Mort by Martin Chatterton Read Free Book Online

Smiler’s head, settled on the ground next to Smiler’s left eye and drew back for the first peck.
    A split second before the crow’s sharpbeak made contact, Smiler snapped open his jaws and swallowed the bird whole. It was still squawking as it disappeared down Smiler’s gullet.

    Black feathers fluttering from his mouth, the great beast staggered to his feet, Khan’s spear jutting out at an unnatural angle. Smiler padded to a nearby tree and, using all his weight, broke the spear against the trunk. A jolt of almost unbearable pain shot through the big cat’s body but it had done the trick. Only a few centimetres of spear now remained. Smiler narrowed his eyes into slits of hatred, let out a long rumbling growl, and limped in the direction taken by Khan, Trish and Nigel.

Mort looked out of a window. Was it his imagination or could he already detect a darkening of the sky?
    The eclipse was happening earlier than he’d expected. If Retro was going to launch it was now or never. The planetary alignment was crucial to the machine being able to launch, and eighty-two years was an unacceptable wait for another try.
    Mort came to a decision.
    He would head back to the lab right away. He could bunker down in there, test Retro asplanned and sort out this mess afterwards – if there was an afterwards. If Oppy’s opinion was right, Retro may be a death trap. Still, reflected Mort, Agnetha could look after herself if it all ended badly, he was sure of that.
    With his plan in place, Mort took the pole to the ground floor and hopped into his buggy.
    He flipped out his mobile and called Sir David.
    Sir David was bent over his own tracking screen, trying to trace Smiler, when Mort’s call came in. ‘I’m glad you called, Master DeVere,’ said Sir David. ‘I was beginning to worry about Smiler. It is autumn and the great beasts of the plains must find food if they are to survive the winter. A solo sabre-tooth such as smilodon fatalis requires many kilos of meat on a daily basis and will now be hungry. Stalking the heathlands like …’
    â€˜Yes, yes, Sir David,’ said Mort, cutting across the great naturalist. ‘There’s no need toworry about Smiler. He’s dead. I saw it myself. Can you locate his body and get rid of it? I don’t want it hanging around in case Ma and Pa turn up.’

    â€˜Dead?’ questioned Sir David, but Mort had hung up.
    Puzzled, Sir David turned back to his monitor on which he’d been tracking Smiler for the past ten minutes. Either Mortimer DeVere had been mistaken, or someone else was now wearing Smiler’s tracking collar.
    And that collar was heading straight for Festering via the ballroom ventilation shaft.
    Sir David stood up and straightened his safari suit. He reached for his tranquiliser gun, the big one. Sir David had, during his long and glittering TV career, swum with sharks on Ningaloo, faced down charging gorillas in Rwanda and wrestled anacondas in the Amazon, all armed with nothing more than a microphone. But with Smiler he wasn’t taking any chances. He checked the big gun was fullyloaded and slid a pair of night-vision goggles onto his head. The approaching eclipse was slowly turning the already gloomy island dark.
    The last thing Sir David wanted was to be facing an injured sabre-toothed tiger in complete blackness.

Khan took out a powerful maglite torch from somewhere inside his tunic and pointed it down the shaft. ‘Come,’ he growled, moving into the tunnel. Behind him, Trish and Nigel exchanged glances before following.
    â€˜Where are we going?’ asked Trish. ‘We are on a timetable, Mr …?’
    â€˜Khan,’ said Khan.
    â€˜Oh, like the Mongolian,’ said Trish.
    Khan didn’t reply. A remark the cowardly assistant had said was turning over and overin his thoughts. Nigel had said something about a mirror reflecting the laser back. It was possible, Khan