"Baker, Kage - Company 2 - Sky Coyote" - читать интересную книгу автора (Baker Kage)

"Overdue for a shower, anyway."

"Sad but true." I looked into the bottom of my glass. "What does one do to order a second round here?"

She waved a negligent hand, two fingers extended. The Mayan appeared from nowhere with two new drinks. He went through the whole business with the new napkins and the old glasses and swept away. I stared after him. "What does he do, stand there just out of sight listening to us?"

"Probably." She raised her glass. "So after your vacation you're going back out into the field?"

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact."

"Going to play with politics at Lima?"

"No. They're sending me up north."

"Mexico? What on earth are you going to find to do up there?"

"Farther north than that. California."

"Ahh." She nodded and drank. "Well, you'll enjoy that. Great climate, I'm told. On the other hand—" She looked up suspiciously. "Nobody's there yet. No cities, no court, no political intrigues. So what could you possibly ..."

"There are Indians there," I reminded her. "Indians have politics too, you know."

"Oh, Indians." She gestured as dismissively as only a Spaniard can. "But what a waste of your talents! They're all savages up there, Joseph. Who did you offend, to draw an assignment like that? What will you do?"

"I don't know. I haven't been briefed on it yet. The rumor is, though, that Dr. Zeus is drafting a big expedition. Lots of personnel from all the disciplines. Big base camp and everything. No expense spared."

"And you're probably going to go in there and collect little Indians for study before they're all killed off by smallpox."

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"You slimy little guy." She shook her head sadly. "Well, best of luck."

Chapter 4



I got a guest suite, and I showered, I shaved, I was brought a fresh clean set of tropical whites and decked myself out in style. I left the long heavy wig on its wooden head; I like fashion as well as the next guy, but you have to be realistic sometimes. And the rest of the getup felt swell after my Jesuit mufti: silk knee breeches, gauzy shirt, frogged coat with cuffs you could conceal a dictionary in, let alone a scented hankie or an assignation letter. The heels on the shoes gave me some height, too. Oh, to be able to parade around Barcelona in this suit. You know what priests really miss? Not sex. Style. I admired myself in the mirror a few minutes before going off to report in like a good little operative.

Guest Services turned out to be located right off the lobby of my pyramid, so I didn't even have to step outside. This was good, because even with the air-conditioning on I was sweating by the time I stepped into the director's outer office.

It was lush with pre-Colombian art treasures and potted orchids. A big revolving ceiling fan moved the damp air around. High vaulted windows looked out on a walled garden where long shadows stretched across a brilliantly green lawn, and a turquoise pool of chlorinated water shimmered. No piranha would have lasted five minutes in there.

There was a receptionist's desk of carved mahogany, but no receptionist. Okay. I looked around and picked up a copy of Immortal Lifestyles Monthly. Its glossy cover stuck to my fingers. Pulling them loose made a creepy tearing noise, and from behind a doorway a polite voice inquired, "Yoohoo?"

"Hello? Is the director anywhere around?" I called in reply. A few seconds later the door was pulled open and an immortal guy peered out. He looked at the vacant desk with a slight frown of annoyance.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I can't think where she's got to. You'd be—?"

"Facilitator Grade One Joseph, reporting in."