Read Online Queen Victoria's Revenge by Harry Harrison - Free Book Online Page A

struggling into his shirt and getting more confused every instant. “Old friend?”
    â€œJacob Goldstein. He sends his best wishes.”
    â€œThen you’re an Israeli. Al Fatah, Palestinians…”
    â€œYou’re catching on.” She bent over the unconscious agent and relieved him of his gun. “We have been doing a little investigating into Air Mecca for a long time, since some of the financing behind it isn’t too kosher. There’s Palestinian resistance money in it and we think they have other plans besides pilgrim transportation. Which is our problem, not yours. Jacob says we are to help you in any way we can. Take this card, it’s a bakery that is also our cover. There’s someone there all the time. Say ‘onion bagel’ and you’ll be connected to the right parties. Now, if you’ll give me a hand with this one we’ll get rid of him. Be careful when you open the door from now on. Apparently they don’t look on the skyjacking of their own planes the same way they do others.”
    Fortunately the hall was empty, as was the automatic elevator when they rang for it. Esther held the door while Tony dragged the Al Fatah agent in and propped him up in the corner. The doors closed on him with a pneumatic sigh and he slid away.
    â€œPlease don’t go yet,” Tony asked. “I do have some questions and I need some help, like where can I get a razor? Things like that.”
    â€œMy pleasure.”
    They were back in the room for no more than a few moments when there was a rapid knocking on the door. Tony shied away from it; there was just too much activity for him. “Who is it?” he called out. A muffled voice muttered something about room service.
    â€œAnswer it,” Esther whispered, hand behind back, Arab gun ready in hand. He opened the door cautiously. A white-coated Indian, turban-wearing Indian, not his kind, stood patiently outside at the helm of a wheeled cart.
    â€œMy order? In here, thanks.”
    Saliva pumped at the sight of the many layers of crust-trimmed white bread, bits of turkey, bacon and tomato peeking shyly from the edge, brown bottled beer to one side.
    â€œI’m not disturbing you, am I, Hawkin?” a familiar voice asked.
    Inspector Smivey was in the hall, derby hat on head, tight-rolled umbrella in hand. He was talking to Tony but his eyes were fixed steadily on Esther. She returned the cold gaze with a warm smile and bent to retrieve the sheaf of blank paper from the floor where she had dropped it. She spoke before Tony could.
    â€œHow do you do, Inspector? I have been interviewing Mr. Hawkin for an article for my paper. We have a great interest in skyjackings where Arabs are involved, as you can well imagine?”
    â€œBut this was an Arab plane that was skyjacked, Miss Ben-Alter.”
    â€œSame cast of characters, Inspector. But I am sure you have important matters to talk over with Mr. Hawkin so I will be going. Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Hawkin. Good-bye.”
    She slipped out, still smiling, with the inspector’s scowls following in her wake. The waiter rattled dishes and opened the beer bottle. “Extraordinary,” the inspector said. “Drunks at this time of day. There was a foreign chap sleeping it off in the lift when I came up. Tourist I imagine.”
    The Indian waited, dark-eyed and patient in the doorway, and Tony gave him one of his diminishing stock of dollar bills, symbol of Indian-Indian compatibility, then closed the door behind him.
    â€œI would watch out for that woman if I were you,” the inspector said.
    â€œNewswoman?” Tony said innocently around a large mouthful of sandwich.
    â€œYes. She wants you to think that. Some sort of Israeli agent. Up to no good I’m sure. In any case, hope you don’t mind my dropping in.” Mumble of understanding through mouthful of sandwich and beer. “I wanted to ask you if you would mind