Book 4, Heimdallr
Chapter 13THE MIDDAY SUN CONJURED up mirages that rippled over a long gray strip of asphalt as Wallenberg raced the old bike down a sleepy road out of Tirana. It gave some relief from the jolts that issued from below. The springs mounted under his saddle were useless. Every time the bike hit a rough spot, the seat connected to the mainframe and kicked his butt. The girl was even worse off. She straddled the improvised brick mounted onto the frame itself.
The motorcycle cop was so inept that he had immediately lost them in the maze of potholed city streets.
“Where does this road lead, Avxhiu?”
“The road to Elbasan.” She sounded dazed.
“Away from Durres?”
“Yes, Elbasan. Durres other way.”
He wished he had a map. The government treated maps as national secrets, unawar
