At Sword's Point Read Online Free PDF

off and kicked the grenade-wielder in the face, hard enough to fracture his skull. The man was still struggling, though, and the man who had kicked him suddenly dropped to one knee, pulled the man's head back by the hair, and drove his thumb deep into the carotid artery on the side of his neck. Within seconds, the man passed out.
    Drummond realized for the first time that a well-dressed man in his middle fifties had moved in to kneel in front of him and was speaking.
    "… now hold on tight, and for Christ's sake, don't let go"
    Drummond was about to tell him he had no intention of letting go, when the other man in uniform leaned forward and slammed a fire hatchet down on the fanatic's wrist. Drummond could hear the soggy thud of bone shattering, and blood was spraying everywhere. The hatchet smashed down several more times before the wrist was finally severed, leaving Drummond holding the bloody hand squeezed around the grenade.
    The well-dressed man hardly batted an eye. Reaching down into a small black bag at his side, he pulled out a length of surgical tubing and quickly threw a tourniquet around the stump of the terrorist's wrist. As soon as he had it secured, the two uniformed men dragged the unconscious man forward, vanishing through the curtain that separated the first-class cabin from the Grand Guingol drama of tourist class,
    "I'll be right with you," the well-dressed man called after them, before returning his attention to Drummond. He had a faint accent that Drummond could not quite place. "Can you hold on for just a few more seconds? I'll try to find something to tie down the arming lever of the grenade."
    Drummond could feel his hands going numb, his grip slowly evaporating. "I'm not sure…"
    In the seat next to him, Bea MacDowell reached into her purse and produced a wad of keys strung together on a large blanket pin.
    "Here," she said. Popping open the pin, her keys scattering all over the floor of the aircraft, she leaned over Drummond's shoulder and deftly stuck the blanket pin through the hole in the arming lever, effectively locking it in place. "You can relax now, Mr. Drummond."
    Drummond smiled weakly at Bea MacDowell and resolved to buy a house from her as soon as they landed. Carefully he opened his fingers just enough to allow the severed hand to fall from his grasp. It landed with a moist thud on the soggy carpet. Still cradling the grenade in both hands, Drummond started to stand up.
    The blanket pin snapped with a loud, metallic crack, and the arming lever of the grenade flew out of Drummond's grasp and bounced off one of the overhead compartments. With less than five seconds to live, Drummond clutched the grenade to his stomach and threw himself flat on the floor. From somewhere near his belt buckle there was a loud pop, followed by a few wisps of acrid-smelling smoke.
    The grenade was a dud.
    Slowly raising himself up off the floor, Drummond couldn't decide if he should laugh or swear.
    "Son of a bitch," he chuckled softly to himself, rubbing his bruised stomach. In the seat next to him, Bea MacDowell had fainted.

Chapter 3
    Los Angeles International Airport diverted Drummond's flight to Lockheed Aircraft's test facility near Edwards Air Force Base. As the jumbo jet touched down on the three-mile long runway, a convoy of military vehicles rolled out to meet it. Dark blue Air Police jeeps escorted the Boeing 747 to a special hangar, where federal agents awaited to question the passengers.
    "Please remain in your seats until cabin personnel ask you to exit the aircraft." The senior cabin attendant had repeated the request several times, but people were still standing and jostling each other in the aisles.
    Drummond felt something bump against the side of the aircraft. Craning his neck to look out the window, he could just see a gangway being secured to the side of the plane. An Air Force ambulance and a black limousine with diplomatic plates pulled up at the foot of the gangway just as the hatch,