Queen Victoria's Revenge by Harry Harrison Page B

Quietly he vowed that, if and when he got out of this mess, he would see a little justice directed in the colonel’s direction.
    â€œThat was simple enough,” the colonel said as they strolled back to the car, the perfect gentleman again. “I thought they would see light when they saw how expendable a traitor could be.”
    He was a beast, Tony realized, but a dangerously intelligent one. Everything had been planned from the beginning, including Tony’s attempt to escape. He had been outmaneuvered right down the line. Even now the colonel was smiling as he looked at Tony’s face, laughing, knowing just what thoughts were going through his mind. Tony turned away and entered the bus.
    â€œNow, where is this place?” The colonel seated himself comfortably and held the card up to the light and the intense gaze of his single eye. “Fishing boats, a harbor, very attractive. And the name, Carradale—the Jewel of Argyll. How very poetic. Find me this Argyll on the map.”
    There was much rattling of paper and muttering and mispronunciation in Spanish before the spot was found. “Here,” Jorge announced proudly. “On this peninsula by a big island. We must take the road number eighty-two to the north, and then the road eighty-three to the south. A drive of perhaps one hundred and thirty miles.”
    â€œWe go there. Begin.”
    â€œBut, Colonel, hunger tears at our vitals with sharp teeth. Can we not now eat?”
    â€œPossibly. Drive on. We will stop at a shop and I will buy provisions. You can eat while we drive. There, halt by that market and I will provide for you.”
    He returned quickly with two large bags, which he opened as soon as they had moved on, displaying his purchases proudly. “The pork pie, very delicious when taken with mustard, and most filling. Simply bite and eat. And the sausage roll. Little flavor but equally filling. It is not the hour for the purchase of alcoholic beverages yet, you know the British eccentricity in this matter, but here is milk in bottles, much more nourishing.”
    They champed happily. Tony looked on with eagerness but, perhaps because of his recent meal, was offered nothing. It began to rain and Tony’s morale stayed at rock bottom. Would he get out of this alive? There was no telling, or rather there was telling. If the colonel thought he had information best kept secret there would be a quick bullet, he had no doubt of that. So what he had to do was appear frightened—he didn’t have to fake that—and co-operate instantly when anything was asked of him. Willing and able. But all the time he must be alert for the chance to escape from these dangerous men. Not an obvious escape, the colonel would be as aware as he was of anything like that. In fact he must ignore the obvious in the hopes of getting the colonel ever so slightly off his guard. Nevertheless his eyes must be open and his brain seething with inquiry, examining everything. When the opportunity presented itself he had to seize it upon the instant and be gone.
    All this fervid thinking had a slightly ameliorating effect on his morale, which the appearance of the sun helped considerably. The rain had ceased, the clouds rolled back and slanting rays of light poked down like heavenly fingers. The road was a narrow track that wound between stone-walled fields. Grass that was green enough to hurt the eye filled the meadows, where it was being happily grazed by great, white, barrel-shaped sheep. They lifted black faces to the car as it went by, chewing placidly, at peace with the world. This world was at peace with itself and the knot of armed and desperate men rushing through it was the sour note. Plantations of fir swept by, purple and yellow flowers blossomed on the hillsides, small farms trickled smoke upward from their chimneys into the utterly transparent air. Tony forgot his predicament in the beauty of it, glimpses of ocean between the hills,