had given a cursory examination.

"I have never seen anything like it. Doctor Tebben was correct in saying that it was not a jewel but it is not a crystal either. You said she claimed it was radiating energy?"

"Apparently the spectrometer was unable identify what it was," Jason added. "She had everyone handling it wear protective gear.  We haven't been that careful but we have avoided touching the crystal or whatever it is directly. She believed this was the major find, not the helm."

Han examined the object while holding it in a pair of calipers, his eyes catching the gleam in its surface.  There was something powerful about the artifact. He could feel its resonance on every level. Even though it was only partially exposed, Hans knew that to discern its true nature it would have to be removed from its husk, so that a proper analysis could be made. His colleagues and friends may have died because of this little oddity of nature and Hans knew to understand why, he would have to unlock its secrets.

************

Frank had just finished his last class and was on his way home when he remembered that he wanted to check in on Hans. Thanks to the events of the last day, with the arrival of their unexpected guests, Frank was ashamed to admit that he had forgotten about the old Professor who was still grieving for those killed in the accident at Hofskojull. After ushering his last student out of the room and shutting the door to the lecture hall behind him, Frank made his way through the faculty building towards the Professor's office.  He wondered if Miranda would be too upset if he invited the old man home for dinner again, especially when they had something of a full house already.

So far the two visitors had contented themselves with remaining in close proximity of the house. Frank suspected that all the traveling they had done to reach him in Norway had engendered in them a desire to simply rest for a few days, without the urgency of having to board some form of modern transport for the next leg of their journey.   In fact, they had remarked wishing to see some of the country because it reminded them greatly of home. When questioned again of where that place actually was, they had once again managed to sidestep the inquiry, inciting Miranda's ire to no end.  Despite her detached and disciplined manner, his wife could be very much female at times and burdened with the gender's natural inquisitiveness.

There was a good reason it was Pandora who opened the box, he thought to himself.

The twins seemed to enjoy the children the most, however, and while parents in this day and age may have reservations about two adult men having such a fondness for two young boys, Frank sensed nothing sinister or inappropriate about it. He could not understand why he was so certain of this but knew that if Miranda did not suspect them in this regard, then he could be confident of his own judgment in the matter.  They told the boys of stories involving wizards and magic rings, of great kings and battles, these were tales so richly textured that Frank was curious to know where they had originated because he wished he had known of them a child. While Sam had little interest in anything literary, his first born nevertheless listened with rapt attention while Pip absorbed everything with wonder and awe.

Walking down the corridor, he heard voices in the quiet faculty. With most of the students scattering to their last classes of the day, the staff usually followed the exodus.  Hans always stayed late since the Professor confessed to him once that it was during these hours that he got the most thinking done. Frank paused in his footsteps because one of the voices he heard belonged to Hans and quickly discerned that the Professor was in the laboratory.  Unaware that Hans was working on anything that required lab work, Frank immediately strode towards the room.  If Hans was throwing himself into some new project, it was the best thing for him Frank decided.           

Stepping into the laboratory, Frank saw Hans talking to two strangers with great animation.  Neither were men he recognized and they certainly did not look like university students. Their eyes darted to him the instant he entered the room, like deer that were caught in headlights. Their anxiety at seeing him was unmistakable and immediately raised Frank's internal alarm that something was not right.

"Hans, is everything all right?" Frank asked, eyeing the men cautiously as he walked deeper into the room.

Hans who had been so engrossed with what he was doing at the bench had not noticed Frank's presence until the younger man spoke and then promptly looked over his shoulder to exclaim boisterously, "Frank, I'm glad you're here. I could use your help on this."

"Professor," the tall man with the dark hair objected almost instantly.

He was Australian, Frank noted silently from the accent as he continued his approach despite the stranger's obvious disapproval of his presence.

"Its alright," Hans said dismissing his guests' fears, "this is Doctor Frank Miller, he's one of our lecturers and a notable paleoanthropologist. You can trust him."

"What is going on?" Frank asked suspiciously, his eyes raking over the two strangers with just as much scrutiny as they were visiting upon him.

"These gentlemen have brought me an artifact from the site at Iceland. This was what Petra Tebben was working on, this was the find that she claiming would vindicate her," Hans said with no small amount of excitement.

"Really?" Frank stared at them because neither looked like archaeologists of any description. The shirt worn by the tall one was worth at least week's salary to Frank. 

"This is Eric Rowan and Jason Merrick of the Australian Channel Nine news," Hans announced while remaining hunched over the workbench, meticulously chipping away the fossilized layer of dirt around the object that had captured his attention so fully. "They were the last people to see the team alive."

"And they simply gave you their artifacts?" Frank stared at Eric with growing animosity. Han's scientific curiosity often blinded him to people and Frank was too much Bryan Miller's brother to be so completely trusting.

"Just wait a bloody minute…" Eric growled, starting to get very annoyed by what this Pom was implying. 

"Frank," Hans raised his head, equally annoyed that he had to stop what he was doing to intervene in the growing tensions. "These men did not steal anything. The excavation team was murdered. They barely escaped with their lives and these objects. They came to me to find out what was so important about these artifacts that Malcolm Industries is willing to kill anyone who has come into contact with it."

"What?" Frank stared at Hans and then at the two men in astonishment, his jaw dropping open in shock. This was the sort of thing he expected from Bryan, not Professor Skogull with whom he shared coffee and discussions about their field every morning. "Murdered?"

"Gunned down right in front of us," Eric retorted bluntly. "Before she died Tebben was certain that this was the find of the century. I think Malcolm Industries murdered them all to keep it a secret."

"Over this?" Frank reached for the artifact that Hans was working on because he was too stunned to think clearly.  He had intended to pick it up by the fossilized exterior but instead his fingertips grazed the smooth surface of red uncovered by Hans.  No sooner than his flesh had made contact, surge of heat passed through his skin. The pain came soon after, sharp and intense.

"BLOODY HELL!" He shouted and released it immediately, allowing the artifact to fall on the floor, his fingertips stinging with pain.

"Frank!" Hans cried out in concern. "What's wrong?"

Frank saw the younger man, Jason reach to pick it up and immediately reacted. "Be careful! Don't touch the crystal!"

"What?" Jason stared at the Englishman who was clutching his hand, his faced etched in pain.

"The bloody thing burns!"

"Burn?" Eric exclaimed in astonishment.  "What you do mean burns?"

"Look," Frank held out his hand and showed the Australian the fingers that had touched the exposed facet.

Eric's eyes widened to see flesh blistering and though it was not a severe burn, it was still a burn produced by an object should not be capable of generating heat of any kind. However, even as the thought flashed across his mind, Eric remembered what Petra had said about it exuding energy levels that were not only unexplainable but also exceedingly high. She had thought it was a new source of power and while Eric had been skeptical about the possibility even after she had been murdered, he now wondered if she had not been correct after all.

"This is insane," Eric stared to mutter. "How can a rock buried under the earth for so long be able to burn someone just by touch? Its impossible!"

"You know why," Jason replied quietly.

"I won't believe that!" Eric snapped, unaware that he and Jason had completely lost the two scientists in the room listening to the conversation. "Its ludicrous!"

"What is?" Frank asked, beginning to empathize with Eric because the anxiety he saw on the Australian's face was genuine. Something was rattling this man badly.

"Frank," Hans intervened, "look at this." The doctor drew his colleague into more familiar territory.

He led Frank to the other side of the bench where the helmet had lain during the entire exchange.  To Frank, the design was unusual and he could not recognize it but it was hardly unusual. There were so much about the past that was shrouded in mystery and despite the efforts of the scientific community to explain everything logically, they could only do so with what evidence they had. The rest was simply speculation.

"How old do you think this is?" Hans asked.

Frank picked up the object and examined it.  He had been around prehistoric artifacts for most of his career and though the fossilization seemed consistent with some of the objects he had uncovered in that time, the logical part of his brain refused to entertain the notion.  This helmet was clearly made of steel and though a proper cleaning was required for them to get a better idea of its origins, one thing did strike him as odd. It was too large for a human skull.  Since his field was the study of hominids, that was the first thing that captured his notice. This helmet was too large for the skull of a modern human. However this could be easily explained as a cause of poor craftsmanship but still it nagged at him, the amount of degradation in the steel.

"If I did not know better, I would say pre-Calcolithic but that's impossible," Frank replied. "This is made of iron and the metal worked during that period was copper."

"I got the confirmation from the lab an hour ago," Hans said proudly. "This object has a potassium argon dating of between 100 – 150 thousand years old."

Frank's eyes widened. "That can't be."

"It is Frank," Hans beamed like a happy child. "And that artifact which burned your fingers may even be older. The spectrometer could not gain an accurate reading on it."

Frank turned to Eric and Jason, hoping that they could tell him something that would refute Han's words but it was clear that even if Eric had difficulty accepting it, he believed everything the Professor had said because he had already heard it from Petra Tebben. 

"I'm guessing you're not going to be able to tell us what that is," Eric frowned, the answers that he and Jason had hoped to find were not forthcoming.  So much depended on their being able to understand the nature of the artifacts, mostly notably their lives. Eric felt a wave of disappointment knowing that they had come all this way for nothing.

"These things are never quick Eric," Hans said patiently, aware of how difficult it must be for someone not of the field to grasp the notion that artifacts could take years to decipher.  "We need to do more testing and now that Frank is here, we may get it to the bottom of what this is even sooner. It will take time but we will find your answers, I promise you."

Hans' words were sincere but Eric could tell by the skepticism in Frank's eyes about their chances to uncover the truth that the Professor was being optimistic at best.  Time, Eric thought himself cynically. Time was as priceless as the artifact Professor Skogull and Doctor Miller were so eager to decipher and Eric was gripped with the feeling that they did not have much of it to squander.

***********

The sun had begun descending from its noonday peak when the dark vehicles arrived at the university.

Bearing little difference from their counterparts in Iceland, the sleek black Jaguars entered the main parking lot of the campus as if they were their animal namesakes, circling the dark bitumen before coming to a gradual halt.  Their appearance captured the attention of anyone in proximity, the gleaming surface of polish metal catching the eye of bystanders under the sunlight.  Students noted in passing the arrival of the cars, some paused long enough to see the vehicle's halt, wondering if someone important was visiting the campus.

They were soon to learn otherwise when they saw the five tall men that emerged in their black suits, their faces pasty and their eyes covered beneath sunglasses. It was impossible to look upon these men and not feel a shudder of some unexplainable fear and students who had paused to look soon found reason to be on their way again.  The men did not ask any questions, they did not need to and because they were not men.

The Nazgul did not like the sunlight even if they found no difficulty moving about in the waking hours. There was little need to ask for directions to their quarry because once again, the treasure in the possession of the humans called to them with a voice of its own.  The Nazgul could feel its immense power radiating outward and had only to follow it to its greatest concentration to find their prey.  The humans had little inkling of its true nature and had no idea that as long as they kept it within reach, the Nine would always find them.

This time, there would be no failure.

*************

With the presence of two extra people in the house, Miranda felt it prudent to make a visit to the local supermarket and replenish their food supplies. Being ex-military, rations were always a priority with her and that thinking had carried on even in this domestic situation.  It always amused her that what military men would call training, housewives called common sense. The mindset that most homemakers had the mental faculties of Lucille Ball when in truth, it was closer to James Bond since they had to know how to do everything.

Her guests had asked to accompany her on her shopping trip and once again, Miranda felt her head filling with questions she should not ask. Bryan had asked that they not ask questions but as Miranda saw their reaction to being inside the car and how they studied everything as if seeing it for the first time, her curiosity surfaced once more.  Who were they that Bryan should trust them so implicitly and why couldn't they reveal their true origins, even if it was just the name of the place?  Frank had become conditioned not ask questions because Bryan and while Miranda understood it to some degree, she could not deny that the lack of knowledge made her uncomfortable.

However, despite all her question about the two men in her house, there was one thing she knew for certain that had no basis for being but simply was. She trusted them.  When they claimed that they would not harm her family, she believed them. Miranda was able to see past most facades and when they said they could be trusted, she knew without doubt that they had not lied. There were very few people that could engender this sort of feeling from her. Bryan, most notably but certainly not two strangers who had entered her life a short time ago with their origins a mystery and their behavior frankly quite odd.

Even now, as Miranda put away the groceries, she glanced at the living room and saw Elladan in front of the television watching cartoons with another can of Coke in his hand. These people had a serious sugar craving, she had discovered since their arrival. There were so much naiveté in the way they viewed the world that it was hard to believe they could be capable of keeping intelligence operative like Bryan safe from his enemies.  However, Bryan's own words had confirmed this to be true and only added to the mystery surrounding them.

Miranda looked up from her labors in the kitchen and noted that Elrohir was once again exploring her piano in the corner of the living room. Since they had come to stay, she had noted him studying the instrument with interest and the manner in which his fingers brushed the ivory keys experimentally and listened to the notes made Miranda wonder whether he had ever seen a piano before.

"Do you play?" She asked him.

"No," he raised his eyes to hers; "I do not.  Do you?"

"Yes," Miranda nodded, "when I was a little girl, my mother insisted that my sister and I learn to play. I took it to but she was never very good."

"Your sister?" Elrohir asked somewhat fascinated by the whole notion of the shield maiden having a sibling, "what is she like?"

"Very different from me," Miranda replied recalling the sister who believed life could not go on unless there was a shoe store in the close proximity and a good manicurists on speed dial. "Laura lives in Paris. She's a magazine photographer. One of those jet setting types that fly from place to place nursemaiding anorexic models."

Elrohir had no idea of most of what was said but was able to glean from that statement that Miranda and her sister did not share a good relationship. "You are not close then."

"We're sisters," she shrugged, "we don't have to be close."

"That is unfortunate," he replied. "Family should always remain so."

"I rather not," she replied shortly, always getting defensive on the subject of her sister. "I don't need to hear how I could have done anything with my life but decided to throw it away on being a housewife and a mother, or joining the army before that.  I hear enough of that from my parents without needing to hear it from my sister, the Vogue photographer."

"So are you able to play this instrument?" Elrohir inquired in an effort to move away from what was obviously a volatile subject and returning to their original discussion.

"It's called a piano you know," she replied rounding the corner of the kitchen counter to approach the Traditional model Yamaha upright piano Frank had bought her when they returned to Europe. He had wanted to buy Miranda something for her to enjoy personally and she remembered how misty eyed she had become when he had presented her with the thing.  Looking at it often reminded her why she loved him so much.  Miranda had only ever mentioned it to him once that she could play and it was just like Frank to retain the memory until he could act on it.

"What would you like to hear?" She asked as she stood in front of the ivory keys.

"Anything," he answered.  So far the music of the modern world had little to recommend itself to the elves. Most of what they had heard sounded like noise, some even resembled screeching of wraiths in the night. He had yet to hear anything that was truly captivating since their return to Arda and the elven ear for music were based on too lofty standards to be able to enjoy what they had so far heard.

"One of the classics then," she smiled, placing her hands on the keys and letting her fingers fall into that familiar rhythm.

The music that came out of the instrument made Elladan forget the television set and turn immediately toward Miranda.  Soft, delicate, it reached into the heart and pulled forth a surge of emotion. For the elves who had heard the Valar sing, the beauty of what Miranda was playing was even more astonishing when one considered the world from which it had originated. The hard world of concrete and steel that the elves had seen so much of since their return to Arda had somehow given birth to this aural gem.  He noted that Miranda closed her eyes when she played, as if she did not need to see the keys because she knew them so well already.  The music filled the house, filled their hearts with images of beauty that need not be seen but could be felt deep in the soul.

They remained transfixed as she played, their eyes glistening with emotion as they heard its tone and perfect notes drifting through the air like the scent of damp grass, so very refreshing.   When she stopped, she looked and saw that they were both staring at her in something akin to wonder.

"I guess you like Beethoven," she said with a little smile.

"Is that what it is called? Beethoven?" Elrohir asked.

"No, Beethoven wrote it," Miranda frowned, wondering how anyone could not know who Beethoven was. You did not have to be a lover of classical music to know the Maestro.  "The piece is called Fur Lise. Its one of the first things you learn when you play the piano."

"I would bring him home," Elladan looked at Elrohir, "this man's music must be shared with our people."

"Bring him home?" Miranda was becoming more baffled by the minute. "He's dead! Beethoven died one hundred and seventy six years ago."

"Oh," Elrohir said crestfallen. "We are grieved to hear that.  His music stirs the soul."

"You should hear Mozart," she muttered, deciding she was going to talk to Frank about this when he returned home tonight. One way or another, she was going to find the truth about these men.

"Mozart?" Elladan looked at her blankly.

"He's dead too," she replied quickly.

"We have never heard music such as this before," Elrohir explained, hoping to allay the suspicions eh could see rising anew in her eyes.  "It is truly remarkable. Is there many more like this?"

"Well," Miranda answered after a moment, "Mozart and Beethoven are the best in my opinion, but there's also Tchaikovsky, Handel, Bach, Wagner is a bit too strong for me. German opera was never my taste though but yes, there's many.  I suppose before you go home I will have to take you to a few music stores and get you some CDs.

"That would be…"Elladan started to say when suddenly, his expression changed dramatically.

His eyes darkened and his jaw became set. He stared into the air as if there were something there she could not see and when she turned to his brother, saw the same expression on his face. It may have been almost ten years since she was in the business but she knew what danger looked like and for some reason that was yet made clear to her, both men were on their guard.

"Where is Frank now?" Elladan asked, his voice tense with command.

"Well his last class was over an hour ago, he could still be at the faculty building," Miranda replied automatically. "Why?"

"They are here," Elrohir looked at his brother. "I can feel them."

"Who?" Miranda demanded, growing more anxious by the moment. "Who is here?"

"The Nine," Elladan answered.  "We need weapons."

"Weapons?" She exclaimed, confusion being replaced quickly by alarm. "Who are the Nine?"

"We have nothing that could harm them," Elrohir grumbled. "We could not smuggle our blades past the authorities without drawing suspicion to ourselves.  It matters little; we need to reach Frank before they do. If we can do that then perhaps we can escape without needing to confront them."

Everything was happening too fast for Miranda's liking.  A moment ago, they were discussing classical music, now it appeared that her husband was in danger.  She wanted answers and she wanted it now.

"What the hell is going on?" She demanded, her patience reaching its limits at long last.

"Miranda," Elladan said addressing her quickly. "The men who Bryan feared would find your family are here, now. Do not ask us how we know, believe that we are certain of this.  If we do not reach Frank before they do, they will kill him."

"That is not an explanation," she glared at him.

"If we explain everything to you now, your husband will die," Elrohir said bluntly. "You must trust us. We need to find him now."

Miranda hated not knowing but if there were one thing capable of penetrating and sweeping aside her reservations, it was knowing that Frank was in trouble. There was no question of what she would do when his life was at stake.  Without saying another word, she broke away from Elladan and Elrohir and crossed the floor to the rubber plant that sat in the corner of the room in its ceramic pot.

"What are you doing?" Elladan asked when he saw her lift the plant by its stem out of the pot causing soil to fall away from the roots in clumps.

Miranda did not answer him because she was reaching inside the pot and removing from it a zip lock plastic bag, the same as the kind she used to store things in her freezer. However inside the clear plastic confines was nothing that could be consider food.  The handgun sat comfortably in its soiled plastic wrapping along with two boxes of bullets.  Miranda knew that she should have gotten rid of it years ago but this was a connection to her past she had been unwilling to surrender.  It only emerged from its hiding place when she felt it needed oiling and maintenance and when no one was at home. Miranda had never expected to use it again but who she had been once could not allow her to live without the assurance of its protection.

"Is that your weapon?" Elladan asked with shock.

"Yes," Miranda nodded as she opened the bag and reached for the contents inside. "It's mine. I haven't used it in years and I certainly didn't expect to do so again but if you are right and Frank is in danger, we might need it."

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances, feeling somewhat off balanced by seeing the weapon. It appeared that whilst they had been keeping a great many things secret from Miranda and her family, the same could be said about the lady herself.

Miranda could sense their discomfiture but she was too busy with loading the weapon and making her way towards the door to concern herself with it.

"Come on," she looked over her shoulder as she strode forward purposefully, "let's go get Frank."

**************

'There's some sort of engraving under all this tarnish," Frank remarked as he examined the helm closely.  "We'll need to clean it off if we want to look at what it is. I don't suppose if we know whether or not the team got any sample of the sediments on it?"

"I wouldn't know," Eric shrugged. "We didn't have all that long to find out."

"I cannot believe a company like Malcolm Industries would send hired assassins to kill everyone associated with this object," Hans remarked.

"Its one of the reasons why we didn't want to stay  here too long," Eric explained as he watched the two scientists working on the artifacts and the helm respectively. "I don't want to involve you in this situation."

"Well you are the press," Frank stared at him, "can't you expose them?"

"We don't have a lot of proof," Jason replied before Eric could. "The chasm where the team was murdered is filled with snow. It will take ages for the authorities to be able to reach the bodies to find out whether or not we're telling the truth and even then, we have no real evidence that Malcolm Industries is responsible. Those men did not identify themselves as being from the company."

"Then how do you know Malcolm Industries is responsible?" Frank questioned, his attention divided between the present conversation and the helm.

"Petra told us that Malcolm Industries wanted them to stop work on the excavation," Eric explained, supposing that it was a valid question. "She came to us without their knowledge and the assassins chose their massacre shortly after we arrived.  Not to mention, they tracked us to our hotel when Jason called their office in Reykjavik."

Frank straightened up and stared at Eric, "they have an office here."

No sooner that the words had left their lips, the door swung open.  Eric's eyes widened in horror as he saw the villains of their discussion enter the room. The laboratory had no windows, no exit of any kind that would allow them a way of escape and the assassins, in their dark suits and pasty white masks, were armed. He was reeling from shock of their appearance. He had nothing, not a footstep, no sound of their arrival in the hallway. Was Jason right? Were these men actually creatures capable of masking their presence so perfectly?

It did not seem to matter because they were trapped.

"Oh shit," Jason muttered under his breath.

Instead of nine there were five and they spread out across the room quickly.  There was no discernible difference in any of them but Eric could tell instantly which was one of them was the leader because his gaze fixed upon Jason as soon as he entered the room.

"No escape from us Periannath," his voice escaped him in that malevolent hiss as he glared at the younger man. "Not in this life or any other."

"I don't know who you are," Hans spoke up, "but it is best that you leave immediately. If you try anything campus security will deal with you!"

"Really?" The tall dark creature said approaching the bench where the artifact was lying. He came up to the old man and Frank's heart began to pound because he had never seen Hans looked more fragile than at that instant.  Whether or not it was premonition, the archeologist could not say but he was running forward before he could stop himself.  He did not reach very far because one of the strangers halted him with a powerful blow that sent him flying across the room. Frank crashed into a shelf full of instruments, bringing down the entire construct when his frame impacted against him. Glass and metal fell around his ears and masked the sound of what happened next.

"Take the rock and go!" Eric shouted as he saw the leader pause in front of Skogull even though he was realistic that it would not be sufficient to appease these men.  He was searching the room for any means of escape and felt his stomach hollow when he saw none. This was a laboratory and with the exception of some vents to allow for ventilation, it was more or less a closed environment. The only way out was through the front door.

"Eric we can't let them have it!" Jason returned automatically.

"We will do go," the assassin turned his gaze towards Eric briefly, "but after we're finished with you."

Without saying another word, the assassin struck out of his hand and clenched his fingers around Han Skogull's skull. With one sharp movement followed by the sickening squelch of elastic snapping, the leader watched dispassionately as the old man crumbled to the floor, every much dead.

"HANS!" Frank shouted from the floor where he was recovering from his disorientation. Frank saw Hans' body fall to the floor, the unusual angle of his neck telling him without doubt that his old friend was dead. Rage overtook him and before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet, running. Whether or not it was to Hans or to his killer, Frank could not say. 

"You bastard!" Frank spat as he reached Han's killer, preparing to attack. The man in black moved far swifter than Frank was capable, grabbing his fist and slamming him against the table before jamming a gun into his belly.  Frank froze feeling the cold steel against his flesh as he raised his eyes to look at the enemy, whose face was hidden by a white mask and sunglasses.

"I know you…" he spoke menacingly to Frank, leaning forward as he studied the human in his grasp more carefully.  There was familiarity in the face before him almost as potent as that in the man he knew to be the hobbit who had wounded him in battle. Morgul's mind tumbled backwards in time, to the siege of Gondor in the last days of the Third Age, when he had stood against the brother of Gondor's great captain slain in battle at Parth Galen, Boromir of Gondor. 

Boromir was now as Bryan Miller.  

"You are his brother," Morgul hissed. It was not a question but rather a statement of fact.

Frank's face showed no reaction to the accusation but his eyes spoke differently, even when he offered a weak denial, "I don't have a brother."

"You are lying!" Morgul roared. "You are the brother of Bryan Miller!"

The exclamation had a profound effect upon all the killers in the room, Eric noticed.  Suddenly, he had the impression that the artifact was no longer as important to them as Frank Miller had become.  Eric could not understand what Frank's connection to all this was because his presence here was merely coincidental. If he had not walked into the room while the Professor had been examining the artifacts, Frank would never have become involved in the first place.

"Kill the others," the leader barked to his companions, his grip on Frank tightening. "We'll take this one with us."

The others began to move in on Jason and Eric, with neither man being able to do anything to prevent it.  They had no weapons and no visible means of escape. This time the helm was not going to be enough to protect them from bullets. The leader had dragged Frank from the desk where he was pinned and was subduing the archaeologist with an arm around his throat. As Eric watched his death looming closer and closer, he did not know what was worse; the fact that he was going to die or that he would never know why.

Suddenly the urgency of the situation escalated to a different level when the room exploded with the sound of gunfire.  At first Eric thought it was one of the assassins who had started shooting but the trajectory of the bullets was all wrong. It came from the direction of the door. He could not be certain of how many bullets had escaped the barrel, only that a barrage had been fired. He saw Frank dropping to the floor and scrambling away as his captor jerked about spasmodically, bullets strafing across his chest before a slight pause in the shooting allowed for a more precise aim.  His sunglasses exploded as another shell slammed through his skull, followed quickly by another.   The enemy went down heavily and a decidedly female voice tore through the consciousness of all present.

"Frank!" She called out as she entered the room, her gun aiming at the other assassins who had yet to fire.  They were looking at her with caution. Eric could not understand why.  They had hardly given it a second thought when they had killed Hans and the research team, what was it about this woman with her flowing gold hair and her determined eyes that gave them pause?

"Miranda," Frank said breathlessly, never happier to see his wife than at this moment. "They know who I am! They know about Bryan!"

"Its alright," Miranda said calmly, assessing the situation and the faces before her. Two men she did not recognize were staring at her in amazement while the ones in the dark suits seemed hesitant to approach.

"Frank we must leave now," Elladan exclaimed. "Miranda your weapons will not keep them subdued for long."

"What?" Miranda looked over her shoulder at him. "What do you mean?"

"Listen to the elf," a voice in front of her suddenly growled. The man she had just put no less than eight bullets into was not dead as she was certain he should be.  She watched in astonishment as he stood up slowly, showing no signs of injury before glaring at her with glowing crimson eyes. 

"It has been a long time," Morgul stared at her, "shield bitch."

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