Cold Warriors by Rebecca Levene

Author:Rebecca Levene
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Abaddon Books

Anya was sulking on the other bed. Morgan ignored her. He'd insisted they book a hotel to give him some time to translate the book, and short of trying to grab it from him and run, there hadn't been much Anya could do about it.

"Don't mind me," she said. "I'll just lie here and entertain myself, shall I?"

Morgan sighed. The book was balanced on his lap, a print-out of the runic alphabet on the plain orange bedspread beside him. "Give me a chance, I've only just started."

It was painstaking work. The runes were very similar, and he kept having to look between the chart and the book to make sure he'd identified the right one. And Nicholson had left no gaps between letters, nothing to indicate where one word ended and another began. But after a few minutes Morgan looked up, eyes blazing with excitement.

Anya caught his expression. "You were right, then - it is in English?"

"Yeah." His voice was husky and he had to cough to clear it. "I think it might be a diary. The first thing it says is Seventh of August, 1978."

She sat up, eyes widening. "That's right back near the start of the Hermetic Division. My god, if that book's a record of his time there, what he discovered... No wonder Raphael wanted it. What does it say?"

"If you shut up a minute, I can tell you."

She glowered but subsided, letting Morgan work on his translation in peace. After a few laborious minutes he found himself speeding up. He was learning to recognise the runic alphabet, but it was more than that. The words in the book began to take on the odd quality of something he already knew, but had temporarily forgotten.

The sun had moved behind a building by the time he'd finished the first entry, leaving the room in gloomy twilight.

"So what does he say?" Anya prompted, when Morgan finally looked up from the paper. "Is there anything there about the Ragnarok artefacts?"

Morgan almost wanted to tell her it was none of her business. His father's diary felt like something extremely private. Of course, he didn't have a choice.

"This is an absurd thing to do," Morgan read, glancing between the sheet of paper and Anya. "If the department had any idea I was keeping a diary, they'd skin me alive. 'Not good for security, old chap'."

"He's right," Anya said. "Especially when the code's so easy to break."

Morgan nodded and kept on reading. "It was the Polish priest who suggested it, when we met in Prague in '74. I don't know what made him say it, that our kind of work should be recorded for posterity. He was probably joking. Anyway, I hadn't thought about it - or about him, really - for a long time. But something today reminded me.

"Tomas and I have been spinning our wheels for far too long. The head honchos are starting to get impatient. The trouble is, my little parlour trick with the mirror and the wandering spirit whetted their appetite, and now they're hungry for tangible results.

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