Queen Victoria's Revenge Read Online Free PDF Page B

the skyjackers were asleep. When the trays had been cleaned away Tony felt a great urge to go to sleep too. It had been one of those kind of days and, streaking east like this, the sun would be up any minute now. Jasmin curled up by a window and he sat at the end of the same row, for whatever protection his presence could afford, and fell quickly into a restless slumber. This continued on and off for some time until right on schedule by mid-Atlantic time, 2 A.M. District of Columbia time, dawn sizzled in through the uncurtained windows. After this sleep was almost impossible and Tony went into and out of unconsciousness like a shutter going up and down. He had some strange dreams during these brief periods and one of them was about someone shaking him painfully by the shoulder and telling him to wake up, which dream, unhappily, proved to be true.
    â€œCome on, sleeping beauty, stir yourself. You have work to do.”
    It was Ramon, the man in charge, now singularly the worse for wear. Gray stubble covered his jaws and his eyes were a sultry shade of red while his breath, a compound of kosher delicacies and strong rum, would have wilted a flower at twenty paces. Tony scrabbled awake and scrambled to his feet.
    â€œWhat? What?” was the best his fatigue- and sleep-clotted mind could produce.
    â€œThese he-goat Englishmen in ground control say that they have no one who can speak Spanish. You must talk in English to them.” In both colorful and profane language he said what he thought of the English as he pushed Tony toward the flight deck. In addition to the crew a number of interested Cubans had crowded in to join the fun and one of them with microphone and earphones, was cursing into the radio an echo of their commander’s complaints. He reluctantly surrendered the apparatus to Tony, who caught the end of the pained reply.
    â€œNo hablar Spanish here, do you understand, minguno, oh bugger it, how does one say ‘I don’t understand’?”
    â€œÂ¡Dile que se calle!” Ramon snarled, poking his gun into Tony’s side and holding one of the earphones to his own ear. Tony cleared his throat and pressed the press-to-talk button on the mike.
    â€œI have been instructed to tell you to shut up.”
    â€œSir! They have someone talking English on the skyjacked plane!”
    There now followed much bilingual conversation and argument, with Tony in the middle, taking it from both sides until, at one moment, he found himself shouting Spanish into the microphone and talking to Ramon in English. A snarl and a gun prod terminated that rather quickly. Ramon appeared to understand some English, even if he did not speak it, and he issued his orders.
    There were military planes following them, Ramon was sure of it, he could see their vapor trails. They must be sent away or he would throw out one or more of his hostages. With this in mind he ordered the DC-10 to a lower altitude so one of the doors could be opened. There were cries of anguish from ground control along with the assurance that there were no other aircraft anywhere in the vicinity. Despite this the plane dropped through a thick layer of cloud and the green British countryside could be seen through occasional gaps.
    Clearance was guaranteed across southern England, the English Channel and on into Brussels. All flights had been stopped there and they were cleared for immediate landing.
    As soon as these guarantees had been repeated a number of times Ramon cackled with laughter and tore the microphone and headphone wires out by their copper roots. He then, still laughing insanely, used his gun butt to pound the radio into scrap.
    *   *   *
    The RAF Vampire jets, high above and unseen by anyone on the plane, lost visual contact with the DC-10 when it dropped below the cloud level. Ground radar also lost contact when the bulk of the Cotswold Hills interfered with their signals. But there were clear skies over the Channel