False Horizon. Alex Archer

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СКАЧАТЬ that draws me in. That prospect of finding an untouched bit of geography that has been able to keep itself from becoming as molested as the rest of the planet—that’s a pretty potent lure for me.”

      “And what happens if we do find it? What then?”

      Mike shrugged. “I’m in academia. You know the golden rule.”

      “Publish or die.”

      “Exactly.”

      “But won’t that mean exposing the place to the horrors of modern society?” Annja said.

      Mike frowned. “I suppose it would. But I guess it depends on what we uncover when we find it.”

      “If we find it,” Annja said.

      “Hey, what happened to all that optimism?”

      The waiter returned with Annja’s burger and she bit into the thick patty, finding it just as juicy as it looked. She chewed slowly, savoring the rush of saliva in her mouth.

      Mike watched her intently. “Good, huh?”

      Annja nodded and around mouthfuls asked, “How many did you eat?”

      “Only two,” Mike said. “Doctor’s orders.”

      Annja frowned and wiped her mouth. “What’s that mean?”

      Mike shrugged. “Seems my diet is starting to catch up with me. My cholesterol is too high.”

      “A lot of people suffer from high cholesterol. Can’t you go on statins or something? What are all those pharmaceutical ads I keep seeing during my dinnertime back in the States?”

      Mike smiled. “I’m on the statins, yeah. But even with them, I’ve got to make some major changes to my diet or else I’m history.”

      “Mike, you’re as strong as an ox,” Annja said.

      “And nursing a cholesterol count of nearly three hundred,” Mike said. “Fitness isn’t all of the picture, apparently.”

      Annja frowned. “Then I guess you’d better store up on the burgers while we’re here, huh?”

      Mike took another sip of beer. “If you can help me find Shangri-La, then that will be better than any amount of these delicious, incredible burgers.”

      Annja took another bite. “You’ve got all the help you need. You know that. Just let me enjoy my food and you can tell me all about what we’re going to be doing.”

      Mike finished off his beer and leaned back. “My first order of business is ordering another burger.”

      Annja stopped eating. “I thought you said you’d had your fill.”

      “Well, yeah, but that was five minutes ago. I’m hungry again.”

      Annja started to laugh, but then caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. The surly twosome who had eyeballed her when she’d entered the bar were maneuvering closer to where she sat.

      Annja allowed her eyes to pass over them as she casually scanned the bar. Nothing about them sparked any memories. Not that that meant anything. She had been around the world enough and on too many adventures to know everyone she might have angered. The list of people who wanted her dead was probably a long one.

      But she hadn’t told anyone the details of her trip. And she thought the idea that someone would know she was coming was a bit far-fetched. So if the two guys eyeing her weren’t there for her, then were they there for Mike?

      “Say, Mike…”

      “Yeah?”

      “You aren’t in any trouble, by any chance, are you?”

      “Me? No. Why?” he asked.

      Annja put down the rest of her burger and wiped her hands. The two men were headed straight for their table. “Because we’re about to have guests.”

      2

      From deep within the recesses of the crumbling brick facade across the street, a small Nepali man known as Tuk watched the restaurant with little more than a bored expression that echoed the blandness he felt inside. He was being well paid to watch the strange and beautiful woman he’d followed from the airport, but he knew nothing as to the reason. But Tuk had learned a few important things in his life as an orphan outcast, one of which was simple—when a foreigner offers you money to watch and do little else, it is smart to accept the generous offer.

      Tuk scented the air and caught a whiff of cigarette smoke on the wind, hidden just a little by the pervasive gas fumes. His eyes moved in their sockets but did little else. As far as Tuk knew, no one could see him, ensconced as he was in the depth of shadows amid the twilight.

      His stature made him perfectly suited for the role of surveillance. He was thin, almost wiry, yet possessed strength in his frame. He moved quickly and could easily pass through crowds like a soft breeze and no one would ever be the wiser.

      Tuk had come to Katmandu as a child. He had little memory of his life before that. All he knew was that he had no one. He assumed his family had either abandoned him or they’d been killed in an avalanche, perhaps.

      Tuk had wandered down the river valleys and shallow hills of the mountain ranges until his feet carried him to the outskirts of Katmandu. From there, he managed to scrape out an existence, although it was only such by the barest of measure.

      As the desperate so often do, he developed a keen eye for opportunities. In his youth he worked to become an expert guide on the city streets for foreigners who came to this land seeking to ascend to the heavens. As he grew older, Tuk’s ability to navigate unseen led him to another class of foreigner with little interest in the mountains themselves, aside from what lay across their snowy peaks.

      By the time Tuk finally understood that he held a certain amount of value to the various intelligence services that employed him, he was already deep within the community as a tracker. At first, representatives from several organizations had offered him full-time appointments, but Tuk had shrugged them off. He thought his best chance of prospering lay not in the fold of one nation’s spies, but in the community as a whole. He would hire himself out to whoever could afford his fee, which grew with each passing year.

      As the years advanced, however, Tuk found himself being replaced with the advent of sophisticated electronic tracking systems. Gradually, his former clients opted for their tiny microchips and circuit boards over the wiry man they’d relied on for so long.

      And Tuk found his fortunes fading away. But not entirely. Every now and again, someone would still seek him out. But his espionage days were over. His new clients were less patient people. Drug runners, arms dealers and other like folk used Tuk because it was cheaper than buying the technology to do the work.

      And Tuk, ever the adaptable sort, was forced to lower his own personal standards and accept the work.

      He hated it for the most part. Just being in contact with the clients made him feel dirty and his soul unclean. Tuk would only tolerate their presence for so long—enough time to get the details of СКАЧАТЬ