At Sword's Point Read Online Free Page A
Author: Katherine Kurtz, Scott MacMillan
speaking to him.
"Uh, no, I don't think so." He smiled. "I'm just looking."
"Well, then, perhaps you'd like to see one of our Sony CD players. They are on sale."
Drummond was about to decline when he saw the fat woman who had been seated next to him on the flight over, browsing her way through a rack of loden cloth capes. Over her shoulder was a white flight bag that had "Sound of Music Tours" stenciled on the side in bright blue German gothic script.
"Will these things drown out Julie Andrews?" he suddenly asked.
For a moment the girl was speechless; then she recovered her sales composure.
"Sir, if you set the volume high enough, they'll drown out anything."
Embarrassed, Drummond bought the CD player and, making his way over to a rack of CDs, picked out half a dozen disks from the classical music section. Handing the girl his credit card, he scanned the Duty-Free shop, hoping to avoid bumping into his former "traveling companion" while he waited for the transaction to be completed.
With his CD player in his pocket, Drummond headed down to the gate just as they began loading the passengers. Falling in with the rest of the passengers shuffling their way onto the plane, Drummond showed the stewardess his boarding card and then headed toward his aisle seat over the wing.
The aircraft was nearly full, and the middle-aged man reading Der Stern by the window looked like he might be the sort who would sleep through most of the flight. With luck, the seat between them would remain unoccupied. Clipping his CD player to his belt, Drummond stored his jacket in the overhead compartment before dropping into his seat. He had fumbled his CDs into the seat pocket in front of him and was finally settling down for take-off, hunting up the ends of his seat belt, when she came bustling up.
Cops are trained to never forget a face, and Drummond could never have forgotten the face or the inflated blond hair of the woman peering expectantly at the seat beside him. Although he had managed to forget her name, Drummond recognized her immediately as his seat mate from the flight over.
"Say, don't I know you from somewhere?" she asked, as he stood up resignedly for her to squeeze past him.
He forced a smile. "Probably not, ma'am."
She plumped into the seat and began stashing her "Sound of Music" carry-on under the seat in front of her, along with a yellow plastic shopping bag that said
" München Zollfrei" —Munich Duty-Free. Settling into her seat, she looked as if she was about to ask another question when the stewardess began her in-flight safety monologue. After showing everyone how to inflate their life jackets and how to use a whistle the stewardess sat down, and the aircraft began its long roll down the runway, gathering speed for take off. Teeth clenched and knuckles white with fear as the 747 lifted itself into the sky, for a moment at least the woman next to Drummond was silent.
"Now, you're sure we haven't met?" she asked, once they were airborne looking up at him again as she straightened and wiggled farther into her seat. The question was nearly a challenge.
"I'm sure I'd remember you if we had met before."
Drummond hated lying. Hated it as much as he hated beets, but then sometimes you had to eat beets, just like sometimes you had lie.
"Well, I suppose not. Say, you weren't on the 'Sound of Music' tour, were you?" She sounded as if she was about to remember him.
"No," Drummond said truthfully, "I definitely didn't travel around Austria on the bus with your group."
"How did you know we were on a bus tour?" Her voice rose in amazement.
"I saw the bus at the airport. Now, if you'll excuse me…" Drummond plugged the tiny earphones into his head and settled back to enjoy his music.
Pop . The tiny padded speaker jumped out of his ear.
"I'm sorry," she said, rummaging in her bag. "I think I caught your wire with my arm, accidental-like."
"Oh, that's all right," he said, thinking that this woman was perhaps the albatross of
"Uh, no, I don't think so." He smiled. "I'm just looking."
"Well, then, perhaps you'd like to see one of our Sony CD players. They are on sale."
Drummond was about to decline when he saw the fat woman who had been seated next to him on the flight over, browsing her way through a rack of loden cloth capes. Over her shoulder was a white flight bag that had "Sound of Music Tours" stenciled on the side in bright blue German gothic script.
"Will these things drown out Julie Andrews?" he suddenly asked.
For a moment the girl was speechless; then she recovered her sales composure.
"Sir, if you set the volume high enough, they'll drown out anything."
Embarrassed, Drummond bought the CD player and, making his way over to a rack of CDs, picked out half a dozen disks from the classical music section. Handing the girl his credit card, he scanned the Duty-Free shop, hoping to avoid bumping into his former "traveling companion" while he waited for the transaction to be completed.
With his CD player in his pocket, Drummond headed down to the gate just as they began loading the passengers. Falling in with the rest of the passengers shuffling their way onto the plane, Drummond showed the stewardess his boarding card and then headed toward his aisle seat over the wing.
The aircraft was nearly full, and the middle-aged man reading Der Stern by the window looked like he might be the sort who would sleep through most of the flight. With luck, the seat between them would remain unoccupied. Clipping his CD player to his belt, Drummond stored his jacket in the overhead compartment before dropping into his seat. He had fumbled his CDs into the seat pocket in front of him and was finally settling down for take-off, hunting up the ends of his seat belt, when she came bustling up.
Cops are trained to never forget a face, and Drummond could never have forgotten the face or the inflated blond hair of the woman peering expectantly at the seat beside him. Although he had managed to forget her name, Drummond recognized her immediately as his seat mate from the flight over.
"Say, don't I know you from somewhere?" she asked, as he stood up resignedly for her to squeeze past him.
He forced a smile. "Probably not, ma'am."
She plumped into the seat and began stashing her "Sound of Music" carry-on under the seat in front of her, along with a yellow plastic shopping bag that said
" München Zollfrei" —Munich Duty-Free. Settling into her seat, she looked as if she was about to ask another question when the stewardess began her in-flight safety monologue. After showing everyone how to inflate their life jackets and how to use a whistle the stewardess sat down, and the aircraft began its long roll down the runway, gathering speed for take off. Teeth clenched and knuckles white with fear as the 747 lifted itself into the sky, for a moment at least the woman next to Drummond was silent.
"Now, you're sure we haven't met?" she asked, once they were airborne looking up at him again as she straightened and wiggled farther into her seat. The question was nearly a challenge.
"I'm sure I'd remember you if we had met before."
Drummond hated lying. Hated it as much as he hated beets, but then sometimes you had to eat beets, just like sometimes you had lie.
"Well, I suppose not. Say, you weren't on the 'Sound of Music' tour, were you?" She sounded as if she was about to remember him.
"No," Drummond said truthfully, "I definitely didn't travel around Austria on the bus with your group."
"How did you know we were on a bus tour?" Her voice rose in amazement.
"I saw the bus at the airport. Now, if you'll excuse me…" Drummond plugged the tiny earphones into his head and settled back to enjoy his music.
Pop . The tiny padded speaker jumped out of his ear.
"I'm sorry," she said, rummaging in her bag. "I think I caught your wire with my arm, accidental-like."
"Oh, that's all right," he said, thinking that this woman was perhaps the albatross of
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