Deadly Sin by James Hawkins Read Free Book Online Page B

the steps towards the reception party.
    â€œHurry up … hurry up,” encourages Bliss in a tense whisper. This was the only bit he objected to during the initial briefings. “Why not have the official greetings inside — out of danger?” he asked. But the Queen’s equerry was adamant.
    â€œEveryone must see the respect accorded by each side. You must appreciate, Chief Inspector, that this visit has great historical significance.”
    Historically significant or not, a touch of comedy is creeping in a few steps behind the Queen, where Prince Philip appears to have gotten into a fight with his ceremonial sword.
    â€œWhat’s his bloody lordship up to?” sniggers Williams in Bliss’s ear as Prince Philip struggles with his scabbard.
    â€œNo idea, Sergeant,” says Bliss. “First he shows up dressed like a —”
    â€œDo you know,” cuts in Williams. “He once saw the Nigerian president in his Muslim robes and said, ‘God, man. You look ready for bed!’”
    â€œReally.”
    All eyes and cameras switch to the aging Duke of Edinburgh as the protection officer steps in and takes hold of Philip’s sword arm.
    Williams smirks, saying, “Unhand me, you varlet,” in a Shakespearean tone as Philip angrily waves off his guardian and, with a sharp tug, draws his sword.
    â€œWhat the hell is he doing now?” mutters Bliss.
    The midday sun flashes off the brilliantly burnished weapon, and the imams shrink back in unison as Philip lunges towards the lineup. The Queen finally catches on and spins with a confused look.
    â€œWhat on earth are you doing?” she mouths and takes a step towards her husband as he raises the sword. “Philip!”
    â€œOh my God,” breathes Bliss as the sword begins its descent, then the Queen’s protection officer takes a flying leap. The blade slashes downward as the aging woman fallsunder the weight of her bodyguard, but the tip slices into a bony calf.
    â€œJeezus,” spits Williams as the Duke’s man grabs the weapon and the Queen tumbles backwards down the marble steps in the embrace of her saviour.
    Commander Fox is on the radio in a flash. “Get an ambulance, Chief Inspector.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œAnd a bottle of Aspirins.”
    â€œFor the Queen?” queries Bliss.
    â€œNo, you fool. For me.”

chapter three
    D eny, deny, deny. Everyone from the Prime Minister down is singing from the same page.
    The Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh, KG, KT, OM, and a Scrabble bag of other official abbreviations, did not attempt to run his wife through with his ceremonial sword. He simply stumbled while trying to free his scabbard.
    â€œFree it from what?” is the question on everyone’s lips. It wasn’t as though he could have gotten it caught in his fly. But the only other possibility is that he made a deliberate thrust at the Queen, and that is an option no one is prepared to consider — other than Internet bloggers, tabloid journalists, the foreign press, and a very large chunk of the populace who viewed it live on the BBC.
    â€œYou do realize that attempting to harm the monarch is high treason,” the assistant commissioner says to Bliss at a hurriedly arranged debrief while they wait for othersenior officers to be rounded up. “I’ve got a feeling it still carries the death penalty.”
    Don’t blame me
, thinks Bliss, suggesting, “Maybe he’s going a little senile, sir. Apparently his mother went completely dotty in her old age.”
    â€œWake up, man,” spits the A.C. “He’s been round the bloody twist for years. Remember when he asked that blind woman if she knew where he could get an eating dog for an anorexic ‘cos he wanted one for Princess Diana.”
    Bliss doesn’t bite. “How is the Queen, sir?” he asks coolly as Commander Fox and several of the field officers arrive from the