At Sword's Point by Katherine Kurtz, Scott MacMillan Read Free Book Online Page A

good-naturedly as he brushed past the two men just coming in, and as they closed the door behind them, walked over to the pert Chicana who was Drummond's secretary,
    "Alicia, are those guys who just went into John's office supposed to be from the Israeli Consulate?" he asked quietly, bending over her desk.
    "Sure. They had ID. Why?" She wrinkled her nose slightly as she answered Morwood's question.
    "Because they're both packing iron," Morwood said. "You'd better alert security."
    The two men opposite Drummond were well tanned and neatly dressed, but their dark suits were not quite well enough cut to totally mask the bulges under their arms. One look at their heavily scarred knuckles told Drummond that these were no ordinary diplomats.
    "Gentlemen, please sit down." Drummond gave them his best public relations smile as he indicated two chairs on the other side of his desk.
    As the Israelis settled down, the taller of the pair introduced himself.
    "I'm Moses Trostler, and this is my assistant, Abe Meier." The thickset man to his right grunted. "We were hoping that you might be able to answer a few 'unofficial' questions for us." Trostler's English was perfect, without a trace of accent.
    "My secretary said you were with the Israeli Consulate," Drummond said politely. "Do you mind telling me what you do?"
    Meier shifted in his chair, but Trostler remained impassive as he said, "Not at all. Let's just say that we're with special security at the consulate."
    "I see." Drummond left his public relations smile turned on. "What can I do for you?"
    Meier leaned forward, both hands on Drummond's desk. "You can cut out the crap, for starters. We know all about you and your Nazi pals in Vienna."
    His voice rasped with menace. Out of the corner of his eye, Drummond watched Trostler's reaction to his partner's aggressive display. Nothing in the Israeli's body language indicated any surprise at Meier's outburst.
    So that's it , Drummond thought. Good cop, Bad cop. And well-rehearsed, too .
    "Suppose you refresh my memory, Mr. Meier," he said, "and tell me all about it."
    Meier's face darkened with rage, and he half stood up before Trostler's even voice cut across the growing tension.
    "Captain Drummond. Who your friends are—well, it really doesn't matter. Just so long as it doesn't affect your career. All we want is a little cooperation, that's all." Trostler's threat said it all: play ball, or we'll go to your boss.
    "Yeah," Meier said. "Cooperation. Like you gave your friends who killed Hans Stucke."
    Drummond decided that it was time to terminate the meeting, but on his terms. Stretching one foot farther under his desk, he pushed a floor button that triggered a silent alarm outside his office. Through the glass wall behind the two Israelis, he could see two uniformed officers with shotguns already making their way toward his office, Morwood behind them, signaling the secretaries to leave the outer office.
    "Gentlemen," Drummond said, as he stood up, "you are both under arrest."
    Meier jumped to his feet. "Listen here—!"
    The first officer through the door jammed his shotgun into the back of Meier's neck and ordered, "Freeze, asshole! Just move and I'll paint the walls with your brains."
    Trostler remained impassive as Meier was shoved facedown across Drummond's desk by one of the cops.
    "Captain Drummond, we have full diplomatic immun—"
    "Hands on your head!" the other cop barked, underlining the command with a shotgun barrel in Trostler's back.
    As Trostler obeyed, Drummond leaned across his desk and removed a large automatic pistol from the man's shoulder holster.
    "Desert Eagle .357 Magnum." Drummond dropped the piece into his trash can with a metallic clatter. "It's a felony to bring a concealed weapon into a municipal building, Mr. Trostler." Sliding his hand into Meier's jacket, he pulled out another automatic. "Matching pair. Hope for your sake they're registered, Mr. Meier." It followed the other gun into the trash. As the