If that happened during the call to prayer, tens of thousands of worshippers would be killed – and far more outside the mosque and in the city beyond. Eddie fought a surge of fear. The cop was now too far away to call back without alerting Simeon, and he couldn’t see any of the other officers nearby. But with the American about to make his attack, he couldn’t risk letting him out of his sight to find backup. If he had been armed, he could have simply shot the cultist and ended the threat right there, but the Saudis had not allowed him to bring weapons into the country.
He would have to take him down with brute force.
Eddie moved out from behind the tourists. Simeon was twenty feet away, still concentrating on preparing the drone. The Yorkshireman closed on him. He needed to score a solid, brutal kick to the back of his head to knock him down, then put him in a choke hold and drag him away from the statue before he could set off the explosive—
Laughing, the father lifted his son higher, pretending to throw him. The little boy screamed in fear.
Simeon’s head snapped around at the noise – and he saw Eddie.
33
The two men were still ten feet apart. Eddie started to charge – but Simeon snatched a gun from the satchel. The Englishman instantly changed direction, diving through an arch. A bullet cracked off the pillar behind him.
Tourists scattered in blind panic, people being knocked down and trampled. The policeman tried to fight through the crush, yelling for them to move as he drew his gun—
Simeon fired again. The bullet hit the cop’s throat, blood splattering over the polished marble floor. He fell backwards into the crowd, their screams growing louder.
Eddie glanced around the pillar. Simeon grabbed the satchel, leaving the little drone behind as he raced through an arch into the covered gallery. Another shot came from an entrance to the clock tower’s interior.
The Englishman sprinted to the dead cop and grabbed his gun – a revolver rather than an automatic – then followed the American. Chaos met him inside, trapped visitors trying to flee and a second policeman down in a puddle of blood. ‘Where did he go?’ he yelled.
‘Down there!’ shrilled a woman, pointing. ‘He went down there!’ Eddie pushed through the crowd towards one side of the lobby.
A gunshot somewhere ahead. He ducked, but it had not been aimed at him. Two more retorts followed. He forced his way into an open space, seeing one of the tower’s security staff dead on the floor. Where was Simeon?
‘Chase!’ Rajhi battled his way through the throng, gun drawn. One of the cops was with him. ‘Did you see him? Where did he go?’
‘There!’ Eddie replied. A door near the dead guard was ajar; from the way it was painted to match the walls, he guessed it was only meant for maintenance and emergency use. He hurried to it, the cop and Rajhi meeting him. The lock plate had a pair of bullet holes in it. ‘Cover me.’
He readied his gun, then kicked the door wide. Nobody there. A metal staircase spiralled upwards. The clank of hurried footsteps echoed down from above. Eddie aimed up the stairs, but all he could see of Simeon was his shadow against the railings.
‘He’s got the angel, and it’s rigged with a bomb,’ he told Rajhi as Nadhar and another policeman arrived. ‘Come on!’ He led the way after the American, the Saudis following. ‘He was going to use a drone to blow it up over the mosque. He can’t do that now, so he’s gone to Plan B.’
‘What is that?’ Rajhi asked.
‘I dunno – and maybe neither does he. Where do these stairs go?’
‘To the machine floor for the clocks,’ Nadhar told him.
‘Can he get outside from there?’
‘Only through a hatch, and it can only be reached from a special lift.’
‘So either he’s trapped – or he actually does have a Plan B.’ A door banged above. ‘He’s off the stairs.’
‘The clock room,’ Nadhar confirmed, grim-faced.
Eddie reached the next landing, knowing Simeon would have had enough time to prepare an ambush. ‘Okay, Mr Nadhar,’ he said. ‘You know what’s in there – where’s the nearest cover?’
Nadhar briefly closed his eyes to picture the room. ‘We will be in the north-eastern corner,’ he said. ‘There is a display for VIP tourists to the left, and on the right there is some machinery.’
‘Which will give the most cover?’
‘The machinery.’
‘That’s probably where he’ll be.’
Rajhi issued orders to his men. ‘We are ready,’ he told the Englishman.
Eddie took hold of the door’s handle. ‘Okay, on three. One, two, three – go!’ He yanked the door open.
The first cop rushed through – and took three bullets to the chest. He crashed to the floor, lifeless limbs flailing. The second man was right behind him; he tried to retreat, but another two rounds caught him in the upper arm and shoulder. He fell back on the landing, a bullet splintering the door frame behind him.
‘Shit!’ Eddie gasped, helping Rajhi pull the wounded man into cover. ‘Did you see him?’
Rajhi repeated the question in Arabic, getting a strained reply. ‘By the machine,’ he translated, glancing through the doorway. ‘It is about ten metres away.’
Eddie looked for himself, spotting a large generator or transformer. ‘He’s got a Glock 25,’ he said, remembering the glimpse of Simeon’s gun as he took it from the satchel. ‘Nine mil, these wounds look like. And he’s fired twelve shots, so he’s got three left. If we can make him use ’em, that’ll give us a chance to get into the room while he reloads.’
‘Unless he has reloaded already,’ warned Rajhi.
‘Find out in a second,’ Eddie replied as he crouched beside the door. ‘Okay, I’ll draw his fire; you run after the third shot.’
‘What if there is a fourth shot?’
‘Then we’re fucked!’ He steeled himself, then leaned out, gun raised.
Simeon was lurking behind the machinery, watching the entrance. He saw the movement and instinctively fired – but he had been aiming higher, expecting someone to run through it. The bullet hit the door frame just above the Yorkshireman’s head. He adjusted his aim, but Eddie returned fire, his shot ricocheting off the transformer’s side. Simeon flinched, his next attack going wide and blasting plaster from the wall.
One bullet left. Eddie sent a second round in his enemy’s general direction, then sprang out into the open.
The tourist display Nadhar had mentioned was off to the left, closer than Simeon’s cover. He raced for it, some sixth sense prompting him to dive as the American tracked him and fired again. The bullet seared over him, blowing out one of the display’s flat screens.
The third shot – and there was no fourth. The Glock’s slide was locked back. The weapon was out of ammo . . . but Simeon was already ejecting the spent magazine.
‘Now! Run, run!’ Eddie yelled as he scrambled behind the display. Rajhi and Nadhar erupted from the doorway. The Saudi official followed Eddie, but the hotel’s security chief headed straight for Simeon’s position. ‘No, he’s reloading—’
Too late. Simeon whipped his gun back up and fired. The bullet hit the running man squarely in the heart. Nadhar fell as the American drew back behind the humming machine.
Rajhi cursed. ‘What do we do now?’
‘I don’t know, but whatever we do, it’s got to be fast.’ Eddie surveyed the machine room. It was a large, high-ceilinged space, dominated by the four giant clock mechanisms in the middle of each wall. Massive electric motors turned the hands outside, great brass gears slowly rotating to keep the time. Grey metal panels mostly covered the back of each clock, but around each hub was an opening to allow access to the mechanism. Beyond them were visible the complex webs of wiring feeding the millions of LEDs that illuminated the clock faces at night. More banks of machinery provided power, and additional cover was offered by a replica mechanism at the room’s centre, as well as further displays for visitors.
He looked back at Simeon
’s position. The American couldn’t defend both sides of the large machine at once, but there was no cover along the most direct approach from either direction. ‘We’ll have to get around him, use this stuff for protection,’ he said, indicating the chamber’s contents. ‘If you get a shot, take it.’
Rajhi nodded, then cocked his head at a sound. ‘What is he doing?’
Eddie strained to listen, hearing a faint tearing above the background noise. ‘Shit! The bomb taped to the statue – he’s taking it off.’
‘Why?’
‘So he can blow up something else. Maybe us . . .’ His eyes went back to the exposed section of the northern clock face. ‘Or he might be trying to make a hole so he can chuck the statue out.’
Rajhi looked dubious. ‘He will not reach the Grand Mosque from here.’
‘He doesn’t need to – the gas’ll still kill everyone outside the hotel.’ He moved around the rear of the display. ‘I’ll get behind that model,’ he said, pointing at a scale replica of the clock tower in a glass case. ‘Cover me.’
He brought up his gun – and ran.
Simeon broke off his task to swing out from behind the machine and fire. Eddie simultaneously unleashed a suppressing shot back at him. The Englishman felt a whipcrack of displaced air on the back of his neck as the round seared past, but his own bullet forced his attacker to retreat. He dropped down behind the model clock, then looked around its plinth – to see the American lean out from the other side of his hiding place.
Another exchange of fire, and broken glass showered Eddie as a round punched through the case. His own retaliatory shot hit the machine Simeon was using for shelter. This time it did not simply glance off; something sparked, its electrical hum turning into a menacing growl. A warning buzzer rasped on a control panel.
Simeon looked up at it in alarm before pulling back into cover. Eddie moved to the other side of the plinth. If he could force him into the open . . .
A yellow cover on the machine’s side bore a warning symbol. He locked on to it and fired again. The plastic shield flew off, some component beneath shattering. There was a sharp crack of electricity and more sparks spewed out, followed by a spurt of smoke as the growl grew louder—
Simeon broke from hiding as flames spat from the transformer, running for the north clock with the statue held in his outstretched left hand. Eddie hesitated, not wanting to risk breaking the angel.
Rajhi opened fire, sending several shots after the running man. Simeon dived to the floor, his hat and the fake dreadlocks flying off. Eddie tracked him, but now his target was shielded behind a display of gleaming giant cogs.
The Saudi moved into the open and took aim—
Simeon was faster, unleashing a trio of shots. Only one hit, but that was enough. Rajhi fell with a cry of pain, blood staining his robes.
Eddie instinctively glanced to check if he was alive or dead. The former, for now, but in the split second his eyes were off Simeon, the American had burst back into motion. He recovered his aim and zeroed in—
The former Marine had the same combat sixth sense as the Englishman, ducking and jinking just as Eddie fired. The bullet hit him, but only a graze, ripping the shoulder of his colourful robe. He gasped, but kept running, disappearing behind the clock’s hulking mechanism.
And now Eddie was out of ammunition, the revolver’s six rounds gone. He looked back at Rajhi, but the security official’s automatic was nowhere in sight. Searching for it would make him an easy target. ‘Maybe I can throw this at him,’ he muttered, glaring at his useless weapon.
There was another tourist display near the north clock’s motor, more screens flashing up images of the tower. From there, he might be able to round the mechanism and tackle his opponent.
Might. Even at a sprint, it would still take him a few seconds to cover the distance, more than enough time for Simeon to put a bullet in him.
But he had to try. Sounds of activity reached him; he couldn’t see what Simeon was doing, but knew it couldn’t be anything good. Keeping the gun raised, he readied himself . . . and ran.
The crunch of glass underfoot gave him away the instant he moved. Simeon whipped into view. With a yell, Eddie pointed the revolver at him. The sight of the gun caused the American to flinch – but then he realised the bluff and opened fire.
The distraction had given Eddie the tiny advantage he had needed, though. The shots passed behind him. Before Simeon could refine his aim, he flung himself headlong behind the display stand.
But he was not safe even there. More bullets tore across the room, revealing the display’s backing as nothing more than painted plywood. Splinters stabbed at Eddie as he scrambled along on his hands and knees. One of the screens above him exploded as a round ripped through it, falling glass hitting his head.
The gunfire stopped. Eddie peered around the display. Simeon had moved back behind the mechanism. A shadow on the panels backing the clock revealed that he was placing the explosive beside the hub. Once he used the bomb to blow open the clock face, he would be able to hurl the angel into the crowds below . . .
The bomb. Simeon would have to move away from it or be caught in the blast. If Eddie could get close enough, he might be able to catch the American before he could throw the statue.
He stood – then sprinted for the clock.
Simeon lunged back into view, his gun coming up—
Eddie threw himself into a dive. Two shots tore past him as he hit the floor and rolled behind the clock’s drive. Simeon ran towards him.
He jumped up – and hurled the empty gun at the cultist’s head.
Simeon jerked back, snapping up both arms to deflect the spinning hunk of metal away from his face. A grunt of pain, then he recovered, advancing once more as Eddie ducked behind the giant motor.
A bleep from the hub. The gunman looked back in alarm, then dropped—
The bomb detonated.
The explosion was more powerful than either man expected. Metal panels blew from their supports as a ragged hole ripped open in the clock’s face. Shrapnel flew across the machine room. A supporting beam tore loose, scything away more panels and crashing down on top of the hub. A fierce wind shrieked in through the rent.
Simeon, caught in the open, had been knocked over by the blast. Eddie saw his chance and rushed at him.
The gun came up again—
Eddie kicked it from his hand. The pistol glanced off the motor and disappeared through the opening into the emptiness beyond. Simeon cried out. His opponent drove another kick at his head.
The blow made contact, blood spurting from Simeon’s burst lip, but the American still managed to grab Eddie’s leg – and now he was off balance as Simeon tried to drag him down.
He staggered – and his hand slapped one of the giant cogs. He jerked it away just before it was crushed in the gears, but he was now past the point of no return and fell heavily to the floor.
Simeon clawed at him. Eddie lashed out with his other foot. A sharp smack – and the African American lurched back as the Yorkshireman’s boot heel struck his eye socket.
Eddie dragged himself upright and pressed his attack, kicking the dazed man hard in the stomach before grabbing him and throwing him against the exposed gears.
Simeon’s robe caught in the cogs. He tried to fight back, but was abruptly restrained as the material pulled tight around his neck, the mechanism slowly but remorselessly drawing his clothing between its teeth. Eddie hit him again, then looked around. Where was the angel?
Outside, he could see the clock’s long hand, pointing towards the eight. It had been damaged by the explosion and flying debris, a long, jagged split along its length surrounded by shards of carbon fibre. Closer to him, the motor was making a deep, ominous buzzing noise. The broken girder had wedged against the shaft bearing the clock’s massive hands, jamming the mechanism. It was at risk of overheating and catching fire, or even exploding as the electrical system overloaded.
But there was a greater threat. T
he statue lay under the hub, just inches from the gaping hole in the clock face.
And it was moving, creeping towards the precipice.
For a moment Eddie thought the wind was blowing it, until a vibration through his feet told him the true cause. The fallen beam had jammed the clock – but the motor was still trying to turn the gears. The entire mechanism was shuddering, transmitting the movement through the floor.
Ripping cloth. He looked back to see Simeon tear free from his robes. The American’s eye was almost shut where Eddie had kicked it, but his other was open and blazing with rage.
Simeon was still a danger – but if the angel fell, the gas would kill thousands. He had to save it—
Eddie rushed to the hub. The shaft was not far above the floor, forcing him to crouch to reach the statue. The vibration became more pronounced as the overload built up. He ignored it, groping for the sculpture and pulling it from its hiding place.
Running footsteps behind him—
He jumped up, turning to face his opponent – as Simeon delivered a flying kick squarely to his chest.
Eddie spun backwards . . . and toppled through the hole.
34
Mecca rolled far below the Englishman, the wind screaming in his ears as he fell—
He hit the clock’s long hand and grabbed at it in terrified desperation. He jolted to a halt, the fifty-six-foot pointer digging hard against his armpits as he dangled from its upper edge.
But he was far from safe. The clock’s hands were as elaborately decorated as the rest of the enormous timepiece, but the curlicued gold details were simply applied to the surface, offering no grip. And he could feel the whole thing shaking from both the impact of his landing and the vibrations of the overloading motor. He kicked backwards, trying to brace himself against the clock, but managed only to break off LEDs set into the sheer face.
Still clutching the angel, Eddie strained to raise himself higher. If he could secure the statue inside his jacket, he might be able to climb back to the hole—
The Revelation Code Page 39