The Destroyer - 68 - The Destroyer 068 - An Old Fashioned War by Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir

Author:Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir [Murphy, Warren & Sapir, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Pulp Action
Publisher: PINNACLE BOOKS
Published: 2010-03-19T14:51:12+00:00

Chapter 7

“You’ll nev­er get away with it,” said the Prime Min­is­ter. “You sim­ply can’t hide a British prime min­is­ter on En­glish soil. There aren’t places to hide. Now, if you sur­ren­der this mo­ment, I will be le­nient.”

Hazel Thurston looked around the spa­cious room. It was forty feet by forty feet, with clean stone walls on ev­ery side. It had once had win­dows, but these were sealed by some­thing dark. In fact, the on­ly light came from a sin­gle light bulb pow­ered by a gen­er­ator. It was dank, but the whole coun­try was dank at this time of year. She knew gen­er­al­ly where they were, just out­side Bath. She had clocked it. They hadn’t trav­eled more than fif­teen min­utes. And peo­ple at the old stone Ro­man aque­duct near­by had waved to her just be­fore the herder had stuck that gun in her face and blind­fold­ed her.

There was ab­so­lute­ly no way they could hide her with­in fif­teen min­utes of a British city. It could not be done.

Al­ready, she and her in­tel­li­gence aide knew, all traf­fic in the area was be­ing stopped and searched. Any­one who was not cer­tain to be­long in the area was be­ing brought in for ques­tion­ing.

The in­tel­li­gence peo­ple would search ev­ery room, clos­et, al­ley, ash can, cel­lar, at­tic, bel­fry, and pew with­in fifty miles.

“It’s prob­ably on­ly min­utes be­fore our chaps get here,” said the Prime Min­is­ter. “So I am giv­ing you a last chance to be easy on your­self.”

“Bug­ger off, we’re get­tin’ what’s due us, and this time you got­ta give in,” said the man who had been dis­guised as a herder.

There were four oth­ers in this large room. The in­tel­li­gence chap had been tied up and placed in a cor­ner.

“Young man, you’re filled with your suc­cess. But it’s go­ing to be short-​lived. There is ab­so­lute­ly no way you can hide a British prime min­is­ter so close to where she was kid­napped on British soil. It can­not be done.”

“We don’t need your lip. We’ve ‘ad enough of that in Belfast, I’ll be tellin’ you.”

“Then let me ex­press my­self in a man­ner you might find more un­der­stand­able. If you sur­ren­der now, there will be a short jail term and you can go back to writ­ing your dis­ser­ta­tions on how the world should be turned up­side down with us at the bot­tom and you at the top and run­ning things. lf you don’t, sir, we will hang you by your pri­vates un­til you wish you had been run over by an ar­mored car at birth.”

“Pipe down or I’ll shoot your brains out.”

“Well then, shoot, you pig-​faced un­em­ploy­able drunk.”

“If you don’t shut up, we’ll do to you what we did to Lord Mount­bat­ten,” said the ter­ror­ist, re­fer­ring to how they had killed the British war hero by plant­ing a bomb on his boat.

“You mean you will do to me what you do to in­no­cent passers­by, British reg­ulars try­ing to keep the peace, and Lord Mount­bat­ten?”

“Bet your ass, Brit.”

“What splen­did com­pa­ny to die among,” said the British Prime Min­is­ter.

Sud­den­ly there was a laugh, a loud roar of a laugh that seemed to re­ver­ber­ate among the stones.

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