The Sixth Seal полностью

Cork burped. “Walking is never good.” Suddenly, she stopped. “Over there!”

Zahra looked over her shoulder and cringed. Sonuvabitch…

Jacques had returned; this time, he’d brought three friends. Cork spun around, swayed, but caught herself before she could stagger. It was damn near a Michael Jackson-Billie Jean lean. Zahra had seen Cork in action too many times to count. The one constant with her was that she was always ready for a fight.

“‘Ello again, Luv,” Cork said, smiling wide but slurring through her words. “Come back for… for another go? Ma — Mama’s left hand is jealous. The right got — gotted — got all the fun last time.”

Zahra sighed, looking down. Dammit, Cork.

“We were just leaving…” Zahra said, pulling Cork back.

“C’mon, Zahra, we can take these airy fairies.”

The foursome fanned out into a wide semi-circle, not hiding their intentions from anyone, including the people meandering about. Even the bar’s waitress had noticed the ensuing fisticuffs. She and two other employees had exited the patio but stayed close to it.

Zahra spotted the manager rush back inside, no doubt to call the police.

We need to delay this.

Cork raised her fists. “C’mon, you plug-ugly bastards! Who’s ready to kick my arse?”

Zahra rubbed her face with both hands, then stepped up next to Cork. She was in this fight now. Cork could handle herself most of the time. But up against four men while under the influence of a gallon of gin, Zahra couldn’t allow her friend to lose.

“These wankers are boned,” Cork muttered. She glanced down at Zahra. “Aren’t they?”

Zahra took a deep breath. “Yep, they are.” She playfully backhanded Cork’s shoulder. “Go easy on ’em, okay?”

Cork growled. “Killjoy.”

The two women had both served in the British Army. Cork was a helicopter pilot, though she could fly most things that flew. Her favorite things to do when not flying were sparring with the other soldiers — and messing around with them.

Zahra had been a British Army Intelligence Linguist before changing careers and following in her parents’ footsteps as an archaeologist and a historian. She worked for the British Museum for a time… until parts of it burned down following a terror attack. Zahra worked for a shadow organization out of the United States called the Tactical Archaeological Command, though she had yet to be given a mission.

The point was Zahra could absolutely manage herself in a fight, even one so lopsided as this.

“This is going to end badly for you, Jacques,” Zahra poked, speaking to him in English. “Worse than Waterloo.”

“My name is not ‘Jacques!’ It is Gaston!”

Cork burst out laughing. “Gaston, really? Are you also ‘especially good at expectorating?’”

Zahra couldn’t keep from smiling. It was just too damn funny.

“Shut your mouth, boudin!”

Cork cocked her head to the side, then looked at Zahra. “Boudin? What’s ‘boo-din?’”

Zahra needed to choose her words carefully. “Yeah, um, well… it’s an insult to women that sometimes rhymes with door.”

Cork’s blood boiled over, apparently not so drunk to misunderstand. She charged Gaston and bulldozed into him before anyone else could move. She shouldered into his gut, lifted him off the ground, and slammed him onto the hood of a nearby car. She was immediately assaulted by two of Jacques’ buddies. Zahra went to help, but the fourth member of the boy band cut her off.

He was a few inches taller than Zahra and outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. It didn’t matter, though. Based on the guy’s stance and unsure facial expression, Zahra wasn’t too worried about him. She stepped toward him, keeping her posture relaxed. She even kept her hands down by her sides.

“You ever hit a girl before?” she asked. He didn’t answer. She smiled like a shark. “You ever been hit by a girl before?”

Well, he’s about to be.

Cork was grunting and shouting, fending off two men at once. Zahra charged her own opponent and feigned as if she was going low, just as Cork had done. He instinctively bent over at the waist to catch Zahra but only caught a leaping knee strike to the face. He went down in a teeth-jarring mess of blood.

Zahra landed like Iron Man, then rose and went high again, leaping onto one of the other men’s backs this time. She drove her right elbow down into his trapezius before punching him in the ear twice. Zahra slid down his back, wrapped her right arm around his neck, and backward hip-tossed him to the ground. He landed in a heap, cracking both kneecaps against the asphalt. The impacts were flinch-worthy.