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“No one says ‘my dude,’” I told Gunnar for the thousandth time. “At least, not unironically.”
He beamed. “I do.”
“And a ‘dude’ is a man,” I said. “She’s not a dude.”
“Obviously,” he said happily.
Rachel looked at him sideways – but there wasn’t a trace of leering in Gunnar’s voice, so she let it pass.
“You look like the Dude,” she said to Gunnar.
“Thank you,” he said with a big grin, then announced to the rest of the guys in the transport, “I am THE DUDE!”
“No,” Rachel said, “I meant the Big Lebowski. The Coen brothers movie? Jeff Bridges – ”
“Oh yes – even better!” Gunnar said brightly, then quoted in Swedish, “Försiktigt, man, det finns en dryck här!”
She looked at me in bewilderment.
“‘Careful, man, there’s a beverage here,’” I translated.
Rachel burst out laughing.
It was one of the most beautiful sounds I’d ever heard.
“I’ve never heard the Dude in Swedish before,” she said to Gunnar.
He beamed. “Now you have!”
“Now I have,” she agreed.
“So,” I asked, “how did you wind up as a sniper with deadly hand-to-hand combat skills?”
She smiled and answered in her charming British accent, “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
I smiled back. “Is that the standard MI6 reply?”
“Yes… but just because it’s the standard reply doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
25
Four blocks from the target, the transport stopped and the rear door opened.
Gunnar jumped out, rifle at the ready.
“See you soon,” I said to Rachel, then turned to follow Gunnar.
“Henriksson,” she said.
I turned back to her. “Yeah?”
“Take care of yourself.”
“You too.”
Then I jumped out, slammed the door shut, and the transport drove on.
