by Robert Boren
“Well?” Creighton asked.
“It’s not her,” he whispered. “We’ve been had.”
“Dammit, I knew it.”
“Want to go to headquarters with me?” Langston asked.
“Sure. Keeping the guards here?”
“Yep.”
The two men left the hospital, going to Langston’s car.
“What, no Aston Martin?” Creighton quipped.
Langston rolled his eyes. “It’s probably sitting in the same place with your pipe.”
The men cracked up as they got into the car, the drive taking nearly twenty minutes in the London traffic.
“Ever been here before?” Langston asked as he parked in the lot.
“Nope. Always wanted to check it out, though.”
Langston chuckled. “Well, you won’t be checking it out today, but I want you to be present when I discuss this with my boss. We’ll need to cooperate. First order of business will be to quietly remove all the innocents on that floor. We’ll replace them with our own phony doctors, nurses, and patients.”
“All armed to the teeth, I’m sure.”
Langston smiled. “Precisely.”
They walked to the guard table just inside the glass doors. Langston asked for a temporary badge for Creighton. It took nearly ten minutes for that.
“This place is almost as efficient as the Yard,” Creighton quipped.
“Ever since the terror attacks of the early 2000s, we’ve had to live with all these layers of security. It’s a pain in the neck, but it’s saved us more than once.” Langston led him into a conference room, shutting the door behind them. After a moment, several well-dressed men came in through a door on the other side of the room and sat down. One of the men picked up a remote and turned on a flat screen TV, mounted on the wall facing the table. Then he went to the PC sitting on the credenza, logged in, and brought up the video surveillance of the hospital floor.
“You’re considering my idea?” Langston asked. “Oh, sorry, this is Creighton Lee of Scotland Yard.”
“Yes, we know who he is,” said the man sitting at the end of the table opposite the TV screen. “I’m Russell Templeton, head of the section. Nice job at the airport.”
“Thank you, sir,” Creighton said. “Any idea where Maggie is?”
“We’ve got her three estates under surveillance,” Russell said. “Still waiting on permission to enter them.”
“Permission from who?” Langston asked.
“The Royal Family.” Russell looked at Creighton. “This doesn’t leave the room.”
“Of course, sir,” Creighton said.
Langston shook his head. “We have to ask the Queen’s permission to follow up leads in this case?”
“Margaret Hines is nobility. Real nobility, not one of the celebrity knights they’ve created over the last hundred years. Her ties to the Royal Family run very deep.”
“She’s going to get away with what she’s done, then,” Langston said.
“That’s possible, although she’d better not go back to the States again. We’ve shared info with the CIA and FBI on this mess. They’re very interested, as you might imagine. She’ll be arrested as soon as she tries to enter.”
“Who else knows that Maggie isn’t in that ICU unit?” Creighton asked.
“The people in this room, the lab techs who worked the DNA, and the surgeon. All have been sworn to secrecy.”
“You think she’s gonna fake her death,” Langston said.
“Oh, her death will probably be faked,” said another man in the room, a distinguished looking gent in his mid-seventies. “It won’t be Maggie who does it, though.”
“Well, Trent, if that’s the case, our hands will be tied,” Russell said.
“The damn Royals,” Creighton said, shaking his head.
“Yes, and the House of Lords,” Trent said. “I used to have more patience with this sort of nonsense. Maybe it’s time to retire.”
A few men in the room chuckled.
“That’ll be the day,” one of them quipped.
“So we won’t be trying my idea,” Langston said.
“If MI6 or even Scotland Yard was in control of this situation, I’d give it careful consideration, but we’re not in control of this situation.”
Langston sighed. “So we have no way of knowing if the Islamists are still working with the Globalists, then. Pity, because that information could save lives.”
“We don’t think they’re working together,” Trent said. “If they were, Maggie would not have been shot. For all we know, she might have already died. She was wounded badly.”
“She might have been wearing protection under that long dress she had on,” said another man at the table.
Creighton shook his head. “No way. Her legs got shot up, and there was blood flowing from her side. I saw it with my own eyes, mate. She was going into shock when I helped load her onto the gurney.”
“How sure are we that the person shot at the airport was really Maggie?” Langston asked.
“I’ve met her before,” Creighton said. “It was her, trust me. Two of the security guards killed there worked for her. We know that beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
“Anything on the Islamists?” Langston asked.
Russell nodded. “They were British subjects, born here to migrant families. One of them frequented a Mosque that had known connections to Saladin. The others were friends of that person.”
“Think this was freelance, then?” Creighton asked. “I’m not buying it.”
“Why not?” Trent asked.
“They got into the airport with automatic weapons, and had the correct IDs. That takes money and planning. This wasn’t the work of a few disgruntled true-believers. At the very least, they had professional help.”
“I agree with Creighton on that,” Langston said.
“Hey, who are those guys?” Trent asked, pointing at the screen. Several middle-eastern men were pushing trash containers up the hallway, the armed guards letting them pass.
“Bugger, that’s them again,” Creighton said.
“I’m calling the commander down there,” Langston said, whipping out his phone.
“Too late,” Russell said, watching as the men pulled out automatic weapons and began firing at the guards, while running down to the ICU unit.
“We’re about to lose the fake Maggie,” somebody quipped.
“This isn’t funny, Simon,” Trent said with an exasperated expression.
“I beg your pardon,” Simon said, eyeing Trent and then Russell. “We should be breaking into every one of these estates right now. I’ll bet we’ll be forced to cover this whole thing up, and Maggie gets to go on living in luxury, after the millions of people her and the bloody savages she works with have killed. This is sick. What kind of country is this?”
“It’s England,” Russell said. “Calm down, Simon. I suspect everybody in this room is having similar emotional responses to this, but unsettling the nation when we’re trying to heal from a war won’t help. We’re already on the verge of a French Revolution-style uprising on the continent, and that could easily spread here.”
There was an explosion on the video feed, the wall of the ICU unit blown out, several of the cameras going down, fire breaking out.
“Blimey,” Creighton said. “The bloody wankers blew themselves up.”
***
Ivan rushed into the intel room. “We need everybody in here now.”
“What happen, boss?” Jules asked.
“Our friends are being targeted,” he said, taking a seat.
“I just sent out a broadcast text,” Shelly said.
Tex arrived first, with Karen by his side.
“What’s up, partner?”
“Let’s wait for others,” Jules said.
Everybody was in the room within a minute, Yuri bringing up the rear.
“What’s this about?” Ted asked.
“That bomb setup that killed Tyler wasn’t pl
aced by the Islamists. It was recently done.”
“How recently?” Sam asked, his brow furrowed.
“According to the forensics team, it was probably set up within the last week. The materials were purchased three weeks ago.”
“Mia,” Erica said, shooting a terrified glance at Sam. He put his arm around her shoulders.
“Dodge City has not been attacked,” Tex said, “and they’ve still got the cavalry and half the battle wagons there, plus the team of off-roaders. They won’t be easy to hit.”
“The mine has been hardened too,” Ted said. “They’ve got all three of the back-up generators in there now, and the timbers have been beefed up a lot.”
“They’re probably doing this to drag us into the open,” Malcolm said. “We don’t want to take the bait.”
“Anything happening in Kansas?” Frank asked.
“Not that we know of,” General Hogan said.
“We need to hit somebody and draw some blood,” Ned said.
“Yeah, partner, you got that right,” Tex said.
“I agree, we need to draw some blood, and we want to do it in a very public way,” Ivan said. “Do we have anything on the lower-level players?”
“There are some people that can’t disappear easily,” Ted said. “I’ve been looking at Mateo.”
“The UN Secretary General?” Ben asked. “He’s a Chief of State, so he’ll be hard to hit. I’d be surprised if anybody connected with the UN is in the states at the moment.”
“He’s in Manhattan right now,” Ted said. “It’s doable. Not easy, but doable.”
George nodded. “The UN compound in Manhattan is like a foreign embassy. It’s still their headquarters. It’s a little Guantanamo sitting on the east side of Manhattan. I don’t suggest we try to hit anybody there, though. They’ve got that hive well-protected.”
Ivan smiled. “Mr. White and Mr. Black are on the way to Manhattan now.”
“They aren’t enough,” George said. “We should go in there with at least a small team.”
“I’m with you,” Malcolm said. “Let’s go.”
“You’re a little too famous,” General Hogan said, “at least to be at the front of this thing.”
“Mr. White and Mr. Black will be the primaries,” Ivan said. “We need a diversion, and perhaps we can take out a few random globalists at the same time.”
“Where is this UN creep?” Bryan asked.
“He usually lives in the Grand Central Hotel when he’s here,” Ted said. “Was looking at it this morning. He spends a lot of time with Justice Carleton. What if the justice gets in the way?”
“Then we ice him,” Ivan said.
“C’mon, man, he’s a Supreme Court Justice,” Agent Williams said. “If we take him out, it’ll cause a pretty significant shitstorm.”
Ben laughed. “It would. Can we demonstrate that he’s a traitor?”
“I’ve got some ideas on that,” Ivan said. “I’ll work it.”
“He likes Russian hookers,” Yuri said.
General Hogan shook his head. “That won’t be good enough.”
“What if they’re thirteen and fourteen?”
That brought silence to the room for a moment.
“You got something concrete on that, partner?” Tex asked.
“Like Ivan said, I’ll work it.”
Ivan shot Yuri a glance, and they both chuckled.
“Holy crap,” Jane said, turning from her laptop screen. “A bunch of Islamists just took out Margaret Hines at a hospital. Shot a bunch of guards and then blew themselves up next to her in the ICU ward.”
“My, that’s interesting,” Ivan said. “We’ve got some work to do, folks. We know that wasn’t really her. Did the Islamists know?”
“Maybe they’re stupid,” Bryan said.
“They moved an armed force into Heathrow,” Sam said. “That’s not easy. I wouldn’t underestimate them. It would be nice to know if they knew she was a fake.”
“If they did know, that tells me that they’re still working with the globalists,” Robbie said.
“How can we find that out?” Sparky asked.
Ivan grinned. “This is a gift, regardless.”
“Why do you say that?” Jerry asked.
Ivan shot him a dead-pan look. “They’re going to have to sift through the mess and do DNA tests.”
Frank laughed. “Of course. If the fact that Maggie wasn’t in that hospital does not become public, we know there are elements of the UK government that are in league with the enemy.”
“Probably Royal Family,” Jules said. “They do before. Margaret Hines is part of nobility in England.”
“You’re not suggesting that the Royals supported the globalists in the war, are you?” Cody asked.
“No,” Jules said, “but they protect own, even if wrong.”
“We should get to work,” Ivan said.
“Hey!” Erica said. “This meeting was supposed to be about our friends in Dulzura. What about them?”
Sam looked her in the eye. “We can’t help them directly without exposing ourselves. The enemy wants to neutralize us. We’d be helping them if we rushed back there now. Our best bet is to draw some blood from the enemy leadership. If we do that, they’ll know we won’t be bullied into laying off.”
“And now the conversation has gone full circle,” Ted said.
***
Mr. White and Mr. Black were sitting in a coffee shop, off I-70 in Indianapolis. It was late, the establishment deserted except for one waitress and whoever was in the kitchen.
“Food sucks,” Mr. White said, pushing his plate away. “At least coffee good.”
“I like,” Mr. Black said. His phone rang, so he grabbed it. “It boss. He looked around, not seeing anybody. “I’ll put on speaker, might not be able to leave it.” He accepted the call and pushed the speaker button. “Hello, boss. We in restaurant, on speaker. That work, or should we go to car?”
“We can talk around it,” Ivan said, “but don’t have the sound up too high. Got it?”
“Yes. What up?”
“Where are you?” Ivan asked.
“Indianapolis,” Mr. Black said.
“Food sucks,” Mr. White quipped.
Ivan chuckled. “You’ve made good time. Glad I sent you there. We have a location. How soon can you make the destination?”
“If we drive straight through, twelve hours, give or take for meal stops,” Mr. White said, looking at his phone.
“Break it in half,” Ivan said. “We won’t be ready for you that quickly.”
“Good, already been on road all day,” Mr. Black said. “I need beauty sleep.”
“You sleep in car fine.”
“Not same,” Mr. White shot back.
Ivan chuckled. “Okay. I’ll call you sometime tomorrow with further instructions. Enjoy the fine cuisine.”
Mr. White laughed. “Next time go to Cracker Barrel.”
Mr. Black shook his head. “Thanks, boss, talk soon.” The call ended.
“He have target,” Mr. White said.
“Obviously. Finish. Let’s get two hours more tonight, then stop.”
“Your turn to drive,” Mr. Black said.
{ 4 }
The Secretary General
S am and Erica made their way to the freight elevator, riding down to the loading docks, going to their battle wagon. Erica watched as Sam unlocked the door.
“Part of me wants to race back home right now and get Mia,” she said.
“I know, honey,” Sam said, “but we can’t take that bait. We’ll draw an attack there if we go, and our team has only thirty fighters. Drop in the bucket, really. Dodge City’s got nearly a thousand battle-seasoned people. We wouldn’t make much difference no matter what.”
“I know,” Erica said. “This is hard. I knew it would be.”
“There’s a good chance we’ll be in on the Manhattan operation.”
“I’m ready for that. Anxious, almost. It’s ti
me we did something. The world should be getting better now that the globalists lost the war, but I feel like we’re in worse shape.”
Sam shook his head. “We’re in better shape. We’ve got the enemy on the run, and some of them are disappearing because of us. It could be worse.”
“I guess. Glad I’m not pregnant yet. We should be careful about that. The intensity of what’s coming is gonna be off the charts.”
“I know,” Sam said. “Are you sorry?”
“Sorry about what?”
“Sorry that we didn’t take Mia and disappear.”
She sat on the couch, thinking for a moment, then looked up at him, standing nervously before her. “No, I’m not sorry. It was the best choice. I hope we don’t lose Mia over it.”
“How would we lose her? You think she’ll get hurt in an attack?”
“No, but I’m afraid she’ll always be upset with us because we left.”
“We’ll make it up to her, honey.” He sat next to her on the couch, and pulled her close. “We have to.”
***
General Hogan walked into Ivan’s quarters, knocking on the wall. “Have a few minutes?”
Ivan turned towards him, smiling. “Of course. Have a seat.”
“Are we really planning to take out the Secretary General of the UN?”
Ivan looked down at his lap, then back up at General Hogan. “We don’t have a choice, but we need to be very careful about how we do it.”
“You’re afraid he’ll be portrayed as a martyr?”
Ivan nodded. “The media is still mostly with the globalists. I saw some moron on the evening news tonight preaching gun confiscation to aid in settling the society back down from its wartime footing.”
“We’ll always have that. Part of a free society. We all fought to preserve that.”
“Yes, it’s a paradox,” Ivan said. “Our free society is an easy playground for the most evil of ideas.”
“You said a mouthful there. We should never have had this war. It happened because certain powerful people in this country wanted it to happen.”