The Aquila Project Read Online Free
Author: Norman Russell
Bridge, its steel framework clad in Portland stone, rising, solid and sturdy, towards the clear June sky.
For the last week Box had been combing the popular newspapers for facts and figures about the new bridge. Beneath that stone cladding there were 12,000 tons of steel. Each of the piers carrying the main towers weighed 70,000 tons. Surely no little bomb could bring that massive creation tumbling down into the river?
He scanned the five wide arches containing the doors to the engine rooms. From right to left, they consisted of the first and second boiler rooms, the fuel store, which also housed two of the four hydraulic accumulators in a tower above, and then the two chambers containing the massive steam-driven pumping engines. The malevolent Fenian, or anarchist, or whatever he was, had chosen the first of the two boiler rooms to carry out his act of terrorism.
Those boiler rooms could be seen as the heart of the enterprise. The boilers heated the water, which produced the steam to drive the pumps operating the hydraulic system. A bomb, exploded down there, would empty the system of its power, leaving the two drawbridges that carried the roadway locked together, helpless. But how would the explosion affect the Royal personages crossing the bridge? They’d be shocked and shaken, no doubt, but that would be all. Did this man Grunwalski know that?
Away to the left, Box could see the magnificent baronial Gothic towers of the bridge, and the dual footways, 142 feet above high water level. It was a breath-taking sight, that seemed to be glowing with its own sun-like brilliance. Box felt that he could have stretched out a hand and touched it, it seemed so near.
Box’s eyes were suddenly dazzled by a brilliant flash of light from somewhere to his right, in the direction of Queen ElizabethStreet, one of the tangle of roads and alleys crowding down to the river. Here, rows of stands were packed with children from the local schools, in the charge of their teachers. The flash was gone in an instant, but not before Box identified it as a momentary reflection from a telescope. Had somebody seen him there, standing on the roof of Carmody’s Wool Depot? Well, two could play at the game of I-spy.
Box was careful not to let the sun glance from his own powerful binoculars as he trained them tentatively in the direction of Queen Elizabeth Street. In seconds he had located the source of the flash. At the point where the road began to merge into Tooley Street, a handsome landau, drawn by a beribboned black horse, had drawn up to the pavement near a public house, which Box, who was no stranger to that part of the Surrey shore, knew to be The Tanner’s Arms. A man in capes, evidently the landau’s driver, was standing on the pavement, adjusting the horse’s bridle.
Sitting in the landau, a telescope across his knees, was a tall gentleman in a fashionable black morning suit and shining silk hat. In startling contrast to his sober attire, the man sported a massive mane of blond hair, which hung down over his collar. His hair was supplemented by a great bushy golden beard. A gaggle of excited children carrying Union flags ran past the carriage, and the man smiled and waved at them.
A little breeze suddenly ruffled both beard and hair, and Box was reminded of a picture he had once seen of a Viking warrior standing at the prow of his ship, a sword raised above his head. The Viking effect of the man in the landau was rather spoiled, Box thought, by the gold-rimmed monocle that he wore in his right eye, its black cord disappearing somewhere in the region of his double-breasted waistcoat.
The Viking suddenly stood up in the carriage, and once again applied his telescope to his monocled eye. Box realized that he was looking intently at the entrance to the boiler room under the southern abutment.
Or so it seemed! Many people would be out that day with fields-glasses and telescopes to get closer views of the Royal processions. It was a prime
For the last week Box had been combing the popular newspapers for facts and figures about the new bridge. Beneath that stone cladding there were 12,000 tons of steel. Each of the piers carrying the main towers weighed 70,000 tons. Surely no little bomb could bring that massive creation tumbling down into the river?
He scanned the five wide arches containing the doors to the engine rooms. From right to left, they consisted of the first and second boiler rooms, the fuel store, which also housed two of the four hydraulic accumulators in a tower above, and then the two chambers containing the massive steam-driven pumping engines. The malevolent Fenian, or anarchist, or whatever he was, had chosen the first of the two boiler rooms to carry out his act of terrorism.
Those boiler rooms could be seen as the heart of the enterprise. The boilers heated the water, which produced the steam to drive the pumps operating the hydraulic system. A bomb, exploded down there, would empty the system of its power, leaving the two drawbridges that carried the roadway locked together, helpless. But how would the explosion affect the Royal personages crossing the bridge? They’d be shocked and shaken, no doubt, but that would be all. Did this man Grunwalski know that?
Away to the left, Box could see the magnificent baronial Gothic towers of the bridge, and the dual footways, 142 feet above high water level. It was a breath-taking sight, that seemed to be glowing with its own sun-like brilliance. Box felt that he could have stretched out a hand and touched it, it seemed so near.
Box’s eyes were suddenly dazzled by a brilliant flash of light from somewhere to his right, in the direction of Queen ElizabethStreet, one of the tangle of roads and alleys crowding down to the river. Here, rows of stands were packed with children from the local schools, in the charge of their teachers. The flash was gone in an instant, but not before Box identified it as a momentary reflection from a telescope. Had somebody seen him there, standing on the roof of Carmody’s Wool Depot? Well, two could play at the game of I-spy.
Box was careful not to let the sun glance from his own powerful binoculars as he trained them tentatively in the direction of Queen Elizabeth Street. In seconds he had located the source of the flash. At the point where the road began to merge into Tooley Street, a handsome landau, drawn by a beribboned black horse, had drawn up to the pavement near a public house, which Box, who was no stranger to that part of the Surrey shore, knew to be The Tanner’s Arms. A man in capes, evidently the landau’s driver, was standing on the pavement, adjusting the horse’s bridle.
Sitting in the landau, a telescope across his knees, was a tall gentleman in a fashionable black morning suit and shining silk hat. In startling contrast to his sober attire, the man sported a massive mane of blond hair, which hung down over his collar. His hair was supplemented by a great bushy golden beard. A gaggle of excited children carrying Union flags ran past the carriage, and the man smiled and waved at them.
A little breeze suddenly ruffled both beard and hair, and Box was reminded of a picture he had once seen of a Viking warrior standing at the prow of his ship, a sword raised above his head. The Viking effect of the man in the landau was rather spoiled, Box thought, by the gold-rimmed monocle that he wore in his right eye, its black cord disappearing somewhere in the region of his double-breasted waistcoat.
The Viking suddenly stood up in the carriage, and once again applied his telescope to his monocled eye. Box realized that he was looking intently at the entrance to the boiler room under the southern abutment.
Or so it seemed! Many people would be out that day with fields-glasses and telescopes to get closer views of the Royal processions. It was a prime
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