Free The Hunt for Atlantis by Andy McDermott Page B

Hunt for Atlantis
    FOUR
    Iran
    Nina rubbed irritably at her arm. “This still hurts.” “You don’t want to get some weird Middle Eastern disease, do you?” Chase asked, amused. “Better safe than sorry.”
    “I know that. It’s just uncomfortable, that’s all.” The vaccination had been an unwelcome part of the deal, administered in the antiseptic environs of the biolab. While less painful than others she’d had in the past, it seemed to take an age for the little bead of blood to dry up.
    “That was nothing! Christ, you should have seen some of the shots I got in the SASS. Needles this big.” He held his hands eight inches apart. “And you don’t want to know where they stuck ’me.”
    The Gulfstream had just passed over the Black Sea and Turkey on its way to Iran. It hadn’t taken a direct route from Norway, instead detouring to Prague to pick up another passenger. In the plane with Nina, Chase and Kari—who sat on her own at the back of the cabin working on a laptop—was another man, whom Chase had introduced as Hugo Castile. From the way they mocked each other, it was clear they were old friends.
    “Yes, Edward and I have known each other for a long time,” the long-faced, ebullient European—French, Nina thought, from his accent—confirmed when she asked. “We worked together on many special joint operations for NATO. Strictly hush-hush, as you say,” he added, tapping the side of his beaky nose.
    “So you were in the French army?”
    Unlike on a commercial airliner, the seats on the private jet faced each other across the aisle. Castile drew himself up in his with a look of great outrage, one fist clenched against his chest. “French? Please! I am Belgian, Madame!”
    “I’m sorry! I didn’t realize,” Nina said in hurried apology, before it dawned on her that Chase was laughing. Castillo’s face cracked into a smile. “Wait, are you making fun of me?”
    “Just taking the piss,” said Chase with a teasing grin. “Hugo’s been doing his ‘French? ’Own dare you!’ routine for years. I mean, he comes from Belgium, it’s the only gimmick he’s got.”
    “English philistine,” Castile sniffed. He took a polished red apple from a jacket pocket and examined it carefully before taking a bite.
    “So, what can I expect in Iran, Mr. Chase?” Nina asked.
    “Call me Eddie.” His expression became businesslike. “Hopefully you shouldn’t have to deal too much with the locals. Should be a straightforward job: in, meet Ajar, decide if this thing’s real, then the boss,” he nodded at Kari, still occupied with her computer, “transfers the money, and out. That’s if everything’s legit.”
    “And if it’s not?”
    He patted his leather jacket, which was draped over the arm of his seat. The butt of his pistol was visible inside it. “Then there’ll be trouble. Don’t worry, though, we should be okay. I’ll watch out for you, Doc.”
    “We will watch out for you,” corrected Castile, mouth full of apple.
    “Thanks,” Nina said, keeping her concerns to herself.
    Kari’s laptop chimed. She regarded the screen with surprise, then her blue eyes flicked up and caught Nina’s gaze for a moment before turning back to the computer. She quickly typed something, firmly tapped the return key, then closed the laptop and moved to the empty seat facing Nina.
    “Something wrong?” Nina asked.
    “No—just an e-mail from my father, something I wasn’t expecting. Nothing to worry about, though—in fact, it’s good news. But it’s not important right now, so …” She leaned forward, smiling for the first time since Nina had met her and revealing flawless white teeth. “I thought I should apologize to you, Dr. Wilde.”
    “For what?”
    “I haven’t been the best hostess. I’ve been preoccupied, with my work for the foundation, with this expedition … I’m sorry if I’ve come across as cold and distant.”
    “There’s no need to apologize,” Nina assured her.