The Sixth Seal полностью

Zahra stepped away from the others and headed further down the corridor. She checked as many bodies as she could. They were all the same. They had all been executed, shot, and killed. A few sported multiple gunshot wounds to the back and were lying face down. As she moved, she walked past open doors, glancing inside each room.

Every one was the same. Doors had been opened, and whoever had been inside at the time had been murdered.

“This was systematic,” Zahra said, studying the scene. She pictured it in her head. “Some were too weak to fight. Others tried to and failed.”

“And still died,” Yana added.

Zahra nodded. “Yeah. Someone on board this boat wanted everyone silenced.”

“It was unnecessary, though,” Hammet said. “These men were doomed. Stuck in the ice already.”

“True,” Zahra agreed. “I bet this was a contingency, just in case rescue was still a possibility.”

“Who would have ordered this?” Yana asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Both women looked at Hammet. He thumbed to a door to his left. “The captain, of course.”

Yana was halfway between Zahra and Hammet. When Zahra drew nearer, Yana knelt and inspected one of the dead. This man had been shot from behind.

“Find something?” Zahra asked.

“I think so, yes.” Yana motioned to a patch on the man’s right shoulder. “See that?”

Zahra knelt too. “What is it?”

“What did you find?” Hammet asked.

“This body,” Zahra replied, “he has a patch on his uniform I’ve never seen before.”

“A patch?” he asked, heading for them.

“A globe,” he tilted her head. “An upside-down globe.”

Yana wiped grime away from the patch with her gloved hand. Hammet leaned over them. “You recognize it?”

Hammet sighed. “I do not. I’ve never seen that symbol before, military or not.”

“Who were these people?” Yana asked.

Zahra grabbed the man’s arm. “Let’s see, shall we?”

Yana took hold of his leg, and the pair flipped him over. The effort was awkward and nauseating. The corpse was stiff as a board.

Just as Yana had done with the patch, Zahra rubbed eighty years of filth from the front of the man’s shirt. She found what she was hoping for. The sailor’s uniform owned a name patch. She leaned in closer and read it.

“Oh, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Hammet asked. Zahra was blocking both him and Yana.

“This man’s last name reads KONSTANTINOV.” She looked at Yana.

“He’s Russian?” Yana asked. She leaned around Zahra and read the surname for herself. “But the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany were enemies during the war.”

“Yes,” Hammet said, standing taller, “they were.”

Zahra and Yana got to their feet. No one said anything. Each of them was in their own state of shock. Whoever this submarine belonged to, it wasn’t just the Nazis. It seemed to be an organization that had been playing both sides during what had been the deadliest conflict in human history.

Zahra looked at Hammet. “So, the captain’s quarters?”

“Ja.” His face twitched. “Come.”

Hammet led them back to the door he had stood in front of minutes earlier. Unlike all the others they’d seen thus far, this one was closed.

And the lock was busted.

Zahra bent over and looked it over. “Well, looks like some of the crew survived the assassinations and came looking for blood.”

She stood, placed a hand on the door, and shoved.

Nothing.

She looked at Hammet and stepped aside. “All yours… again.”

“Go get ’em, big guy,” Yana cheered, stepping back.

Hammet gave the door a push before leaning into it with his shoulder. He grunted and drove into it. Unlike the hatch, this barrier ground open. From her angle, Zahra could see a dresser on the other side.

She looked behind the dresser and also spotted a foot.

I guess that should be expected at this point, she thought.

Hammet shoved harder, but it didn’t budge. “Um…”

“Hang on,” Yana said. “Let me look.” She slid her upper body through without an issue. “Nope.” She popped back out. “The dresser is pinned against the captain’s desk.”

“And the captain?” Hammet asked.

“In his chair.”

“Bullet hole in his head?” Zahra asked.

Yana nodded.

“Really?” Hammet asked.

The Russian threw her hands up. “Okay, you got me. I’m just kidding. He’s actually in there sipping hot cocoa, giggling like a schoolboy.” Her eyes grew serious. “And he is not alone.”

Zahra opened her mouth but was stopped.

“Help me move the dresser,” Yana said, swiftly slipping through the gap.

Zahra followed but took the entry slower due to her more prominent curves. Yana had been right. The captain had been shot, same as all the others, and there was someone else in the room with him. The stranger sat slumped on the captain’s bed, which had been built into the lefthand wall. In his gnarled hand was a pistol, a World War II-era Colt M1911.

“He’s American?” Zahra asked rhetorically. Yana looked at her, puzzled. “Check out his sidearm. The M1911 was standard issue for the American military for decades.”

“Excuse me, ladies?”

“Hang on!” Zahra called back.