by Arno Joubert
Collingwood chuckled. "No he didn't, man. He told you to wait for your orders."
"But I thought—“
Collingwood grabbed Dumas' knee and squeezed. "You know Sonti doesn't give second chances, man."
Dumas closed his eyes and whimpered, nodding as he bit his lower lip.
The barman brought the drinks and Lewis let go of the man's knee and handed the waiter a twenty Euro note. "Keep the change."
The barman thanked him and turned away.
"Look, I may have something else for you," Dumas said, chewing his lip.
"What?"
"You need to promise to let me go."
Lewis put his hand back on the man's knee. "Tell me first, then I'll decide, man."
Dumas winced. "They're planning on infiltrating the Castle."
Lewis Collingwood stopped smiling. "How do they know about the Castle?"
Dumas shook his head. "East is singing like a bird."
"When?" Collingwood asked.
"I...I'm not sure. They're still in the planning phases."
He squeezed harder.
"You'll be the first to know, I promise," Dumas winced.
"You bet I will," Collingwood said. He scanned the room, stood up and headed for the exit, punching a number into his cell as he walked. "Sonti, Dumas says they're planning on infiltrating the Castle."
Sonti chuckled. "Impossible, this place is impregnable."
"Sam East is talking."
Sonti kept quiet for a while. "Okay, backup plan is a go."
Lewis Collingwood strolled into the hospital entrance and headed to the reception area. A grey-haired lady smiled sweetly. "How may I help you, dear?"
"I'm looking for a Mr. Sam East, please."
The receptionist studied her computer screen and punched something on the keyboard. "Are you family?" she asked without looking up.
"A concerned friend."
She peered at him over the rim of her bifocals. "He's in the high care unit." She pulled her head back, trying to read the fine text on the screen properly. "But it says here that he's under police guard, and he's not taking any visitors."
Lewis sucked his teeth, changing his weight between his feet, as if he was trying to make up his mind. "Honestly?"
"Sorry."
"Aw, damn," he said looking around. "Okay thanks, then."
He strode away. Okay, his suspicions had been confirmed. He stood outside the revolving door for a moment, made up his mind and strode towards the escalators. The signboard said that High Care was on the third floor.
He took the escalator up to the third floor and sauntered to the gents toilet, choosing a random cubicle. He unrolled a white jacket that he had tucked under his armpit and slipped it on. Next was a pair of thick rimmed glasses and a name badge that he clipped onto the jacket pocket. He completed the look with a stethoscope around his neck.
Lewis bustled out of the toilet and headed towards the staff canteen. He opened the door, scanned the room and saw Doctor Keys sitting alone, eating a sandwich.
He sauntered up to his table. "Hope I'm not bothering?" Lewis asked in his finest cockney accent. He stuck out a hand. "My name is Doctor Pemberton, I'm from London and I'll be locuming here for a couple of months."
Doctor Keys smiled and shook his hand. "So sorry to hear that, old chap."
Lewis Collingwood chuckled amicably. "I hoped that we would bump into each other sometime. I admire the research you have done on UV light assisted open heart surgery."
Doctor Keys nodded, chewing. "Please, sit down, Doctor Pemberton."
Lewis checked his watch. "I have five minutes, could I offer you a cup of coffee?"
"That would be great, thanks."
"I'll go get it."
Doctor Keys continued munching on his sandwich while Lewis walked to the coffee machine. He poured a cup for the man, emptying a sachet containing a fine white powder into the coffee and gave it a stir. He poured himself a cup, grabbed a couple of sachets of sugar and pods of milk, walked over to the table. He placed the cups and milk and sugar on the table as he took a seat.
"So how did you find out about my research?" Doctor Keys asked, tearing a packet of sugar and emptying it into his cup. "It hasn't been published anywhere."
Lewis smiled. "Ted."
"Ted Griffiths?"
Lewis chuckled. "No, no. TED, the TV channel. You know, Technology, Entertainment, Design."
Doctor Keys took a sip of coffee, looked up with a frown. "The presentation I did at UCLA?"
Lewis nodded. "Fascinating stuff."
"It's old research, really. Oxygenated blood has a different color in sunlight than unoxygenated blood."
"But your application of the theory is utter genius."
Keys took another sip of coffee, smiled nonchalantly. "So I tested the hypothesis of performing open heart surgery under a window with direct sunlight streaming in. The capillaries lit up like--"
Lewis's cell phone beeped in his pocket. He pulled a beeper off his belt and checked it, shoved the chair back dramatically. "Dammit, my patient went into cardiac arrest," he said and stood up. "Sorry about this, we'll chat soon."
Doctor Keys smiled, giving him a wave as he trotted away. "Good luck and thanks for the coffee."
Lewis nodded and rushed out of the cafeteria, marched purposefully down the hallway, then walked towards an intersection with another passageway. A sign on the wall said that High Care was to the right and ICU to the left. He continued walking and glanced right. A dozen people were sitting on benches, worried looks on their faces, but one man stuck out like a sore thumb. He was paging through a newspaper and was looking bored, not at all like the other people who looked anxious and confused. A Beretta nine millimeter was attached to his belt.
He walked on for another twenty meters and entered the toilet. A guy stood at the urinal. Lewis Collingwood opened the second cubicle and waited for the man to finish up. As soon as he heard the door click closed, he punched a number into his phone. "Good day. I need you to listen closely or people will die, you understand? I planted a bomb on the third floor of your hospital. It will detonate in exactly ten minutes."
"Why?" the hospital's receptionist asked.
Lewis slapped his forehead. "Why? Because I want to kill all your filthy French doctor's in there who are trying to save the lives of the bloody terrorists. Glory be to Allah," he said and disconnected the call. He shook his head. "Why?"
Lewis picked up the toilet tank lid and removed a silenced, semi-automatic nine millimeter pistol that had been stuck to the bottom of the lid. And then he waited.
Thirty seconds later an alarm went off, and he stood up and exited the toilet. He pushed into the running hoard and allowed himself to be swept down the passageway. He turned left towards High Care and scanned the area. The cop was gone.
Lewis pushed the intercom button to the ward.
"Hello, who is it?" a female voice asked.
"This is Doctor Pemberton, I'm locuming for Doctor Keys."
"You know that there's a bomb threat, right Doctor?"
"Yes, that's why I'm here. Keys is considered emergency personnel, and I'm here to replace him."
"Where is he?" the female voice asked, sounding suspicious.
Collingwood sighed. "Nurse, listen to me. He got called to theatre, emergency open heart procedure."
The intercom buzzed and the doors swung open. "Thank God," the nurse said, holding her heart.
"Get out of here," Collingwood said.
"You sure?" she asked gathering her handbag and jersey.
"Out now, there could be a bomb on the floor."
Collingwood scanned the charts on the reception desk before heading for bed thirteen. He slipped his pistol from the back of his pants.
Sam East was laying on his side, his face to the wall. Lewis sauntered up to him and aimed. The pistol whistled three times as he shot him in the head.
He stood and waited, a fine tendril of smoke swirling up from East's head.
Something was wrong, there was no blood.
He froze as he heard the hammer of a pistol cock next to his ear. Shit.
"Drop the weapon," a female voice said.
He turned his head, trying to see her face.
"Drop it."
His gun clattered to the ground.
"Turn around."
Lewis Collingwood did as he was ordered. "I was set up, wasn't I?"
Captain Guerra pulled the sheets from Sam East's body. It was a full-length dummy, the type that doctors practice CPR on. "I guess so."
Damn you, Dumas. Lewis Collingwood smiled. "Had to get caught sometime, I guess."
She pointed the gun at the ground. "On your knees, hands on your head."
Sergeant Neil Allen appeared from behind a curtain and stuck a knee into Lewis' back, pushing him down towards the ground. Lewis felt him tie a zip cord around his wrists.
"In a way I'm glad I've been caught," Lewis said uncomfortably, his cheek squashed onto the shiny linoleum floor.
"And why's that?" Allen asked with a grunt, pulling the cords tight.
"Because I can't wait to see what my boss does to you when he comes to fetch me."
Guerra laughed. "Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, I guess."
"Always so confident about yourself, aren't you Captain?"
She kneeled down next to him. "Now why would you say that?"
"You're lucky streak is about end."
She chuckled. "Oh, I don't know, Mr. Collingwood." She stood up and holstered her weapon. "My lucky streak, as you call it, has been running since I was four." She nudged his shoulder with her toe. "I wouldn't call that a lucky streak."
"So what would you call it then?"
She laughed. "Life."
Sonti dabbed the cigarette in the ashtray and quaffed his Cognac. He checked the clock against the wall. He hadn't heard from Lewis for more than four hours. Which was three hours past his check-in time. He sighed and stood up.
It was time to make assumptions, and Sonti hated that. It was unnecessary. Calculated risks? Sure. But he hated assumptions.
Sonti's first assumption was that Lewis Collingwood was either dead or captured. His second assumption was that it must have happened while trying to eliminate Sam East. The logical assumption would then be that Collingwood had been set up to be captured or killed.
Sam East is talking.
Would Dumas honestly be that stupid, to double-cross him? He wondered whether Lewis had eliminated Dumas, or had thought the better of it and pursued Sam East, the more important target. He liked to allow his staff some leeway in decision making. Executive intent, he called it. I need you to take that hill, how you do it is up to you.
He typed a message into Skype. Jen, please come see me.
Nero growled. "Stay boy."
A moment later, his door opened and his personal assistant walked in. "Yes, Mr. Sonti?"
"Sit down, Jen. I have to issue some orders."
She folded her pencil skirt beneath her as she sat down, put on her wireframe glasses, flicked open a writing pad and held her pen ready.
He pushed four photos towards her. "I need a bounty on their heads."
"How much, sir?"
"One million. Each."
"Al Qaeda or the contractors?"
"Both."
She scribbled a note. "Which ones, sir?"
"All of them."
She pushed a lock of greying hair behind her ear. "All three hundred of them?"
He nodded.
She cocked her head to one side and frowned, but said nothing.
"Finance it through the foreclosure sales in Texas."
She nodded and started to stand up.
"That's not all, Jen."
She sat down uncertainly. "Not all?"
"I need to do another 911."
Her forehead furrowed into a frown, a slight smile wavering on her lips. "Surely you don't need the money, sir. Why would you want to cause another war?"
He picked up his Zippo and flicked his cigar box's lid open. "Because it's time."
"Who would you like to use, sir? Al Qaeda?"
He tapped a cigar against the table. "No, been there, done that. The strategic oil fields are ours." He lit the cigar and inhaled deeply, closing one eye as the smoke rolled over his cheek. "Let's use the Palestinians. They haven't been in the news lately." He tipped the ash into an ashtray. "Use Moktar, he has a couple of well-trained men, and he always needs more money."
She scribbled into her writing pad, then looked up with a smile. She was probably thinking of the nice Christmas bonus she was going to get. "Anything else?"
He took another drag, ground the cigar out in the ashtray. "Let's make it interesting this time. I want a nuke onboard."
"Ooh, that will take some organizing. North Korea, perhaps?"
"No, use Iran," he said with a chuckle. "The UN will look like fools."
"And the target, sir?"
Sonti steepled his fingers, leaning back in his chair. He shrugged. "Let's say…, New York State."
Alexa sat with Yumi at the dining room table, building a puzzle. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she tugged it out. It said Unknown Number. "Hello?"
"Captain Guerra. Are you close to a television?"
"Who is this?"
"We'll soon have time for proper introductions. For now, I need you to witness the little charade I have put on especially for you."
She grabbed the remote and turned on the television.
"What do you mean?"
The man chuckled. "Consider this a little heads-up, between friends."
"Which station?"
"Any news channel will do."
She flipped to Al Jazeera. She saw a picture of the golden domed Muslim Temple in Jerusalem from afar, and the entire building came into view as the camera panned in closer. She sucked in her breath. Smoke billowed from the structure, and the side of it had collapsed. People were on their knees, their arms raised to the sky in anguished cries of despair.
She put her hand on her mouth when four black-and-white photos appeared on the screen. It was pictures of herself, Bruce, Neil and Laiveaux. The scrolling subtext said that there was a bounty on their heads for desecrating the Muslim temple in Jerusalem, one of the holiest Muslim sites in the world. Apparently they had planted a bomb and blown it up.
"What is this?"
"I suggest you get packing, Miss Guerra."
Alexa strode to Yumi's room and started emptying her closet into a suitcase.
"Oh, and one more thing, Miss Guerra."
"What?"
"There's going to be a plane-jacking at La Guardia in the next fifteen minutes. Your people better start assembling a rescue squad. Flight UA four seven three three. Hurry now."
The phone disconnected and Alexa stared at it with an incredulous scowl.
Alexa skidded the car to a halt on the crushed rock in front of the Palace, jumped out and ran up the stairs, heading to the temporary command centre that President Nicole Rue had set up. Laiveaux, Bruce and the President were already there. Neil was on his way to a safehouse in Paris with Yumi.
President Rue was pacing the room, a phone cradled between her shoulder and ear. The rest of them were staring at the television. An Air Emirates Airbus stood on the runway, surrounded by police cars. The door was open and a masked man was pointing a gun at another man's head. He wore a uniform, like the flight crew on the plane. A shot rung out and the hostage slumped forward. The shooter held him back by his collar before letting him go. The crew member tumbled forward and landed on the tarmac with a sickening thud.
"This happened ten minutes ago," Laiveaux said, turning to Alexa. "They're threatening to shoot a hostage every half-an-hour if their demands aren't met."
"Which are?"
"They want two high profile PLO terrorists released and given safe passage back to Palestine."
"Who are they?"
Laiveaux slipped the glasses from his head over his e
yes and scanned a sheet of paper he was holding. "Sa'adat and Tirawi."
"They're serving life sentence for murder. What are the Israeli's saying?" Alexa asked.
Laiveaux shook his head. "They're not budging."
President Rue marched towards them, slipping her phone into her pocket. "Okay, the Israeli Minister of Defense, Joseph Kesef, is on standby. If all else fails, he says he is willing to negotiate." She turned to Laiveaux. "General, we need to organize a rescue party."
"Already done. I'm waiting for Neil to drop Yumi, then I'll send him to JFK to lead the extraction."
"I'm going with," Alexa said.
"No," Bruce and Laiveaux said almost simultaneously.
"If he's going, I'm going."
"I said no, and that's an order, Captain," Laiveaux said firmly. "No point in arguing, we need you here."
"I can't stand around doing nothing."
"We're questioning East and Collingwood, we need your help."
"Why interrogate them? East gave me Sonti's number. Make a call from Collingwood's phone and trace the call."
Laiveaux and Bruce turned to each other, a sheepish grin on their faces. "Now why didn't I think of that?" Laiveaux asked.
Neil was driving down the A6 heading towards Paris, exceeding the speed limit. He wanted to get Yumi to a place of safety as soon as possible; he had been ordered to lead the hostage extraction from the hijacked plane and he had no time to waste. The traffic was moving slowly, and he had to resort to yellow lane driving. He checked over his shoulder. "You okay?"
Yumi nodded. She was strapped in, playing with her doll, oblivious of what was going on around her.
Neil swerved around a large truck, thanking his lucky stars that Interpol had the German Sedan available in the car pool and not the 1100cc Korean model that he usually had to be satisfied with.
He touched the brakes as a truck swerved in front of him, forcing Neil back into the center lane. He checked his mirrors as two trucks closed in on his left and right. Then Yumi shrieked as the back window exploded.
"What the hell?" he shouted, looking back. Yumi's hair and lap were covered in shards of glass.
"Yumi, unfasten your belt and get down behind my seat."