Turning Point Read Online Free PDF Page A

in the dead of night on a bridge somewhere in Europe…’
    â€˜You serious?’
    â€˜Deadly. Since the wall came down, Russia has dwindled into a something and nothing country, its satellites breaking away to become part of the Eurozone.’
    â€˜Don’t they mind?’
    Tulsa twisted round, an impish smile on his face. ‘They like to pretend they don’t.’
    The chauffeur, his grin reflected in the rear-view mirror, winked at Scott. He brought the heavy car to a stop, his route into the car park blocked by a barrier manned by Swiss police. An officer checked their pass against the television monitor in the small gatehouse.
    The building in front of them was loathsome, reminding Scott of cartoons in which giant bugs, from an alien galaxy, plonked themselves down in the middle of civilisation, demolishing everything around them. It certainly didn’t look like a harbinger for world peace. As they descended into the underground car park, he cast a despairing glance over his shoulder watching daylight slowly reduce to a mere slit. Even the feeble electric lighting made little impression on heavy-set pillars of a cement-lined cavern. An irrational thought flicked at Scott’s mind of being swallowed alive, rather like Jonah and the whale.
    Glass doors fronting a corridor splashed with brilliant illumination beckoned. But still nothing welcoming – nothing that deserved a place in a building dedicated to world peace. It was the weirdest of sensations but Scott, after the events of the spring, had become used to trusting his instinct. Nothing good would ever come out of this building.

Three

    Tulsa was out of the vehicle before it had even stopped, quickly opening the rear door.
    â€˜Stewart Horrington, Mr Anderson.’ The man waiting for them grasped Bill’s hand in a warm handshake. ‘US Representative. You made it okay then. Glad to see you.’
    The grey-haired, neatly suited figure greeting them was not alone. A secretary, carrying a stenographer’s notebook in one hand and twirling a pencil with her other, nestled into his right shoulder. A few steps behind, a mass of eager attention, stood two somewhat younger versions of the statesman – their clothes and hairstyle as close a copy to their boss as it was possible to achieve without being thought a clone. Behind them again, a tall man leaned against the nearby wall. To the casual observer he might have passed for a broken-down reporter on the staff of a tabloid newspaper, someone whose ambitions had faded at forty and who would never be paid well enough to afford decent clothes. He looked unkempt, his button-down collar and narrow tie ill-fitting, his dark hair unruly and in need of cutting – and he hadn’t shaved. He raised his head from his contemplation of the carpet and a pair of tight blue eyes under fiercely frowning brows raked the newcomers.
    Scott felt an irrational sense of dislike sweep over him. He knew it was unwarranted but couldn’t prevent it. Sean Terry had saved his father from certain death. And he was grateful, he really was.
    When Hilary had pleaded to stay on in Cornwall and finish her education, surprisingly Sean Terry had agreed, carefully pointing out to the young secret service agent that since only their friends, Travers and Mary, were aware of her real identity, it might work – but…
    â€˜If you stay in the service, no getting matey. Staying close to Scott… it’s an assignment… a job. That’s all. Got it?’
    He had dragged the two of them into a corner of the room to lecture them, the steel of his eyes blazing like a laser. Hilary had flushed bright scarlet, taking an instant step backwards. It wasn’t a big step and Hilary probably wasn’t aware she’d done it but it was significant, and had changed everything. From being on the friendliest of terms, spending every spare moment together, they were once again strangers. Every