Blood Tribute (The Lucas Gedge Thrillers Book 1) by Andy Emery Read Free Book Online

Rondeau.’

    I nside , Gedge followed Rondeau along a wood-panelled hallway, past a kitchen and into a room that was somewhere between a drawing room and a study. The interior of Rondeau’s house was extraordinary: a mishmash of Georgian and more modern styles; deep colours and rich textures; wooden panelling and plush fabrics; and books and papers everywhere. In the drawing room alone, fitted bookshelves covered one wall, floor to ceiling, and there were additional free-standing bookcases, also full to bursting. Piles of books and other documents littered the floor and covered several tables, desks, and a number of chairs.
    As Rondeau busied himself clearing two wing-backed chairs and an occasional table, Gedge studied the room further. The walls not obscured by bookcases were adorned with shelves bearing a range of objects, including trophies, awards and several photographs showing Rondeau with various other men. There were also several maps of London and parts of Europe. A warming fire blazed in the grate, and the floor was covered by a colourful patterned carpet, a little threadbare in places. They settled into the chairs.
    ‘I know it’s early, Mr Gedge, but will you partake of a small glass of brandy with me? The weather encourages it.’
    ‘I will, Mr Rondeau. Thank you very much. By the way, no doubt Darius told you about the boys who accosted us in the street, nearly giving the horse a heart attack with their firecrackers. It seemed to be a warning to you.’
    ‘Yes. He told me, Mr Gedge. I am sorry your arrival in the city was disturbed in that way. Although I try to keep my activities quiet, I inevitably attract attention sometimes. I do not know who they represented, but I cannot allow such concerns to affect me. Now, I feel I owe you an explanation for my asking you to come here. I knew poor, deluded Felix Bellhouse, your commanding officer in Simla. I say “knew”, because it is some time since I talked properly to him, and I fear he was losing his reason somewhat. Although you would know more about that than me. But in his last letter to me, he praised you to the heights. He described you as a specialist, a hybrid of soldier and spy. The sort of agent the world’s governments don’t even know they need yet.’ 
    ‘That sort of talk unsettles me. I was just doing my duty. I didn’t even know that the things Bellhouse was ordering me to do weren’t sanctioned.’
    ‘And therefore you are not to blame for the scandal that was provoked. Nevertheless, you were extremely effective in performing those tasks. A unique soldier. I believe I would be correct in saying that, unlike your activities, most of the tales of derring-do we hear coming out of Afghanistan and the so-called “Great Game” relate to rich young officers seeking excitement?’
    ‘The “shooting leave” nonsense? Yes, I wasn’t popular with that crowd.’
    ‘No matter. Of course, I followed the fall of Bellhouse and his court martial, and the fact that you were put out to pasture. How have you fared since?’
    ‘I was devastated to be told that the killing wasn’t necessary, because the Russians never had any intention of invading India through Afghanistan. It had all been a lie. And that was on top of some nasty experiences I’d had when I was working undercover. I was captured by the Russians’ Afghan allies, and tortured. I get nightmares about it every so often. Anyway, I spent some time travelling through India to the coast, and I’ve taken my time travelling over land and sea, all the way back here.
    ‘During that time I’ve come to terms with what happened, and I’ve decided that what I need is to become what I have never been. A father to my daughter. That, and to have nothing more to do with killing and violence.’
    ‘Quite so. Now to the reason I have asked you to come here. Apart from the fact that you sound like the sort of man that I would like to work with, you have a connection with something I am currently