Page 156 of Secret Weapon

The chef just about fit behind the bar, and as I wedged his feet in place with a stool, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirrored shelves.Pizdets.

“I need to clean my face.”

“It was messy?”

“Da, it was fucking messy.”

“Der’mo, Ilya is radioing the captain.He wants a position.”

“Can’t he use the AIS?”

“If nobody answers, he’ll be suspicious.”

Of course he would.“Then we have to answer.”

“I have a voice-changing app on my phone.”

“Remember to sound drunk.”

I paid another visit to the bathroom while Ana reported in, slurring, pissed off, and convincingly male, and told Ilya we’d cut the engines while we waited, but to hurry the fuck up.

Two minutes, and I scrubbed at my face with a wet towel, desperately trying to get the blood out of my eyebrows.At least I had Darla’s brown hair today instead of my old ice-blonde.Ilya would question the suppressed Ruger in these circumstances, so I tucked the Makarov into my holster instead.It still had seven rounds in the magazine, and if I needed more than that, I’d be dead anyway.

“Thirty seconds,” Ana told me.

I ran to the stern, and although I wasn’t religious, I said a little prayer.

And there they were.

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