Crown Jewel: The Battle for the Falklands by Peter von Bleichert Read Free Book Online Page A

radios.  Someone yelling orders in Spanish tried to get inside the House.”
    There was a flash and explosion outside.  The three men flinched and dropped down.
    “We have to get the Prince from here,”the governor insisted to Major Fagan.  To my office,” the governor insisted.
    The three men headed down a narrow set of stairs.
    The butler was dead.  He lay there at the bottom riser, a shattered glass of water at his side.  Albert, Fagan, and the governor stepped over him.  Out of respect, each was careful not to contact the corpse.  They entered the kitchen.
    The simple kitchen held baskets of vegetables, trays of eggs, and, hanging from an iron rack above the hearth, well-used pots and pans.  Beside the wood chopping block lay a dead footman.  Albert, the governor, and Fagan turned for the lower hall.
    They passed a dead dark-haired man folded over a chair.  The corpse’s uniform was blood-stained and full of holes made by the governor’s Uzi.  Major Fagan grabbed a handful of hair and rolled the stiffening body off the chair’s back.  Even though there was no recognizable insignia on the uniform, Fagan declared him an ‘Argie.’
    Numb and seemingly indifferent to the mayhem, the governor said: “My office is that way.”  He pointed in the direction of a set of double doors with the barrel of his Uzi.  The three moved that way and came upon a hall cabinet.
    “One moment,” the governor said.  They all paused at the piece of furniture.  As the governor removed a key from his robe pocket and unlocked the cabinet, Fagan tracked his semi-automatic pistol around, watching for threats.  The governor grabbed a shotgun from inside the cabinet and handed it to Albert.
    “I trust you know how to use this?”
    Albert’s answer was communicated by a check of the 12-gauge’s chamber.  Finding it empty, he cycled the shotgun’s forearm and dragged a shell into the chamber.
    “Very well,” the governor approved.
    The three men moved on through the dark smoke-filled hall.  The crackle of intermittent gunfire continued outside.
    Heavy bootfalls boomed along the upstairs hall.  The three men looked up.  The sounds stopped at what was the Prince’s chamber.
    “Carry on,” Governor Moody urged.  He unlocked and pushed open the door to his office.
    The room was empty and undisturbed.  A portrait of Captain John McBride hung on the paneled walls, and a large oak desk sat flanked by two tall bookcases that held leather-bound tomes.  The governor began clearing books from shelves.
    “Lock the door,” the governor ordered and Fagan complied.  The governor removed the plank of one shelf and pried off a false back, opening into a cobweb-filled crawlspace.  “This will get us to the garage.  In you go.  Both of you.”  There was no arguing with the diplomat-warrior.
    Albert moved to enter, but Fagan held him back and went in first.  With Albert and the governor behind him, Fagan felt his way in the pitch-black.  He swatted at the sticky webs that stuck to his face and shuffled forward, feeling his way along the lath and plaster.  Then he saw light that outlined a small door.  He kicked it open and squeezed through.
    Albert emerged next to a toppled pile of paint cans that had concealed the door within the garage workshop.  Fagan scanned the room.  There were tables, racks of tools, and garden implements.  He signaled Albert, who emerged, followed by the governor and his Uzi.  The governor used his key to unlock the workshop door and opened it just a crack.  He peeked through to the garage proper.
    “All clear,” the governor proclaimed.
    Albert and Fagan followed him to the garage where two Land Rovers were parked.  The glow of fire flickered through the small windows lining the top of the garage’s door.  The mansion is burning, the fact hit Albert.  Again, using the key, the governor opened a wall-mounted lock-box.  He removed a key FOB that would start one of the