Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Bolasted Past: Part Twenty-Seven

Descending to the main hall of the bunker, the Green Man and his party found themselves re-united with Lady Sylvia and her trench-coated associate. She hurried to the side of the Green Man, while the man in brown saluted his chief apologetically.

"You said to keep her out of it," he conceded, "I tried, but it looks like I was too clever for my own good. Who's the lass in the Sparrowhawk costume this time?"

"Belive it or not," the Green Man looked up from comforting Lady Sylvia, "you're looking at the genuine article. Somehow she staged a miraculous recovery."

"Sure she's not a plant?" the man took a step towards the party. "I mean, last time anyone checked, Sparrowhawk was in a nursing home, apparently the victim of permanent amnesia. I don't mean to be a suspicious type, but..."

"You can't beieve that?" Sparrowhawk gasped.

"I don't." The Green Man nodded. "Sir Richard Arcos confirms that this is Sparrowhawk. I'm disposed to believe him. Somehow she's snapped out of her state. It can happen, you know, given time..."

"Quite." Sparrowhawk glared at the man in brown. "Now, maybe you'll want me to prove it to you personally. Like my breaking both your arms."

"Definitely the genuine article," the man laughed, "the famous Sparrowhawk tenderness. What do we do now?"

"Now," the Grey Tabby spoke once more, "now you see what spineless fools the governments of Great Britain and Ireland are. They will pay, if they value human life."

"And if they refuse, dear boy?" Sir Richard Arcos raised one quizzical eyebrow.

"Then the deaths of thousands will be put to their account." The Grey Tabby turned to a couple of technicians. "Begin to warm up the device."

They pulled a few levers, and the great chamber shuddered for a moment. On massive screens above them, waves started to lash the promenade. A look of supreme amusement crossed the ruthless viage of the Grey Tabby.

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