This United State Read Online Free Page B
Author: Colin Forbes
They'll think you're a yokel.'
'Better practise my yokel accent.'
Mrs Carson was putting the plates of food in a warming drawer. She produced her keys, ready to let Newman out.
'One more thing, Cord, before I go. All the things you have seen recently, what has happened to you. Any idea what it's all about?'
'The whole grim business is a mystery.'
Mrs Carson dimmed the lights before unlocking the main door. Newman hugged her, went out into the breathtaking cold air to his car. He drove slowly back up the track and Mrs Carson timed the opening of the gate perfectly.
Leaving the farmhouse behind, he turned his lights on full beam. As he navigated the maze of lanes half his mind was on driving the car, half on what Dillon had told him. Why did he have a sense of imminent doom?
2
When Newman walked into Tweed's office in the middle of the night there was a tense atmosphere. Paula and Monica sat silently behind their desks. Tweed was leaning forward in his chair chatting to a man in his thirties who Newman detested. Basil Windermere.
Leaning against a wall, smoking a king-size, stood Marler, a key member of Tweed's team, reputed to be the best marksman in the whole of Western Europe. Shorter than.Newman — he was five feet seven tall — Marler was slim and, as usual, smartly dressed. Wearing a grey suit with a Prince of Wales check, his trouser creases were knife-edged, his white shirt fresh from the dry-cleaner, his blue silk tie decorated with a subtle chain link design. His dark hair was neatly trimmed and his clean-shaven face had an expression suggesting he was miles away in thought.
'I think you know Basil,' Tweed said.
'We've met,' Newman replied without enthusiasm.
'Good to see you, old chap.' Windermere extended a hand which Newman ignored. 'What a bunch of night birds we are,' he went on in the soft voice which made many women fall over backwards. 'I'm here to put Tweed on to a good thing. Heard on the grapevine Sharon Mandeville is up for insurance to the tune of thirty million dollars.'
'Thought she was in America,' Newman lied.
'My dear chap, you're the world's greatest foreign correspondent. Thought you kept up to date. The delectable Sharon is in town here. Some big job with the American Embassy. Thought of Tweed at once. His insurance company handles protective cover against eminent souls being kidnapped.'
Which confirmed to Newman that Windermere had no idea the General & Cumbria Assurance plate on the., door at the entrance was a cover for the secret HQ of the SIS. He simply nodded. Windermere turned back to Tweed.
'I'm a bit short of the readies.' He flicked index finger and thumb. 'Some of the folding stuff for the tip would most certainly not come amiss.'
'Who is proposing to pay this enormous premium?' Tweed asked.
'Presumably her latest billionaire boy friend back in the US of A.'
'Presumably? The boy friend has a name?'
'Sorry, I haven't got that far.'
'Maybe this anonymous boy friend hasn't got that far either. He could just hope to.'
'Mind if I smoke?'
Windermere extracted a gold cigarette case from his pocket and selected a Turkish cigarette with a flourish. On the outside was engraved a royal-looking crown. Undoubtedly a fake, Newman decided. Just like the owner.
Windermere was known to live off rich women. Once a male model, he was six feet tall, and took care to keep his weight down at a health club. This was one place where he encountered female prospects. He was wearing a white linen suit, which was ridiculous for the time of the year. He hardly ever stopped smiling, which Newman described as a smirk. He had a head of thick hair and too-perfect features.
'How did you come by this information?' Tweed probed.
'Met her at a party, didn't I? She's something else again — a real knock-out. Intelligent with it. Told me during the course of our long conversation. Think she rather liked me. I took the liberty of mentioning your organization.'
'Who mentioned my name?'
'She did,
'Better practise my yokel accent.'
Mrs Carson was putting the plates of food in a warming drawer. She produced her keys, ready to let Newman out.
'One more thing, Cord, before I go. All the things you have seen recently, what has happened to you. Any idea what it's all about?'
'The whole grim business is a mystery.'
Mrs Carson dimmed the lights before unlocking the main door. Newman hugged her, went out into the breathtaking cold air to his car. He drove slowly back up the track and Mrs Carson timed the opening of the gate perfectly.
Leaving the farmhouse behind, he turned his lights on full beam. As he navigated the maze of lanes half his mind was on driving the car, half on what Dillon had told him. Why did he have a sense of imminent doom?
2
When Newman walked into Tweed's office in the middle of the night there was a tense atmosphere. Paula and Monica sat silently behind their desks. Tweed was leaning forward in his chair chatting to a man in his thirties who Newman detested. Basil Windermere.
Leaning against a wall, smoking a king-size, stood Marler, a key member of Tweed's team, reputed to be the best marksman in the whole of Western Europe. Shorter than.Newman — he was five feet seven tall — Marler was slim and, as usual, smartly dressed. Wearing a grey suit with a Prince of Wales check, his trouser creases were knife-edged, his white shirt fresh from the dry-cleaner, his blue silk tie decorated with a subtle chain link design. His dark hair was neatly trimmed and his clean-shaven face had an expression suggesting he was miles away in thought.
'I think you know Basil,' Tweed said.
'We've met,' Newman replied without enthusiasm.
'Good to see you, old chap.' Windermere extended a hand which Newman ignored. 'What a bunch of night birds we are,' he went on in the soft voice which made many women fall over backwards. 'I'm here to put Tweed on to a good thing. Heard on the grapevine Sharon Mandeville is up for insurance to the tune of thirty million dollars.'
'Thought she was in America,' Newman lied.
'My dear chap, you're the world's greatest foreign correspondent. Thought you kept up to date. The delectable Sharon is in town here. Some big job with the American Embassy. Thought of Tweed at once. His insurance company handles protective cover against eminent souls being kidnapped.'
Which confirmed to Newman that Windermere had no idea the General & Cumbria Assurance plate on the., door at the entrance was a cover for the secret HQ of the SIS. He simply nodded. Windermere turned back to Tweed.
'I'm a bit short of the readies.' He flicked index finger and thumb. 'Some of the folding stuff for the tip would most certainly not come amiss.'
'Who is proposing to pay this enormous premium?' Tweed asked.
'Presumably her latest billionaire boy friend back in the US of A.'
'Presumably? The boy friend has a name?'
'Sorry, I haven't got that far.'
'Maybe this anonymous boy friend hasn't got that far either. He could just hope to.'
'Mind if I smoke?'
Windermere extracted a gold cigarette case from his pocket and selected a Turkish cigarette with a flourish. On the outside was engraved a royal-looking crown. Undoubtedly a fake, Newman decided. Just like the owner.
Windermere was known to live off rich women. Once a male model, he was six feet tall, and took care to keep his weight down at a health club. This was one place where he encountered female prospects. He was wearing a white linen suit, which was ridiculous for the time of the year. He hardly ever stopped smiling, which Newman described as a smirk. He had a head of thick hair and too-perfect features.
'How did you come by this information?' Tweed probed.
'Met her at a party, didn't I? She's something else again — a real knock-out. Intelligent with it. Told me during the course of our long conversation. Think she rather liked me. I took the liberty of mentioning your organization.'
'Who mentioned my name?'
'She did,
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