The Sixth Seal полностью

“If it makes you feel better, I’m fairly certain this won’t be as bad as Asia.”

“No, that does not make me feel better.”

“Well, I don’t like sugarcoating things. I figured someone of your profession would appreciate that.”

“Oh, yes, I do. Very much, actually. But not when it comes to my safety.”

Eddy pushed her chair out and stood.

“Look, Yana, based on my intel, this job should be a breeze for someone like you. If it helps, you’ll get along swimmingly with the agent in charge.”

“Really?”

Eddy grinned. “Believe it or not, yes. Her personality should jive well with your own.”

“Her? Interesting…”

“So, is that a yes?”

“No, not yet. Will I be going somewhere other than Chile?”

Eddy closed her eyes and winced. “Ever been to Antarctica?”

Yana let out a string of abusive-sounding Russian. Eddy had no idea what the woman had said, but the words had been let out with obvious shock and disbelief.

“You’re yanking my crank, right?”

“No, Yana, I am not ‘yanking your crank.’ This is serious!”

The idiom had sounded weird coming out of someone with Yana’s accent. Her English was superb, but she still spoke with a Russian cadence and inflection.

“Hmmm. Give me a moment to think.”

Eddy rubbed her face. They didn’t have a moment.

“I’ll add twenty percent to your going rate.”

Yana quickly replied, “Deal.”

Eddy smiled. That was the one guarantee with mercenaries. Money always talked. Luckily, TAC had money to spare thanks to some clever financial movement — the United States’ over-the-top military spending was the chief contributor.

“Okay, now that you have gained my services, what have you all found that requires my assistance?”

Eddy sat back down and took a deep breath. “What do you know about Nazis in Antarctica?”

The morning after their parking lot brawl, Zahra and Cork were each nursing their wounds. Zahra currently had an icepack resting atop the knuckles of her right hand. The knot on the back of her head was still present but no longer ached.

Cork’s lower lip was puffy, and the split was crusted over. It stung her to sip her coffee, which actually brought Zahra some joy. Cork had been the instigator, after all.

The two women sat outside on Zahra’s back porch, enjoying a view that Zahra had fallen in love with the very first time she’d set eyes on it. She loved Levanzo.

Cork hated how slowly everything moved here, but she had nowhere else to go. So she stayed and dealt with the boredom like an adult.

Zahra was honestly impressed by it, considering Cork was basically an adult-male-sized woman with the maturity level of a 12-year-old.

She uncovered her bruised right hand and opened and closed it. It didn’t hurt all that much. It just ached down in the bones themselves.

“You still fussing over that?”

Zahra replaced the ice bag and picked up her own mug. “Yeah, I am.”

“Pft. That ain’t nothing. Look at my lip.” She poked at her lip and grimaced. “Still can’t believe that tosser popped me.”

Zahra rolled her eyes. “I mean, you did call a Frenchman a — and I quote — ‘cheese-eating surrender monkey’ to his face.”

“No, I told you that to your face. I was looking right at you. I wasn’t even looking at him.”

Zahra set her mug down and turned and faced Cork. “He was three feet from you.”

“And? That didn’t give him the right a slap a lady! Anyway, stupid frog shouldn’t have been listening in on our conversation.”

“You know what,” Zahra said, throwing up her uninjured hand, “you win, Cork. I’m done.” She gripped her mug and lifted it to take a sip, unable to hold back a rising smile. “To be fair, you did tell him you weren’t feeling very ladylike.” She shrugged. “Maybe he was confused?”

Both women burst out in hearty laughter.

Cork cracked her neck. “C’mon, Z, you gotta admit, it does feel nice to let it fly sometimes, right? A good old-fashioned scrum never hurt anybody.”

Zahra set down her drink and just stared at her friend.

Cork noticed. “You know what I mean! Builds character.”

Zahra held up her sore hand. “And bruises.”

The archaeologist’s phone began vibrating across the patio table. Very few people outside her family had her current number, meaning it could only be one other person.

One other organization.

Zahra lifted the phone and looked at Cork. “Mouth shut.”

The Brit held up her hands in surrender and sat back. She playfully zippered her lips shut for good measure and accidentally scratched the scab. She growled in pain and stood bolt upright. It took everything in Zahra not to crack up.

She took a deep breath and answered the call. “This is Zahra.”

“Hello, Zahra,” a feminine voice said.