A Game of Battleships by Toby Frost Read Free Book Online Page B

that meant in English.
    ‘Using our vessel, you would be able to make a head start tracking your quarry while the John Pym  is being repaired. Then you would be able to transmit an exact location to your fleet.’
    ‘Excellent! Well then,’ said Smith, ‘I think this is a jolly good plan. How soon can your people get  organised?’
    Jurgens looked slightly put out. ‘Captain Smith,’ he replied, ‘they already are.’
    ‘Splendid.’ Smith stood up and held out his hand. ‘It's been a pleasure, Commissioner Jurgens. I  had no idea that Europe would turn out to be such a reasonable place.’
    Jurgens smiled and they shook hands. ‘I must admit, I too am pleasantly surprised. I must  confess that the British in Europe do have a reputation for – how can I put it? – crass, drunken  lawlessness. I am delighted to be proven otherwise.’
    The door burst open and Carveth ran in, clutching a bottle in one hand and a duty free bag in the  other. ‘Oh my God!’ she cried, ‘You were right! This place is terrible! The police are after us!’
    Jurgens raised an eyebrow. ‘Or not,’ he said.
    ‘Nothing to worry about,’ Smith said. ‘I'm sure everything will be fine – won't it, eh?’ he added,  glaring at Carveth.
    ‘No, it won't,’ she replied. ‘They're going to put Rhianna in jail!’
    *
    A twig crackled under W's boot. He glanced down, saw a snake of rope come hissing through the  heather and leaped back before it could catch his ankle. The rope snapped closed and whipped away. The ground seemed to explode before him and suddenly he was looking at the upper body of Major  Wainscott, wearing a beanie hat and holding the most unwholesome-looking weapon he had ever seen.
    ‘Halt!’ Wainscott said. ‘Can you recommend a florist?’
    ‘Not on bloody Dartmoor I can’t.’
    Wainscott gave him a reproachful look.
    W sighed. ‘There are many fine florists on the streets of Kiev.’
    ‘Morning,’ Wainscott replied. He lowered the weapon. It seemed to be a sort of bow made out of  pieces of bone. ‘Fancy meeting you here,’ he observed.
    ‘Indeed. You'll be astonished to learn that I'm not on holiday. We have some business to discuss.’
    ‘Well then!’ Wainscott smiled. He was keeping good care of his teeth, W noticed. ‘You'd better  come inside. Be quick about it – you're very distinctive like that.’ Gopher-like, he dropped out of sight as though some unseen assailant had just tugged his legs. W grimaced across the moor, and climbed down  into the hole.
    He dropped into a dry chamber hacked out of the earth. The first thing he spotted was the  neatness of the place: Wainscott might be a lunatic but he was at least tidy. The second thing he noticed were the badgers: three of them watched him suspiciously from the opening into a much smaller tunnel.
    ‘It's alright, he's a friend,’ Wainscott said, rooting about in the back of the room. ‘They're funny  little fellows, badgers, but terribly loyal.’ He hauled up two deckchairs and began to fight them into shape.
    ‘Have a seat.’
    ‘Thank you.’ W eased himself into a chair very carefully. He crossed his legs as if balancing a  landmine on his knee.
    ‘So, what do you think of Chez Wainscott? Quite something, isn't it?’
    ‘It certainly is.’ It was like being trapped inside the skin of a giant baked potato, W decided. It  smelt of sausages.
    Wainscott laid the crossbow down beside his chair. ‘I made this myself. Recycled parts, of course.
    I recycle pretty much everything.’ He reached down to a large flask beside his chair. ‘Scrumpy?’
    ‘I, er, had some earlier.’
    ‘Your loss, old fellow.’ Wainscott took a huge swig and settled back. He was wearing his combat  shorts and the visible scars bore testament to a lifetime of living hard on the veldt. ‘So, who are we killing today? Got an armoured division you want knocked off?’
    ‘Not exactly.’
    ‘Ah, a crack at the lemming man, is it? Teach the horrible