God Of Thunder. Alex Archer

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      “Hang on a second.” Annja asked for copies of Cosmopolitan, Wired, National Geographic and People. If she ended up in some government agency’s interview room, it would be nice to have reading material while she waited for her attorney to arrive.

      “Are you at the newsstand?” Nikolai asked.

      Annja paid for the magazines and said thanks. Then she returned to the phone conversation. “Yes.”

      Across the street, Nikolai peered through the Mailboxes & Stuff window. He had shoulder-length dark hair, beard stubble, a checked shirt under a sleeveless sweater and deep blue eyes.

      “Do you see Agent Smith?” Annja slid the magazines into her backpack, two on either side of her notebook computer to provide extra cushioning. The backpack was built around an impact-resistant core case, but it never hurt to be prepared.

      Nikolai scanned the crowd waiting for the light. “Maybe. He’s wearing different clothes today.”

      Annja was aware of the four men closing in on her. “Who was the package from?”

      “Mario Fellini.”

      The name surprised Annja and took her back a few years. When she’d finished school, she’d worked at a dig at Hadrian’s Wall in England. The Romans had built the eighty-mile-long wall to cut the country in half, walling out the Picts.

      Mario Fellini had been on the dig after completing a double major in fine arts and archaeology. He was Italian, from a large family in Florence, with four older sisters determined to marry him off.

      During her time there, Annja had struck up a close friendship with Mario but it hadn’t gone any further than that.

      Annja didn’t know why he would send her something. They hadn’t been in touch in years.

      “Annja?” Nikolai said.

      “Yes?”

      “The light is green.”

      Annja became aware of the pedestrians flowing around her, crossing the street. She stepped off the curb and continued across.

      “Do you know this Fellini?” Nikolai asked.

      “Yes. At least, I did. We haven’t talked in years.” Annja’s pulse quickened.

      “Would he send you anything illegal? Like contraband, maybe?”

      “If he’s still the same guy I knew, then no, he wouldn’t.”

      “This is good,” Nikolai said. “Some of my customers, I’m not so sure. I try to stay away from trouble.”

      “I know. I’m sorry you’re caught up in this.”

      “You’re more caught up in it than I am. That is Agent Smith behind you and to your right.”

      Great, Annja thought. She took a deep breath. “Is the package there at the store?”

      “No. With all the interest in it, I thought perhaps I could arrange a more private delivery. I’ve got it put away for safekeeping.”

      Annja smiled. “Thank you.”

      “Is no problem, Annja. For you, anything. If you hadn’t gotten so famous doing that show, maybe you wouldn’t attract strange people, you know?”

      Annja knew Nikolai was referring to Chasing History’s Monsters, the syndicated show she cohosted. During the trip to Florida she’d worked the dig site involving Calusa Indians. Although now extinct, the Calusa had been Glades culture American Indians who had lived on shell mounds.

      Doug Morrell, Annja’s producer on Chasing History’s Monsters, had turned up a story of a ghost shark that protected the sunken remnants of Calusa villages. Annja had covered the legend of the ghost shark—which, as it turned out, most of the local people hadn’t even heard of—while she’d been on-site.

      As a result of the television show, Annja had ended up being known by a lot of strange people around the world. Sometimes they sent her things.

      “You remember the shrunken head the Filipino headhunter sent you?” Nikolai asked.

      “Yes.” There was no way Annja was going to forget that. It wasn’t the shrunken head. She’d seen those before. The troublesome part was that it turned out to be evidence in a murder case against a serial murderer who had liked the show. That had involved days spent with interviewers from several law-enforcement agencies.

      To make matters worse, in the end the investigators found out that the head shrinker had intended to send the head to Kristie Chatham, the other star of the television show. Kristie was known for her physical attributes rather than her intellect. Annja had to admit Kristie’s enormous popularity sometimes bothered her.

      “That was a mess,” Nikolai sighed. “I thought I would never get the smell out.”

      “I’m sure it’s not another shrunken head,” Annja said.

      “I hope you’re right.”

      Annja’s mind was racing. She was usually a quick thinker even under pressure. “Can you make a fake package about the same size as the one I was sent?”

      “Yes, but why?” Nikolai asked.

      “I want you to give it to me when I get inside.”

      “Wouldn’t it be smarter to go to the police?”

      “The police would drive these guys away,” Annja replied.

      “That seems like a desirable thing to me.”

      “They’ve made me curious.”

      “You know what that did for the cat,” Nikolai pointed out.

      “Cats are also great hunters. I intend to be a great hunter. I’ll talk to you in a few minutes.”

      “Okay. I’ll get the package ready.”

      “Make me wait on it for a few minutes,” Annja said. “I’ve got a phone call I want to make.”

      “Sure.”

      “Oh, and put something in the box.” It wouldn’t do to lug around an empty box.

      “What should I put in it?”

      “Whatever you want.”

      “Papers?”

      “No. Something with some weight.”

      “I don’t know—”

      “Anything that feels heavy, Nikolai. I just want to fool them for a minute or two.”

      “Okay. I’ll find something.”

      Annja broke the connection and dialed СКАЧАТЬ