Nick came back to the kitchen. He was sweating. He looked down at his hand, white knuckled around the coffee cup. His eggs were cold. The coffee was cold. He'd been gone, back in that village. That hadn't happened for awhile, not since Pakistan, right before Selena got shot.
That had been bad luck, running into a Taliban unit in a snowstorm after a bloody encounter in the high country of the Hindu Kush. Her armor had saved her. Barely. He'd carried her back to the LZ, hoping she'd be alive when he got there. She'd survived. That was what mattered.
Selena. He couldn't sort out his feelings about her and he was tired of thinking about it. He decided to go to work early and hit the gym. Before the traffic got bad.
The gym in the basement of Project headquarters smelled of sweat and stress and dry air from the heating system. Gyms weren't much fun anymore but his old wounds waited in the wings. If he didn't work out he'd lose his edge. The gym required no introspection. It was something he understood.
After an hour on the machines he began jumping rope. He caught himself in the big mirrors. Hard looking, six feet of tension, 200 pounds. Looking in the mirror he thought that if he didn't know who he was he might have scared himself. He wasn't going to win any awards for beauty, that was for sure.
He looked away from the mirror. His sweats were dark, he'd built up a good burn. His back was sore, but nothing he couldn't handle. No need to think about anything except the simple rhythm of his body, the smooth blurring of the rope.
It was good not to think.
Selena Connor came in. She watched Nick for a moment. A big, tough man. Not pretty, not ugly. Eyes that were gray with an odd fleck of gold. His face was tight with concentration. The scar on his left ear was red. It always got that way when he exercised. It got that way in the bedroom, too. She set her gym bag down on a bench and began stretching. He watched her as the rope circled in a figure eight around him.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey yourself. Almost done." He stepped up his pace. Selena looked good, even in dark blue sweats. Nick envied the athletic grace she brought to every movement. She finished her warm up and came over. A wisp of red blond hair fell across her forehead. Her violet eyes held a hint of mischief. Nick slowed and stopped.
She looked up at him. "Want to learn a few tricks? Brush up a little?"
Nick caught the challenge in her tone. He was good at unarmed combat, but Selena was way out of his class.
"If you think you can handle it."
"Me? Or you?"
Nick had sixty pounds and two inches on her. The sixth or seventh time Selena brought him to the mat, the thought crossed his mind he was getting a little old for this kind of brushing up. He ached all over from the beating he was getting.
"Okay, I give up. That's enough."
"You don't want to practice the wrist locks again?"
"I practice anymore, I won't have a wrist left to practice with."
She smiled. The corners of her mouth crinkled at the corners. It was a good smile. She picked up a towel, dabbed at her face. She'd hardly worked up a sweat.
"You're getting better. You almost had me once." The phone in her bag signaled a message. She went over to the bench, took out the phone and listened. After a minute she hung up and put the phone back in the bag.
"That was a friend of mine over at Georgetown, Kevin McCullough. He wants me to translate some pictures of cuneiform tablets."
Selena had a world reputation in ancient languages. Not many people could recite Beowulf in Anglo-Saxon. Not many would want to. Selena wasn't like most people.
"It figures you read Cuneiform. Any good books back then?"
"No books but good stories. Right up your alley. You might like them, they're full of blood and murder." She picked up the bag. "I'm going over there as soon as I shower. Want to come along?"
"To the shower?"
"Smart ass. No, to Georgetown."
"Sure. Harker will call if she wants us."
They took Selena's Mercedes down the Memorial Parkway, crossed the Key Bridge into Washington and drove to Georgetown University. They parked near Healy Hall, where Selena's friend has his office.
The hall would have looked right at home in London during the days of empire. It was massive, five stories high, built from blocks of gray stone. It had turrets and two large towers. Long rows of windows fronted the structure.
"Some building." Carter looked up at the central tower. He assumed it had bells. "Quasimodo would like it here."
"It does have a heavy feeling, doesn't it?"
"The turrets are a nice touch. Gives it that contemporary look."
McCullough's office was on the fourth floor. Nick could see something was wrong as soon as they went in. Professor McCullough was in his late fifties or early sixties. He was short, about five nine, with sparse red hair and a soft, pale face. He wore a soft brown jacket of fine wool. Watery blue eyes peered at them through bifocals.
"Selena, thank you for coming."
"Hello, Kevin. This is Nick Carter. We work together."
McCullough's palm was moist when Nick shook hands. The room was stuffy and hot. A large window looked out from the front of the building. It was closed. Papers were everywhere, in files, in boxes. A floor to ceiling bookshelf took up one wall, struggling with the weight of too many books. The room smelled of dust and dry paper. Looking at the chaos was enough to make Nick's eyes hurt. McCullough gestured at two battered chairs.
"Sit, please."
He took the chair behind his desk and gathered himself.
"Selena. The police called me." He twisted his fingers together.
"What's the matter, Kevin?"
"The pictures I want you to look at were sent by a friend, Jim Campbell. He was murdered last night. After he sent the pictures. Well, of course it was after. The police are calling his colleagues."
Selena and Nick glanced at each other.
"Kevin, I'm sorry."
"Jim was a good friend. We were in the same field."
"What is your field, Professor?" Nick scratched his ear.
"Microbiology. I specialize in crop viruses. Jim was one of the world's leading authorities. He was researching a collection of artifacts at Dartmouth College." He shook his head. "I can't get it through my head that someone killed him. Why would anyone want to do that?"
"What was he researching?" Selena asked.
"Cuneiform tablets found in Iraq. He was looking for clues to ancient famines, crop failures. Some of those killed hundreds of thousands of people. Jim worked for CDC in Atlanta. He was quite brilliant. He spent several years studying ancient languages just so he could work directly from the old sources."
Selena nodded. "I can understand that. Was there a message with the pictures?"
"Well, yes, there was. It's very odd. Jim said he was on the trail of something. He said I should have the writing translated and I should be careful."
"Why would he say that?"
"I haven't any idea. That's why I called you, to find out what's on the tablets. Right after that I heard from the police." McCullough was agitated.
"May I see the pictures?"
"I printed them for you." McCullough fumbled through papers on his desk and handed them to her. They were in black and white on cheap copy paper. Nick glanced over. The writing reminded him of ordered rows of chicken tracks.
She looked at the first page. "This style is from the fourth century BCE."
"That would correspond to Alexander's conquest of the Persian Empire."
"I'd need time for an accurate translation, but this looks like a fragment from one of the epic poems." She turned a page. "This part is different. It's from the treasury of Darius III in Babylon."