This United State Read Online Free
Author: Colin Forbes
hostess, Cord. This is Mrs Carson. She runs the 'Bunker and we take orders from her. This is Cord Dillon — just arrived from the States,' he introduced. 'No sleep for days and hungry as a hunter, I'm sure.'
'That door has a solid steel plate on the inside,' observed Dillon as Mrs Carson closed and attended to three sophisticated locks.
'Behind the closed shutters of every window is armour-plated glass,' Newman told him.
'Place looks like a series of shacks and turns out to be a fortress. Who protects it if we come under attack?'
'I do,' said Mrs Carson. 'Not that anyone will find us.'
Dillon stared at her in disbelief. His expression became more pronounced as she slipped her hand inside a large canvas shopping bag perched on a shelf and took out a Heckler & Koch MP5 9mm sub machine-gun.
Effortlessly she inserted a magazine, then, still smiling, looked at Newman.
'Is he trustworthy?'
'Totally. And he may be staying here for a while. He's on the run from gunmen.'
'You'd better have this, then,' she said, handing the weapon to Dillon. 'You do know how to use it?' she asked.
'Cord is very familiar with it,' Newman assured her.
'I have another one ready hanging in a cupboard,' she assured her guest. 'And down in the cellars we have an armoury. Handguns, machine-guns, smoke bombs, grenades. I'll show you, then you can have supper. Tweed phoned me, said he thought you'd need a good hot home-cooked meal...'
They were standing in a large kitchen-breakfast room with a wooden table laid for three people to eat. The atmosphere was warm, cosy and Dillon detected a slight humming sound.
'You've even got air-conditioning, for Pete's sake.'
'We have, Newman told him. 'Powered by our own generator. We have a spare as back-up in case of a breakdown.'
'Are you a drinking man?' Mrs Carson enquired. 'I haven't Bourbon but I could supply a double Scotch. You look as though you could do with it.'
'I sure could. Thank you.'
'Nothing for me,' Newman chimed in. 'I may have to drive back tonight. I'll know when I've phoned Tweed.'
Their hostess had walked quickly to check what was happening on her Aga cooker, lifting lids of several pans, stirring one gently. She then opened a cupboard, brought out a bottle of very expensive whisky, poured a generous double Scotch, handed it to her guest.
'Get that inside you. Supper's not quite ready. I'll show you your sleeping quarters underground.'
'This is what I need.' Dillon took a large swallow. 'The weakness of this place is that a mob of gunmen could ignore that gate, scramble through the hedge. They'd be all round this farmhouse before you knew what was happening.'
'No, they couldn't,' Mrs Carson said sharply. 'Look at this.' She opened a large white metal panel on the wall. Behind it was a series of small porthole windows, each with a number above it. 'There's an electric tripwire all round all the hedges. If there are intruders a buzzer goes off. I only have to check this and whichever number is flashing tells me which sectors they're coming in through. Three teenage boys did try to break in. I knew where, saw them coming through my binoculars, went out to meet them with my miniature water cannon. The pressure on the jet is very powerful. It is so strong I knocked them over when I aimed it at them. And it was in winter so they were soaked in icy water. They ran for it, I can tell you.'
'I'm dazed,' reacted Dillon.
'Must be the drink,' Mrs Carson suggested, pulling his leg. 'Now follow me...'
Crossing to the opposite panelled wall, she pressed a button. A section of the panel slid back, revealing a doorway. Telling Dillon to mind the steps, she switched on a light and led the way down a flight of concrete steps with a handrail on either side.
The underground complex was vast, one cellar leading to another. The floors, walls and tunnel-like ceiling were painted white. There was nothing primitive about the complex. Opening one door, she ushered her visitor into a comfortably
'That door has a solid steel plate on the inside,' observed Dillon as Mrs Carson closed and attended to three sophisticated locks.
'Behind the closed shutters of every window is armour-plated glass,' Newman told him.
'Place looks like a series of shacks and turns out to be a fortress. Who protects it if we come under attack?'
'I do,' said Mrs Carson. 'Not that anyone will find us.'
Dillon stared at her in disbelief. His expression became more pronounced as she slipped her hand inside a large canvas shopping bag perched on a shelf and took out a Heckler & Koch MP5 9mm sub machine-gun.
Effortlessly she inserted a magazine, then, still smiling, looked at Newman.
'Is he trustworthy?'
'Totally. And he may be staying here for a while. He's on the run from gunmen.'
'You'd better have this, then,' she said, handing the weapon to Dillon. 'You do know how to use it?' she asked.
'Cord is very familiar with it,' Newman assured her.
'I have another one ready hanging in a cupboard,' she assured her guest. 'And down in the cellars we have an armoury. Handguns, machine-guns, smoke bombs, grenades. I'll show you, then you can have supper. Tweed phoned me, said he thought you'd need a good hot home-cooked meal...'
They were standing in a large kitchen-breakfast room with a wooden table laid for three people to eat. The atmosphere was warm, cosy and Dillon detected a slight humming sound.
'You've even got air-conditioning, for Pete's sake.'
'We have, Newman told him. 'Powered by our own generator. We have a spare as back-up in case of a breakdown.'
'Are you a drinking man?' Mrs Carson enquired. 'I haven't Bourbon but I could supply a double Scotch. You look as though you could do with it.'
'I sure could. Thank you.'
'Nothing for me,' Newman chimed in. 'I may have to drive back tonight. I'll know when I've phoned Tweed.'
Their hostess had walked quickly to check what was happening on her Aga cooker, lifting lids of several pans, stirring one gently. She then opened a cupboard, brought out a bottle of very expensive whisky, poured a generous double Scotch, handed it to her guest.
'Get that inside you. Supper's not quite ready. I'll show you your sleeping quarters underground.'
'This is what I need.' Dillon took a large swallow. 'The weakness of this place is that a mob of gunmen could ignore that gate, scramble through the hedge. They'd be all round this farmhouse before you knew what was happening.'
'No, they couldn't,' Mrs Carson said sharply. 'Look at this.' She opened a large white metal panel on the wall. Behind it was a series of small porthole windows, each with a number above it. 'There's an electric tripwire all round all the hedges. If there are intruders a buzzer goes off. I only have to check this and whichever number is flashing tells me which sectors they're coming in through. Three teenage boys did try to break in. I knew where, saw them coming through my binoculars, went out to meet them with my miniature water cannon. The pressure on the jet is very powerful. It is so strong I knocked them over when I aimed it at them. And it was in winter so they were soaked in icy water. They ran for it, I can tell you.'
'I'm dazed,' reacted Dillon.
'Must be the drink,' Mrs Carson suggested, pulling his leg. 'Now follow me...'
Crossing to the opposite panelled wall, she pressed a button. A section of the panel slid back, revealing a doorway. Telling Dillon to mind the steps, she switched on a light and led the way down a flight of concrete steps with a handrail on either side.
The underground complex was vast, one cellar leading to another. The floors, walls and tunnel-like ceiling were painted white. There was nothing primitive about the complex. Opening one door, she ushered her visitor into a comfortably
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