Juggernaut. Desmond Bagley

Juggernaut - Desmond  Bagley


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      DESMOND BAGLEY

       Juggernaut

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       COPYRIGHT

      HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published in Great Britain by Collins 1985

      Copyright © Brockhurst Publications 1985

      Cover layout design Richard Augustus © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

      Desmond Bagley asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

      A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

      Source ISBN: 9780008211394

      Ebook Edition © August 2017 ISBN: 9780008211400 Version: 2017-06-29

      CONTENTS

       Cover

       Title Page

       Eight

       Nine

       Ten

       Eleven

       Twelve

       Thirteen

       Fourteen

       Fifteen

       Sixteen

       Seventeen

       Eighteen

       Nineteen

       Twenty

       Twenty-One

       Twenty-Two

       Twenty-Three

       Twenty-Four

       Twenty-Five

       Twenty-Six

       Twenty-Seven

       Twenty-Eight

       About the Author

       By the Same Author

       About the Publisher

JUGGERNAUT

       ONE

      The telephone call came when I was down by the big circular pool chatting up the two frauleins I had cut out of the herd. I didn’t rate my chances too highly. They were of an age which regards any man of over thirty-five as falling apart at the seams; but what the hell, it was improving my German.

      I looked up at the brown face of the waiter and said incredulously, ‘A phone call for me?’

      ‘Yes, sir. From London.’ He seemed impressed.

      I sighed and grabbed my beach robe. ‘I’ll be back,’ I promised, and followed the waiter up the steps towards the hotel. At the top I paused. ‘I’ll take it in my room,’ I said, and cut across the front of the hotel towards the cabana I rented.

      Inside it was cool, almost cold, and the air conditioning unit uttered a muted roar. I took a can of beer from the refrigerator, opened it, and picked up the telephone. As I suspected, it was Geddes. ‘What are you doing in Kenya?’ he asked. The line was good; he could have been in the next room.

      I drank some beer. ‘What do you care where I take my vacations?’

      ‘You’re on the right continent. It’s a pity you have to come back to London. What’s the weather like there?’

      ‘It’s hot. What would you expect on the equator?’

      ‘It’s


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