Read Online Liberation (I Am Margaret Book 3) by Corinna Turner - Free Book Online Page A

again as he put the phone away. At least I’d slept through part of the wait.
    “The loading go okay?”
    “Yeah, I’m well impressed. Those things were heavy.”
    “I was afraid the guys were all going to collapse or something.”
    “Perhaps we should’ve had a few spares to swap in, but there’s enough of us as it is. Well, the next operation’s going to be totally different, anyway.”
    We sat in silence after that, though we could probably have sung at the top of our voices without waking the driver. I was dozing when Bane’s voice jerked me fully awake again.
    “Okay, everyone, the Eye of Sauron has passed over.” Not a code name, that, just the Vatican slang for the EuroBloc satellite. “Time for some more express delivery, let’s move…”
    Engines roared and headlights blazed dazzlingly into life. Within minutes we’d left the tunnel behind us and were bouncing through the forest once more.
    I didn’t fall asleep again. Tension was tying my stomach in a knot. Relax, Margo . Having failed to locate us with the satellite, it would surely take them some time to get over their assumption that this was a – albeit peculiarly bloodless – Resistance raid, and the Resistance had no interest in ports. Near the coast is the last place they’ll look... Right, Lord?
    The forest began to clear. Suddenly the sea spread out below us, a moonlit expanse. The road sloped down ahead to where a shadowy fishing village nestled in a cove.
    “All stop,” said Bane. “Snuff your candles.”
    The trucks pulled in behind one another and the headlights were switched off.
    “Ten minutes,” added Bane. “Stamp and Letter, stand by.”
    Those ten minutes felt every bit as long as the hour in the tunnel, despite the stunningly beautiful moonlit scene spread out on either side of the truck-in-front’s tailgate. Finally my earpiece spoke again.
    “This is Stamp, I see White Water One, permission to go surfing.”
    “Stamp, Letter, go ride some waves.”
    The two front trucks set off down the hill, acting as much like casual civilian vehicles as two four-ton canvas-roofed military-type lorries could. The rest of us crept forward without turning on our headlights, so Envelope had a good view of the jetty. And waited some more.
    “This is Envelope, White Water One is heading for home. White Water Two is in sight.”
    “Envelope and Frank, surfing time, off you go.”
    Two more trucks did the vehicular equivalent of saunter off down the road. You’d think at three in the morning you could do something like this unseen, but someone would probably look out the window.
    Only two of us left, now. We inched forward again. Stopped. Waited. My ears strained for Airmail’s voice. Come on… come one… surely it’s taking longer than last time? What if there’s a problem with White Water Three? What if…”
    “This is Airmail, White Water Two is heading for home. I have White Water Three in sight.”
    “Let’s go surfing,” said Bane, but I felt the long breath he let out first.
    Boyracer’s teeth gleamed in the darkness as he grinned.
    Thank you, Lord...
    Cruising through the village, we stopped for the amount of time it took Airmail to drive along the narrow jetty and onto the boat, then followed. The gangplank rumbled and shifted alarmingly, but somehow we manoeuvred into the implausibly small amount of space remaining on the deck.
    By the time Boyracer cut the engine, the boat was already turning sharply to clear the rocks and heading out to sea, beginning to rise and fall alarmingly. Putting the truck in gear, he hauled on the handbrake as tightly as he could, then we all piled out to help the sailors slip great hooks over the axles and lash it down, then rig up the camouflage ‘netting’ of padded sacks. Untidy deck cargos of food did actually dock at Gozo from time to time – though hopefully we’d be there before the satellite got a look.
    That done, we allowed the sailors to usher us below to eat, sleep, and