Gordon Korman Our Man Weston

[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

want to ask you to do me a favour, Tom." He held out a stack of letters.
"Would you please mail these for me?"
"Certainly." Tom grabbed the letters, ran out of the room, took the elevator
to the lobby and tossed the letters into the nearest waste receptacle. Then,
cheerful despite his frustration, he returned to polishing ashtrays.
Edna Fuller, a crumpled piece of tissue in her hand, leaned over the
wastebasket. "Oh, my goodness!" There were letters there addressed to
important government agencies. She checked the return address-S. Weston.
Sidney's letters had somehow found their way into the garbage. They must be
mailed. They contained important information about Mr. Kitzel. She scooped the
stack of letters out of the garbage can and dutifully
dropped them into the mail slot.
Watching from across the room, Tom slapped his forehead in despair.
Mr. Parson happened along. "Been writing some letters, Miss Fuller?" he asked
in a friendly
"Who wants to know?" she replied belligerently. This was classified
information-none of his business.
Parson stiffened with shock. "I-I see. Well, have a nice evening."
s s s
LM
Lawrence Waghorn entered his room, still raging. He had thought that an
after-dinner drink might calm him down, but even four hadn't done the trick.
That Fuller woman! How dare she spy on him.
What a stupid business he had gone into-television writing. Writing was an art
and television was big business. The two just didn't mix. How could he be
creative when there was danger of someone stealing his work?
In frustration, he kicked his wastebasket. There was a rattling sound, and a
small black object bounced out and landed on the carpet at his feet. Waghorn
picked it up and turned it over in his hand, his face tense with shock. He had
written enough spy and detective stories to know what this was-an electronic
listening device. That Fuller woman had bugged his room!
Furiously, he held the bug close to his mouth and bellowed, "You're not going
to get anything from me! You hear that? Nothing!"
He ran out onto his balcony, wound up like a major-league pitcher and heaved
the bug as far as he could.
"There!" he said with satisfaction. "That must have gone all the way to the
seventh tee! Let her listen to that!"
"Captain Snider!" hissed Corporal Hayes urgently. "Take the other line! It's
him again!"
99
1
Snider picked up the extension in time to hear a voice speaking in a muffled
whisper say, " . . the second dog is under control, but you have to expect a
third. Bishop is in on it as well as Parson, and Vishnik too is involved. I'm
not sure yet who the pilot is. There's Parson. I've got to go." There was a
click and then a dial tone.
Hayes and Snider looked at each other in bewilderment.
"Well," said Colonel Cartwright in great good humour, "don't leave me out of
it. What was it this time?"
"The parson again," said Hayes, "and more about dogs."
"And a bishop too," added Snider.
"A bishop?" repeated Cartwright jovially. "Any cardinals?"
"Then he mentioned something about vishnik," said Hayes. "Or that's what it
Page 36
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
sounded like."
"Vishnik?" said Snider. "I've had vishnik. It's a cherry brandy with a kick
like a mule."
"I know!" laughed Cartwright. "The parson and the bishop have gotten into the
vishnik and they're making crank calls!"
"He also mentioned a pilot," said Snider, dead serious. "That could mean
someone knows about the Osiris. I'm going to set up equipment and try to trace
the next call."
Cartwright laughed harder. "You're just sore, Snider, because the parson and
the bishop won't give you any of that vishnik."
Snider smiled grimly. "Colonel, this may be more serious than we think."
100
"Hah! Snider, you're serious about the wrong
thing. Here you are worrying over a couple of crank calls when the great Wings
Weinberg is going insane on my base! How would you like to be C.O. of the base
where the brilliant career of the world's greatest test pilot comes to an end
because he flips his lid? How'd you like to be a corporal again? No offence,
Hayes."
Snider shuffled uncomfortably. "Wings will be all right, Colonel."
"He'd better be," snapped Cartwright. "I'm not going to have that kind of
thing on my record. So from now on, Snider, I want you to babysit Weinberg.
Spend your every waking hour with him and somehow or other get him through
that test flight and off my base!"
"But, sir," Snider protested, "I'm the security officer."
"Well, there you are, then. Make him feel secure. Just get him through that
test. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
Richard Knight leaned over his balcony watching the lone figure of Sidney
Weston walking two large dogs-one Parson's Blackie, the other a golden
retriever undoubtedly belonging to the artist Vishnik.
Was this boy acting out Miss Fuller's spy game? It seemed so. Yet he did not
seem to be after Kitzel. Knight remembered the drinking
101
glass Sidney had so carefully spintea away witn waxed paper. If the boy were
after anyone, it was Lawrence Waghorn. Come to think of it, earlier on,
Waghorn had had a habit of jumping up and running away every time Table 19
played the spy game.
Knight decided it was time he did some investigating on some of his table
mates. Sidney Weston might bear inspection too.
102
7
Temporarily out of
commission
Sidney walked up to the hot- ay that the chef was preparing for Mr. Parso s
breakfast. It was the manager's custom to take all his meals in his private
suite. From his sleeve Sidney palmed a small plastic bottle with an
eyedropper. As he studied the contents of the tray, his eyes fell on a tall
glass of orange juice. With great stealth and dexterity, he emptied two drops
of clear liquid from the dropper into the juice.
While Sidney was selecting his own breakfast, he spied Tom picking up the
hot-tray for delivery to the hotel manager and tossed over his shoulder, "You
be careful with that. Make sure it gets where it's going." Tom cast him a
suspicious glance as he walked out into the hall.
Sidney picked up his tray and sat down beside David Bishop. As always, the
athlete was starting the day off right with a hearty breakfast-six fried eggs,
a stack of pancakes, several sausages, toast and a tall glass of milk.
Bishop's milk glass was empty.
103
nnrn pTrnrT. ~innev nowneu i
Page 37
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
in three enormous gulps and sighed loudly to attract Bishop's attention. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Pokrewne