"Linda Evans - Sleipnir" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Linda)

down the chimney myself. Guilt ate up whatever comfort could be found in the knowledge that I'd
always done better when hunting alone in the dark.
I swore bitterly and breathed deeply for a moment; then listened to my pulse rate gradually slow
down and fade from the foreground of my awareness.
Klaus Bjornssen had doubtless gone to his death convinced I was the biggest asshole this side of
hell. I snorted. If I were right, he was there right now, probably still calling me every name he could think
of, to every poor, dead soul who'd listen. I hoped it made him feel better.
No more innocents in the way. Odin had another think coming if he and his buddies thought they
could stop me just by pulling the ground out from under my feet. . . .
Well, it wasn't going to be the last time he'd try it. And he had at least as much to lose as I did;
maybe more. I swore aloud; then grinned, although the wobbly effort felt a little sickly. I might be
shaken, but I must have managed to put a serious dent in Odin's confidence. That counted for more than
a little in the deadly game I'd found myself caught up in.
And since the only score which mattered was survival, that left me on top. So far, anyway.
Somewhere at the bottom of this cave, Odin must be spitting ten-penny nails.
Gary would've been proud. Well, maybe he would; then again, maybe not. Gary Vernon had
wanted me to go Stateside when my discharge came, find myself a decent job and marry some
freckle-faced kid with a down-home Cracker accent. But if I had, I would never have been able to look
myself in the eye again. Gary Vernon was the reason I was here, stranded on the lip of a bottomless
chimney in a freezing Norwegian cave. And no one-eyed, oath-breaking, cold-blooded killer was going
to divert me. Of course, nobody'd ever accused me of having too many brain cells; but Randy Barnes
wasn't, by God, a quitter.
I can't speak for the rest of humanity; but having my life wrenched inside-out by assholes really
pisses me off. I never could tolerate an asshole. (Despite a sneaking suspicion that I was one.) I let out a
bark of laughter. They do say the only creature on this green earth stupider than an infantryman is a
Marine. Not even aleatherneck would have walked into this mess.
There were only two things I could see that I might have done differently. I shouldnot have opened
my big, fat mouth and told Gary Vernon to go to hell. And I certainly shouldn't have made a pact with
Odin .
Hindsight is a mother.
It's also a waste of time. I muttered something ugly into the darkness and my words echoed oddly
in the close air. I growled out something even nastier, hopeful the curse followed my dead guide all the
way to Odin's ears. I'd learned the hard way that you never knew who—or what—might be listening
when you cursed, or took an oath, so I cursed away, because sure as worms eat little green apples,
nothing I said now could possibly get me in deeper than I already was.
"Okay, Barnes," I muttered. "What next?"
My lips and throat were dry. I fumbled for a canteen and swallowed a sip. I didn't dare drink
more; no telling how long this half-full canteen would have to last. Once it was secure again, I leaned
back and blew out my breath in a gusting sigh.
"What a mess."
Most people in my shoes would've had the sense either to go quietly mad, or to forget the whole
thing had ever happened. Johnson would have cracked—and, in point of fact, had. Nobody else
involved had even come close to admitting what was going on, probably not even to themselves. Gary . .
.
I swore again. Gary might have believed me. Had believed, in fact, even before I met him.
Not that it had done him any good.
Regret was also a waste of time. I needed to get my carbide lantern relit, see what I was up
against. I hadn't just spent three years guarding nuclear missiles—and playing pussyfoot with half the
terrorist groups in the world—for nothing. I had survived everything the Army and the ragheads and
Odin could throw my way. I owed myself—not to mention Gary Vernon—something better than sitting