Destroyer 113 by The Empire Dreams

Author:The Empire Dreams
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

The bombings had turned London into a sight-seeing mecca.

Eager tourists-their suitcases bulging with camera equipment and extra rolls of film-had been taking every available flight into the city over the past two days hoping to get a glimpse of yet another bombing attack by the as yet unexplained German surplus aircraft.

Germany itself had disavowed any knowledge of the planes' origin and emphatically denied that the government of unified Germany was involved in any way. To show their good faith the Germans had offered a team of special government agents to assist in the investigation.

England had resisted the notion of accepting outside aid. The official statement from the government was that there was no difficulty that could not be defeated with a little British pluck.

Remo nearly choked with laughter when Helene Marie-Simone informed him of this.

"They didn't even send up planes until the Germans were nearly out of bombs," he said with a derisive snort.

They were touring Trafalgar Square. The Nelson Monument with its huge pedestal loomed two hundred feet above them. The imposing statue of Lord Nelson high above stared out over the bustling city.

The German bombs had knocked out London's phone lines. Remo hadn't heard from Smith since the day before, and so they had traveled to England in hopes of locating the CURE director. It would have helped if he had some idea of the hotel at which the Smiths were staying.

"It was thought in the RAF that the planes had originated in Northern Ireland," Helene explained. "All available technology and manpower was directed there."

Remo rubbed tears of mirth from his eyes, still chuckling lightly.

"This country is amazing," he sniffled.

The Master of Sinanju, walking between Remo and Helene, shook his head. "Not any longer," he intoned sadly. "During the reign of Henry the Benign this land knew greatness. Now it is a pale imitation of its former self."

"The benign?" Helene asked Remo.

"Henry VIII," Remo replied. "Chopped off his wives' heads, but he always paid on time."

"Prompt payment for services rendered must not be treated lightly," Chiun said, raising an instructive talon. "England in good King Henry's day treated us well."

The crowd through which they passed had grown thicker. Remo could see the tail of a downed plane jutting up at a right angle from the street. Swarms of people were gathered around it, snapping pictures. A gaggle of milling bobbies in blue uniforms and high police hats didn't attempt to hold the crowd back. They stood at attention, arms behind their backs, faces glancing intently around the square. What they were looking for, Remo could not begin to fathom.

"I am sorry," Helene pressed Chiun, "but are you claiming to have been an assassin to Henry the Eighth?"

Chiun fixed her with a baleful glare.

"Do I look to you, madam, to be five centuries old?"

Helene hesitated. "Well-"

"Our family," Remo explained quickly, lest an insensitive answer from the French agent cause her head to suffer the same fate as that of Henry's wives. "An ancestor worked for Henry the Eighth."

With Remo in the lead, they had managed to push through the crowd.

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