The Norse Directive

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Francis Jackson peered through the darkness of the dim candlelight, unable to pull his eyes away from the target of his stare. He and his men had been digging relentlessly, taking two-hour shifts in pairs while two rested and two kept watch. They’d found the cave entrance exactly where they’d thought it would be, a small miracle in itself, considering it had been covered up by dirt, brush, and stones. The person who’d hidden the cavern had done a remarkably thorough job. It had almost gone unnoticed, save for the marker. The object was inconspicuous, and would have been invisible to the casual observer, but when Jackson had seen the oddly shaped piece of granite jutting from the ground, he knew he was in the right place.

Jackson had come to Copenhagen three days prior, officially on a mission of diplomacy for his majesty, the king of England. On the record, Jackson was there to offer terms to the Danish crown prince that would basically serve as an alliance between Great Britain and Denmark. What the British really wanted was a clear route into the Baltic for trade and supply purposes.

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