Read Online The Edge of Madness by Michael Dobbs - Free Book Online Page A

Arnold?’ the Queen asked, her voice tentative, plumbing difficult waters. With a start Blythe realised that she knew.
    ‘Arnie is…’ she sighed. ‘Arnie.’
    ‘I’ve noticed you’ve barely mentioned him. I didn’t wish to pry, but it would have been rude not to ask. I do so care about you, my dear. I think I know how difficult this must be.’
    Yes, of course she did. Blythe managed a tight nod of gratitude. There was no need for words of explanation; Elizabeth knew, but if a queen could tell, just by looking at her, how soon would it be before others picked up on her sordid family secret? Screw you, Arnie.
    ‘And what with everything else,’ Elizabeth sighed.
    Blythe arched an eyebrow.
    ‘Oh, I don’t know the details of what’s going on this weekend,’ Elizabeth continued. ‘Mr D’Arby suggested it would be better that way, but I know that now, of all times, you might have been spared the burden of personal distractions.’
    ‘I’m not entirely sure myself what Mr D’Arby’s mysteries are about.’
    ‘Whatever they are you’ll deal with them magnificently, that I know. And Arnold can wait. Men can be so stupid. And often so unimportant.’
    Their gentle misandry was interrupted by a sudden commotion. Squeals of excitement echoed along the riverbank as royal grandchildren chased each other. Screaming with excitement, the youngest threw himself into the pool, hoping to find sanctuary from his pursuers, but when he emerged from the water he found himself staring into his monarch’s terrifying eyes. In a moment, in a glance, the heat of July turned to winter. He had splashed her feet.
    ‘Sorry, Grammy,’ he whimpered.
    ‘You must always remember who you are,’ she said softly but in mild rebuke. ‘Otherwise I shall get your grandfather to read you a bedtime story.’
    ‘Oh, no, Grammy, I’d have nightmares for weeks!’ the young culprit exclaimed, giggling, his spirits recovered, waving in gratitude before disappearing once more beneath the water.
    Elizabeth turned to her guest. ‘It seems that perhaps husbands do have their uses, after all.’
    It was intended as tender humour, but Blythe’s defences were so transparent that it barged straight through and hurt. Tears gathered behind the glasses, waiting to attack. Focus, Blythe, for God’s sake focus! No time for this, not now with the world threatened by chaos. There were fires to fight, huge, earth-cracking fires, and it was going to take more than a few tears to put them out. But that was tomorrow. For now she picked up her book, cracked its spine, and pretended to carry on reading.
    Late Thursday afternoon. Sheremetyevo Airport, Russia.
    Despite Shunin’s reassurances, they weren’t going fishing after all. As his car hit the outskirts of Sheremetyevo, he gave instructions to proceed not to the main public terminal but to a scruffier and older outlying terminal that was normally reserved for military traffic.
    ‘What’s going on, Papasha?’ Lavrenti asked, confused.
    Shunin gave him nothing but a cold, prohibitive stare. Yuri Anatolyevich, too, was agitated, but did as he was instructed, diverting the SUV through a military checkpoint where ambling guards were shocked to attention, their legs snapping like steel traps, cigarettes cast aside,eyes swivelling in anxiety. It was only a minute before the presidential vehicle was pulling up in a distant part of the airport, nestling beside a gangly four-engined plane dressed in dull military colours whose wings seemed to stretch awkwardly like those of a young crane. Lavrenti had been expecting Rossiya-1, the presidential jet, a luxurious Ilyushin airliner kitted out in soft leather and silk-lined walls with gold plate plastered everywhere, even in the shower, but this craft looked as if it would struggle to provide a cup of coffee or a place to wash his face. It had propellers. It was a Tupolev Tu-95, commonly known as a Bear, the workhorse of the Russian strategic air command, and it