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

She started the engine and pulled back onto the parallel ruts that constituted a road. The radio belched a
garbled blast of noise, then she heard, ". . . up. Ashley, what's going on? We expected you back an hour
ago."

She raised the handpiece. "Sorry, Randy. Found a new room in the Anasazi dig. Hidden by a rockfall.
Had to check it out before the light went bad. But a diamondback had other ideas. I've got to check in
with Doc Marshall now. Be back in about an hour. Could you pop the lasagna in the oven? Over." She
hooked the receiver back on the radio.

A squelch of static. "A bite! Again! This is the fourth time since Christmas. You're pressing your luck,
Ash. This solo venturing is going to get you killed someday. But listen, after you get checked up by Doc
Marshall, hurry home. There's some Marine types here waiting for you."

She furrowed her brow. Now what did she do? She groaned and grabbed the handpiece again. "What's
up? Over."

"D'know. They're playing dumb," he said, then added in a lower voice, "and they're damned good at it.
Real G.I. Joes. You'd hate 'em."

"Just what I need. How's Jason handling it? Over."

"He's fine. Eating it up. Talking the ear off of some corporal. I think he almost got the jarhead to give him
his gun."

She smacked the steering wheel with the flat of her hand. "What are those bastards doing bringing guns
into my home? Damn, I'll be there straightaway. Hold the fort! I'm out."

She never carried a gun. Not even into the badlands of New Mexico. Damned if she was going to allow
some overgrown boys to bring weapons into her home. She slammed the truck in gear, her wheels
clawing at loose rock.

***

Ashley jumped from the truck, arm tucked in a blue sling, and crossed through her cacti garden, hurrying
toward a group of uniformed men huddled under the small green awning over her porch, which offered
the only shade for a hundred yards.

As she stomped up the wooden steps, the men in front backed up. Except for one man, who sported
bronze clusters on each shoulder and stood his ground.
She strode right up to him. "Who the hell do you think you are, barging in here with enough arsenal to
blow away a small Vietnamese village? I have a boy in there."

The officer's mouth flattened to a thin line. He leaned back to remove his sunglasses, revealing a cold
blue stare, void of any emotion. "Major Michaelson, ma'am. We are escorting Dr. Blakely."

She glared at him. "I don't know any Dr. Blakely."

"He knows of you, ma'am. He says you're one of the best paleoanthropologists in the country. Or so
I've heard him tell the President."