"James Rollins - Subterranean" - читать интересную книгу автора (Romeyn Henry)

"I didn't need rescuing."

"Pardon me?"

"I can handle Major Michaelson without your intervention."

"I could see that." Ben looked hurt. Honestly hurt. "But that wasn't the reason I came over. I talked to
Professor Furstenburg and Mr. Najmon. We're all going to the hotel bar. I just wanted to invite you
along."

Ashley glanced down, embarrassed by her rude remark. It wasn't Ben who deserved her wrath. She
had just needed someone to vent her frustrations upon, and unfortunately he was at hand. "Listen, I'm
sorry. I didn't mean toтАФ"

"Don't give it another thought." A smile had returned to his lips. "Us Aussies are a thick-skinned breed.
So how about coming along?"

"I should be getting back to my room. My son. He's upstairs."

Ben raised his eyebrows. "You brought your son? How old is he?"

"Eleven," she said defensively. "He's been on digs with me before."

"Cool. Nothin' like getting your kids involved with your work." He pointed to a white hotel phone on the
wall. "Why don't you check up on him? If he's fine, c'mon and join us."

She'd expected to be lambasted for dragging her son halfway across the globe, and his response eased
her tension a bit. Maybe itwas all right that Jason came along on this once-in-a-lifetime adventure.
"You're right. Let me just call him."

A quick call from the lobby phone found Jason still hooked to his Nintendo Game Boy like an addict.
She could hear the blips and dings of his portable video game in the background. "Can't talk, Mom.
Almost to level twenty-three. I've never been this far. And I got three lives left."

"Sounds great, honey. Listen, I'll be up in about an hour. Is that all right?"

"Sure, sure. Whenever. I gotta go."

"Have fun, then." The line clicked off. She sighed and headed toward the bar.
After all, it would be good to get to know her teammates better before the trip tomorrow.

Maxi's, the hotel bar, was the designated watering hole. The decor was a Paris motif, with tiny caf├й
tables and intimate booths. A French flag hung over the bar. The tables were crowded now with the
evening theater crowd. Espresso, caf├й latt├й, and exotic drinks cluttered the tabletops. In contrast to the
European trappings, the Latin music was loud, with a throbbing rhythm.

A booth in a distant corner had already been staked out by her team. She saw Ben ferrying drinks
across the room. Balancing a beer and three cocktails between two hands, he maneuvered through the
maze of elbows and feet, arriving with most of the drinks still in their respective glasses. Ashley slid into