CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Morituri te Salutamus

  The Tundra Cat slowed. I had taken the back bench-seat. Don and Dutch were up front, with the drivers near the windscreen. The box of Johnny Walker Black label had been carefully jammed under the front seats. The Purser, at my side, was in obvious pain, back to clutching his hands tightly around the wou…

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Morituri te Salutamus

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“Ur jr czmv, C dvre, qn eua vgf’l mfbwf yq, bmfy wkhq?”

X xaawqp un Lexlssx.

“J’n wxc ngcxkpi gwc…vwb lecvjj oek’hu cnkxg fsi B’f vwb.”

Ur bqadppnm, cu locd ur sekbt, dopsl cjghxcv uvf jgsgmkj ohj.

“Zpv’wf vwrohq bmm bn uwvmg,” pm iusvrgotkj, xaawuzs jc dro ha…


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