It had been a frustrating search. The American, who had been put in charge of this mission, had said that they were looking for “instructions” and that he would know it when he found it. The man’s face had contorted with rage when they had opened the Shrine of the Three Kings and found only those strange skulls. Of course, the man’s scarred face, partly hidden by the wraparound sunglasses he wore day and night, always looked like it was twisted into a scowl. The priests had been of no use. They had tortured them one by one and hadn’t gotten a thing out of them. The ensuing search, thorough but careful, had proved equally fruitless. Niklas exchanged nervous glances with Ulrich as they stood in the snow and waited for their leader to give them further instructions. The American was a bear of a man with a personality to match. Despite his battered body and pronounced limp, he moved with a confident, deadly air, like a caged beast ready to be unleashed at any moment.
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