Polar Quest

“Well, I’m sure Zach will be able to shed some light on why you’re here just as soon as he gets here.”

No sooner had he spoken than the bar’s door opened. Annja felt a gust of cold air blow into the bar before the door closed again. She saw a huddled figure stooped over wrestling with his parka zipper before finally freeing himself.

He turned and headed right for their booth.

Zach Guilfoyle hadn’t changed much since the last time Annja had seen him. He wore his sandy-brown hair cropped close to his skull, and his Romanesque nose protruded like a hawk ahead of him. But his toothy smile made her grin even as he approached.

She climbed out of the booth and hugged him. “It’s great to see you.”

He hugged her back. “Glad you made it down intact. I’m sorry for not being able to speak with you first about all of this, but then, some things are better left unsaid until you’re face-to-face.”

“Okay, well, I’m here. So what’s going on?” Annja asked.

He pointed at her drink. “You need a refill?”

“Not yet.”

Dave spoke up. “I could use another.”

Zach eyed him and smiled. “Sure thing. And thanks for picking her up.”

“My pleasure.”

Annja watched Zach walk to the bar. He seemed thinner, as if the weight of all the extreme-weather gear he had to wear had stripped him of some of his flesh and bones. But he seemed cheerful enough, if slightly preoccupied.

She noticed two men at the bar seemed interested in him. And judging from the grim expressions they wore, they weren’t fans.

Zach came back with two bottles of beer and sat down across from Annja. “Well, here’s to you getting down here safe and sound.”

“Cheers.”

They clinked bottles and glasses and drank. Zach wiped his mouth on a napkin and then glanced at the bar.

Annja could feel his apprehension. “You okay?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing.”

Annja looked at the bar. The two men continued to stare at Zach with frowns etched on their faces.

“They don’t look all that nice,” she said.

“They’re not,” Zach replied.

Annja took another sip of her gin and tonic. She felt uneasy. She closed her eyes. Not already, she thought.

But when she opened them, she knew it was coming. Zach’s eyes had widened.

Annja turned.

The grim men were headed over to their booth.

4

Annja felt a twinge of apprehension at their approach. Neither of the men looked drunk and both seemed in excellent physical condition. She blinked and kept her eyes closed long enough to determine that her sword was ready, if need be. It hung in space, glimmering faintly.

But the last thing she wanted was to explain to anyone how she’d suddenly manifested a large two-handed sword.

The larger of the two men stopped about four feet from their booth and pointed a finger at Zach. “You Guilfoyle?”

Zach smiled. “Yes. Can I help you with something?”

Annja watched the man’s eyes. They never shifted. They just stayed fixed on Zach. But she was aware of how relaxed he seemed, as well. And that wasn’t a good sign. It meant these guys were so used to intimidating people, it had become second nature to them.

The second man hung back a bit, looking around to make sure people weren’t taking too much notice of the conversation, one-sided though it was. His eyes roved the rest of the bar, never settling too long on anyone. He looked like he was maybe five feet ten inches and weighed around a hundred and sixty pounds. He was solid and lithe and he had a casual manner about him that told Annja a lot.

The first guy looked Zach up and down. As he studied Zach, Annja sized him up. He stood about six feet and weighed maybe two hundred pounds. It was a little more difficult to tell since he wore a thick turtleneck sweater that bulked him up some.

But the most telling thing about him were the calluses on his hands. Specifically, on the edge of his hands.

Annja pointed at them. “You study karate?”

He barely moved. “Uechi-ryu.”

Annja whistled. “Hard style. How long?”

“I’ve got a black belt.”

Annja shook her head. “Didn’t ask what your rank was. I asked how long you’ve been studying.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

She smiled. “Not really. See, any two-bit jerk can go to a seminar these days and find a sham of a teacher willing to hand them a black belt. But only the people who have been around for years and years are worth a damn.”

He looked at her now, eyeing her carefully. “Fifteen years,” he said.

She nodded. “That would account for the calluses. Lots of makiwara training, huh?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll bet you’ve got one in your house, too, wherever that might be.”

“I train constantly.”

Annja glanced around. “Anything good to hit here in Mac Town? I only just got in, so I’m asking.”

His eyes betrayed the disdain. “You study?”

“Sure do. Not any specific style—I’m too busy to devote a lot of time to any one form—but a lot of varied ones.”