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

"The president of what?"

He stared at her blankly. "The President of the United States."

A sandy-haired juggernaut plowing through the uniformed men covered her surprise. "Mom! You're
home! You gotta come see." Her son eyed her sling, then grabbed the sleeve of her other arm. "C'mon."
Even though he stood only a little higher than their belt buckles, he ushered the military men aside.

Glaring, she allowed herself to be dragged through the door. As the screen door clapped shut behind
her, she headed toward the family room and noticed a leather briefcase parked on the table. It wasn't
hers.

The scent of garlic from a baking lasagna wafted toward her from the kitchen. Her stomach responded
with a growl. She hadn't eaten since breakfast. Randy, armed with stained oven mittens, was attempting
to extract the bubbling lasagna without spilling it. The sight of such a bear of a man, dressed in an apron,
struggling with a pan of lasagna, brought a smile to her lips. He rolled his eyes at her.

As she opened her mouth to say hello, there was a sudden urgent tugging at her arm. "C'mon, Mom, see
what Dr. Blakely has. It's bitchin'."

"Watch your tongue, mister," she warned. "You know we don't allow that sort of language here. Now
show me what this is all about." She waved at Randy as she was tugged toward the family room.

Her son pointed to the briefcase and whispered, "It's in there."

The sound of rushing water from the hall bathroom drew her attention. The door opened and a tall black
man, thin as a pole and dressed in a three-piece suit, entered the hallway. He was older, his
close-cropped hair graying slightly. He pushed a pair of wire-rim spectacles farther up the bridge of his
nose. Spotting Ashley, he broke out in a sudden smile of recognition. He stepped toward her quickly,
hand proffered. "Professor Ashley Carter. Your picture in last year'sArchaeology magazine failed to do
you justice."

She knew a snow job when she heard one. Caked with trail dirt, arm in a sling, clad in mud-stained
jeans, she was no beauty queen. "Can the crap, Doc. What are you doing here?"

He dropped his hand. His eyes widened a moment, and then he smiled even broader. He had more teeth
than a shark. "I like your no-nonsense attitude," he said. "It's refreshing. I have a proposal toтАФ"

"Not interested." She pointed to the door. "You and your entourage can hit the trail now. Thanks
anyway."
"If you'll only lisтАФ"

"Don't make me toss your butt outta here." She snapped her arm toward the screen door.

"It pays a hundred grand for two months' work."

"Just get yourтАФ" Her arm dropped to her side. Clearing her throat, she stared at Dr. Blakely, then
raised an eyebrow. "NowI'm listening."

Since her divorce, she had been struggling to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. An