The Sixth Seal полностью

Tobias gritted his teeth. He was so close to saving his own life while also fulfilling the second half of the Sixth Seal’s original purpose. And now, he was forced to sit and digest the man’s insolence. “Yes, Commander, a journal. Is that a problem?”

“No, sir. No problem at all. We will silence Kane and her team, as well as retrieve the item you seek.”

“Very good, Commander.”

“Herr Krause? One more thing…”

Tobias nearly threw his phone across the room. “What, Commander?”

“The journal. If I may know, who did it belong to?”

Tobias nearly ended the call.

“The owner is inconsequential. What matters is that you deliver it to me undamaged and as quickly as possible. Is that clear, Commander?”

“Yes, sir.”

Tobias hung up and slammed his desk phone down on its dock. It seemed that he was in need of new leadership atop his field team, yet again. He needed someone less like Ulrich. Tobias grinned and picked up the device again. Then, he threw open the top drawer of his desk and dug out an updated operations roster, finding what he needed.

Everything was written in their unique language while also being coded. The code was just as easy for him to break as the language was to translate. Tobias had invented the code himself.

Each member of his Antarctica strike team carried their own satellite phone for emergency purposes — mostly in case they became lost in a storm and separated from the rest of the group. But, as Tobias had learned years earlier with his own son, it was also a way to guarantee that a mission succeeded, no matter who was field commander.

Tobias relived the night he had his son killed.

The mission at the Swiss clinic had been a fabrication from the beginning. Ulrich was led to believe that they possessed something that could assist the Sixth Seal’s efforts with Project Fleshgod. Instead, an anonymous tip had an army of police waiting for Commander Krause.

It was a tip that Tobias had personally given them.

He glanced up at the door. If Zelda ever finds out…

Tobias dialed and brought the phone to his ear. It rang several times before being picked up.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was understandably confused.

“Do not speak. Only listen. Are you alone? Yes or no.”

“Yes, sir. I am.”

“Good. I may need you to do something for me, but the commander cannot know. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course, Herr Krause. I would be honored.”

“Good. Do this, and you will be rewarded handsomely.”

“Anything for the Sixth Seal, sir.”

Tobias smiled. “You are a fine soldier. Now, listen very, very carefully…”

Zahra staggered back into the South Wing, moving slowly, dragging her feet, and running a few minutes late. She could have returned early, but she couldn’t do much of anything except picture the owner of the journal leaning over a living specimen. In her mind, Zahra was Mengele’s next victim. The Angel of Death held up a scalpel and slowly pierced the flesh covering her heart.

“There you are.”

Hammet’s words startled her. She stumbled forward under the worried stares of her partners. Yana and the German were standing in the center of the large space.

“I–I’m fine.”

Yana folded her arms across her chest. “You do not look ‘fine.’ You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I…” she peered over her shoulder. “I think I did.”

Yana and Hammet glanced at one another.

“What did you find?” Hammet asked.

Zahra removed the journal from the admin pouch on the front of her chest rig. She held it up. “This.”

“A book?” Yana asked.

Zahra made her way toward them. “It’s a journal, actually.” She rifled through the pages until she came to the dreaded drawing.

“Belonging to whom?” Hammet asked.

When she was within three feet of them, she paused and held the journal open. She tapped the page. “It belonged to him.”

Hammet had to squint to read the title of the sketch. When he did, his face paled. “Todesengel?”

Zahra nodded. “Yeah, him.”

“Him?” Yana asked. Her confusion was understandable, considering she didn’t read German. “Who is ‘him?’”

Hammet blew out a nervous breath. “The Angel of Death.”

“Mengele? Josef Mengele?” Yana asked. Everyone who knew anything about Word War II knew the man’s nickname. “He was here?”

Zahra nodded and closed the journal. She returned it to her pouch on her chest. “He was. The entire West Wing is dedicated to his work. Research and experiments.” She tapped the pocket. “This is full of notes. Everything he recorded. Dozens of iterations.”

“Black Sunset?” Yana asked.

“No, something else,” Zahra replied, “something called Project Fleshgod.”

“Fleshgod?” Hammet asked. “What is it?”