Mississippi Roll. Джордж Р. Р. Мартин

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      She reached into a pocket of her suit and produced a badge, holding it up for all to see. ‘Ms Evangelique Jones,’ she said, with the emphasis on the Ms. ‘Immigration and Customs Enforcement.’

      ‘Right, ICE,’ Ray said in an unimpressed tone. ‘Attorney General Cruz informed me that you were in charge of this …’ Ray’s voice ran down and he gestured vaguely out to the Schröder.

      ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘My job is to ensure that these so-called refugees don’t set foot on American soil without proper authorization. That those without papers take their dirty genes back to wherever they came from or to whatever hellhole will accept them. But not here.’

      ‘Hellhole?’ For the first time the Angel seemed engaged. She turned and looked at Jones. ‘What do you know about hell?’

      She caught Jones’s gaze with her own bleak stare and the ICE agent paused in whatever she’d intended to say. ‘Well – I —’

      Ray cleared his throat and Jones’s attention shifted back to him. ‘All right. And exactly where are we in this … situation?’

      Her lips tightened in a grimace. ‘Apparently this little scheme to subvert American immigration law is being perpetrated by a known prostitute, a Ukrainian national with connections to the Russian mafia named Olena Davydenko, and—’

      ‘Olena?’ Ray said.

      ‘Are you deaf, Mr Ray?’ Jones asked. ‘Or am I speaking in some foreign—’

      Ray and the Angel stared at each other, ignoring the ICE agent as Moon looked on with her narrow gaze fixed on the newcomer.

      ‘We knew that these refugees were Kazakhs,’ Ray said thoughtfully, ‘but no one told us that Davydenko was involved in this.’

      ‘And if she is, he must be, too,’ the Angel said harshly.

      Jones, her eyes shifting between them, frowned. ‘If by he, you mean her partner in miscegenation—’

      ‘Infamous Black Tongue,’ the Angel said as Ray said simultaneously, ‘Miscegenation?’

      ‘You two are the rudest people I have ever met,’ Jones said, ‘always interrupting—’

      ‘Sorry,’ Ray interrupted. ‘It’s just that the Angel and I have a history with those two – we were all at Talas, though I got there at the end. The Angel did a lot of the heavy lifting. That included a mano-a-mano battle with the Black Tongue himself.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘I wish I’d been there for that.’

      ‘Yes.’ Jones looked at them as if their actions were part of some kind of dubious activity. ‘I read all about it.’

      ‘I just mention it so you know that we’re not unaware of the refugees’ background.’

      ‘That’s all yesterday’s news,’ Jones said. ‘We have more important matters to deal with now.’ She looked at them thoughtfully. ‘I suppose you’d better come along. I have some news to deliver to the miscreants on the Schröder.’ Jones walked past them toward the police launch moored at the nearby dock meant for small river craft.

      ‘Good news, I hope,’ Ray said.

      ‘Oh yes.’

      Jones strode over the gangway and an officer from the New Orleans Port Police helped her down into the bow of the launch that would ferry them to the Schröder. Ray and the Angel followed, with Moon bringing up the rear. The officer looked at Moon skeptically as she jumped down into the bow next to the Angel. It seemed as if he wanted to say something, but bit back his words as the Angel just looked at him. They cast off and started toward the freighter moored in the middle of the river.

      As they glided along with the current, they passed demonstrators who had gathered on the riverbank in two distinct groups separated by a police barrier and a squadron of New Orleans city cops. The larger bunch were maybe a hundred strong. Most carried signs that were either anti – wild carder or pro – Liberty Party, which had unexpectedly swept Pauline van Rennsaeler to the presidency the previous November. Others waved random historical battle or political flags that had no connection to the current refugee crisis.

      The smaller group numbered no more than twenty. Their banners showed sympathy for the trapped refugees, some proclaiming their allegiance to the JADL, the Joker Anti-Defamation League.

      ‘What a freak show,’ Ray muttered.

      ‘I hope you’re not referring to these fine Americans exercising their constitutional right to free speech,’ Jones said.

      Ray was saved from answering her question as they reached the Schröder. She looked even more dubious from up close. The freighter was a battered, rusty, near-dilapidated wreck that had probably spent her maiden voyage dodging German submarines during World War II. Of course she flew the Liberian flag, which meant that she operated under the laxest licensing and inspection regime in the entire nautical world.

      The only way to board her was a rickety ladder extending down from the main deck. The police launch sidled close and Jones led the way up the ladder. Ray followed, with the Angel carrying Moon in one arm as her paws couldn’t handle the narrow steps. Jones was puffing as she reached the end of the climb and accepted an extended hand to help her over the top and onto the Schröder’s deck.

      ‘Thank you—’ she began to say as she looked up, then fell silent.

      The man standing before her smiled and released her hand. He was old but distinguished looking, in a gray charcoal-colored suit that Ray’s practiced eye told him cost more than twice his own. His long and still abundant silver hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he leaned on a heavy wooden cane. His shoes, like his suit, were handmade and expensive. The right one encased an obvious prosthesis, which extended upward into an artificial leg, the extent of which was hidden by an expertly tailored pants leg. He smiled at Jones as she gained the deck.

      Three companions stood grouped behind him. One was a man of similar age, smaller, with a lined, pale face that showed no expression at all as he looked over the newcomers. The second was a striking woman in a formfitting blue silk shirt tucked into tight blue jeans that showcased her splendid figure. It was, Ray realized, a theme of a sort. Her skin was a deep rich blue, her thick, long hair a shade darker, and her eyes the clear cerulean of a cloudless summer sky. The third person was a young man in a black suit with a priest’s collar. He was serious-looking in an intense way, with regular features, dark eyes, and short dark hair.

      ‘Agents Ray and Angel,’ the silver-haired man said. ‘Pleased to see you. Splendid work, saving the world and all that. Splendid.’ He looked at Moon, whom the Angel had set down on the deck. ‘And this is?’

      ‘SCARE Agent Moon,’ the Angel said.

      ‘A were-canid,’ Ray explained as Moon thumped her tail against the deck.

      ‘Of course,’ the man said. He turned toward Jones. ‘I am Dr Pretorius. You must be Ms Jones, the ICE agent in charge. I’ve been retained to represent the Schröder refugees in their attempt to secure political asylum.’

      ‘By whom?’ Jones asked in a somewhat less pleasant tone.

      Pretorius smiled. ‘The Joker Anti-Defamation League.’ He gestured toward the three who stood by him. ‘This is Mr Robicheaux and СКАЧАТЬ