Grendel's Curse. Alex Archer

      Annja pulled some cash from her pocket, held it up for the woman behind the counter to see, then left it on the table. She took one more bite of carrot cake as she stood up, and mimed that it was good. The woman behind the counter smiled.

      She thought about heading back to the hotel room, but it wasn’t as if she’d find any answers there. Walking out of the door, she sent a text through to Roux, telling the old man she thought things were about to get interesting. When that was away into the ether, she called Micke’s cameraman.

      “Johan,” she said as a sleep-thick voice grumbled, “Hello?”

      So much for being wide awake and ready to rumble.

      “Time to get your groove on, sunshine. Action stations. I’ll get the car and meet you at the front of the hotel in twenty minutes.”

      “Twenty minutes?”

      “There’s an echo.”

      “It’s unholy o’clock—where on earth are we going this early?”

      “The dig.”

      “The dig?”

      “Yep. Might be good to get a few shots in the early-morning light.”

      “Rubbish. You’re up to something, aren’t you, Annja? Micke’s warned me about you.”

      “Busted,” she said.

      “It’ll cost you breakfast,” Johan said.

      Breakfast, it seemed, was the global currency of early-morning wake-up calls.