TW04 The Zenda Vendetta NEW Read Online Free PDF

“specifically, an historical romance titled
The Prisoner of
Zenda,
written by Sir Anthony Hope Hawkins, also known as Anthony Hope, a London solicitor (modern equivalent: attorney) and published in England in the year 1894. The work was reportedly based on the personal diaries of Rudolf Rassendyll, born August 21, 1862 in London, England; died of tuberculosis on April 14, 1892—”
    “Visual on Rudolf Rassendyll,” safd Forrester.
    The holographic image of a tall, well-built man dressed in formal evening clothes circa the late 19th century appeared standing in the staging area before them. The image of Rassendyll stood slightly in profile with his head held erect and his chin held high. He had a thick shock of dark red hair, bright blue eyes, and a sharp, regal-looking nose. The effect of the projection on the three commandos was instantaneous and pronounced.
    “What the hell?” said Finn Delaney, leaning forward and staring at the hologram intently. “
That’s
me!”
    “Maintain present projection and let me have a visual on King Rudolf the Fifth of Ruritania,” said Forrester.
    A second holographic image appeared standing beside the first. King Rudolf was dressed in a resplendent white military tunic festooned with medals and gold braid, with large, fringed epaulets upon his shoulders and a bright red sash across his chest. He wore white riding breeches and highly polished black riding boots. One arm hung relaxed at his side while the other was bent at the elbow, the hand resting on the pommel of his dress sabre. In all save the clothing, King Rudolf was the identical twin of Rudolf Rassendyll—and of Finn Delaney.
    Finn glanced wide-eyed from one projection to the other. He stood up slowly and approached them, examining them from all angles. With the sole exception of the fact that he stood slightly taller than both images, though not so much so that anyone would notice unless he was standing close beside them, there was no discernible difference among the three of them.
    “God damn!” he said, taking several steps backward and shaking his head slowly. “I have a very nasty feeling that I’m just going to hate whatever’s coming next.”
    “If you’ll resume your seat, Delaney, then we’ll get on with it,” snapped Forrester, a bit more sharply than was necessary. Lucas wondered what was bothering the old man. Forrester was normally imperturbable, yet now the tension was apparent in his stance and in his voice. There was a grim tightness to the set of his mouth, a stiffness to his posture, an abruptness to his movements. Forrester appeared to be under a great strain and that was a bad sign, a very bad sign, indeed.
    “Both of these projections are part of the data fed to us by Temporal Intelligence earlier this afternoon,” he said. “They were derived from old photographs. For your general information, Mr.
    Delaney, I ran a thorough check on your background when I saw these and to the best of my knowledge, neither of these men were ancestors of yours. Your resemblance to them is a remarkable coincidence. Proceed, computer.”
    “Hawkins’s novel had as its theme a plot to seize the throne of Ruritania in the year 1891,” said the computer. “The plot was engineered by Michael Elphberg, Duke of Strelsau, half-brother to the king by a morganatic marriage—”
    “Visual on Michael Elphberg,” said Forrester.
    The two holograms winked out, to be replaced by the image of Michael Elphberg, a saturnine man of average height, gaunt, with deeply-set, hooded brown eyes, and raven-black hair. Despite his dazzling military uniform, Michael Elphberg had the look of a character out of a Dostoevsky novel, one of those dark and brooding young men, like Raskolnikov, driven by an anarchistic soul and deep frustration that the world had not seen fit to recognize his natural superiority.
    “Cheerful-looking chap, isn’t he?” said Finn.
    “What is a morganatic marriage?” said Lucas.
    “Computer,” said