The Sixth Seal полностью

He grabbed a bottle of the cheapest mixing vodka and sloppily sloshed some into a glass meant for water. Yana gritted her teeth but accepted the economic alcohol. She sniffed it. The perfuming booze curled her lips and flared her nostrils.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

Being the professional that she was, Yana knocked back the entire pour with little more than a held breath.

“Not at all.”

He stared.

She smiled.

“Another?” he asked.

Gotcha.

“Da, please.” This time, he made it to the back of the bar in record time. “So, why does a handsome individual, such as yourself, look so — what do you call it — oh, yes, down in the dumps?”

He snorted. “Have you seen this place? Palmer is a shitheap. I hate it here.”

Mitch gave her an even heavier pour this time. Yana winced internally but, nevertheless, accepted the drink. This time, she didn’t wait for Mitch to sit back down. Yana steeled herself and downed the pour.

Mitch’s eyes went wide. “I guess it’s true what they say about Russian women, huh?”

Oh, this should be good.

“And what is that?”

“That you love the cold and your vodka.”

She smiled. He wasn’t that far off. “Did you know we also love a man in uniform?”

Mitch gazed down at his clothes. As he did, Yana leaned forward and slipped off the front of her barstool. He caught her, wrapping his arms around her back to support her dead weight. Yana got her feet underneath herself and stood, rubbing her chest against his.

She also slid her right hand down to his left hip, popped the sheath’s retention strap, and slid free his knife. Yana kept her eyes glued to his, then flicked them to the right.

“Who is that?”

Mitch turned to look. As he did, Yana carefully slid the blade into the back of her pants and covered it with her shirt. Her movements needed to be precise now. If not, she would have two splits in her lower back.

“There’s no one there.” When Mitch turned around, Yana was already standing. “Where ya goin’?”

Yana leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You have helped more than you know. Dasvidaniya, Mitch. Good luck to you.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Yana headed for the hallway. At its rear was the stairway that led back up to the dorms. She walked slow and stiff, taking care not to slice the top of her ass to ribbons. Once she was out of sight, she removed the blade from the back of her pants and slid it into the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Then, she quickened her steps and headed for her room.

Yana felt much better about her situation now.

Could still use a gun, though.

Kyle led everyone out to the frozen tarmac. Calling it a tarmac was a bit of an exaggeration in Zahra’s eyes. The landing zone was really just a blank sheet of white marked off by poles with flashing red lights. Zahra had no idea if there was even concrete or asphalt beneath the layer of white. Even if there was, she didn’t think it would matter.

“I thought it would be colder.”

Zahra agreed with Yana. When she had found out she was going to the Antarctic, she immediately pictured unbearable, freezing temperatures. This was just moderately freezing temperatures.

“Due to our northern location and the timing of your visit, you got lucky,” Kyle explained. “The average high this time of year is only thirty-five degrees.”

“And the low?” Hammet asked, unflinching.

Zahra needed to remember that the big German specialized in cold-weather operations, as did Yana. Zahra wasn’t all that uncomfortable, but she did much prefer the milder Mediterranean climate.

“Five to ten degrees difference, on average,” Kyle replied. “Because of the lack of darkness during the Antarctic winter months, we don’t get the typical temperature fluctuation you’d see as you move closer to the equator.”

“That’s a relief,” Zahra said, following along.

“Yes, it is,” Kyle agreed. “The summers are inhospitable.”

As someone who spent her time growing up in the Northern Hemisphere, calling the summer a cold season was always something Zahra didn’t understand. A boiling hot, Australian snowless Christmas just sounded wrong to Zahra.

“I prefer the Mediterranean,” she mumbled.

“Beautiful area,” Kyle said.

“You know it?” Zahra asked.

“Spent a little time in Rome. Learned a little of the language, too.”

“How much do you know?” she asked in fluent Italian.

He waved her off. “Whoa, whoa, whoa… Slow down. I only said, ‘a little.’”

“I apologize for that,” Yana said. “Zahra is a bit of a showoff sometimes.”

They rounded the frontmost building and slowed as they all took in their transport vehicle. The Lockheed LC-130 “Skibird” was a behemoth, four-engine, turbo-prop aircraft, as was its brother, the C-130 Hercules. She was amazed by the sight of the plane’s retractable skis when she and Yana had boarded one in Chile, but she wasn’t given the pleasure of seeing its other unique features in action.

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Kyle said. “Our bird utilizes the RATO system.”

“RATO?” Hammet asked.