SAVE THE QUEEN: AN ALEX HALEE AND JAMIE AUSTEN SPY THRILLER (THE SPY STORIES Book 4)

by Terry Toler

  I did know and I was jealous! Actually… I didn’t know what that was like.

  “We’re newlyweds as well,” Jamie said displaying her ring for Gigi to look at. Gigi took Jamie’s hand and looked at it admiringly. Although Jamie’s ring was nothing like hers. Jamie seemed proud anyway.

  My thoughts were on what Tad had said. I wanted to shout at the top of my lungs, “We’re newlyweds, but we haven’t had sex yet! At this rate, I’m not sure we ever will!”

  I refrained and settled in.

  The conversation seemed like it was going to go on for a while.

  11

  The conversation with the Gentrys continued even longer than I’d expected. For more than an hour. Tad and I talked football, and the girls talked fashion, modeling, runways, hair, makeup, and any number of topics I had no idea Jamie was so interested in.

  The Gentry’s were good conversationalists and easy to talk to. I had to admit that I genuinely liked them. A really good thing came out of the conversation when Tad asked, “What do the two of you do for a living?”

  “Exports,” I blurted out.

  “Imports,” Jamie said at the exact same moment.

  We looked at each other.

  “Imports and exports,” I hurriedly said. Truthfully, we hadn’t talked about the cover for our new corporation. What did AJAX do? Brad, our handler, said that was for us to figure out. The cover was important because we would use it as the ruse to travel into foreign countries. For the right business reason, we could even go into middle eastern countries, soviet bloc, or Asian theatres and be welcomed with little to no questions. A perfectly planned cover would open all kinds of opportunities for us to conduct covert operations in those countries.

  Humanitarian was the logical choice, but it was overdone. Countries were more skeptical and on the lookout for covert operations under the guise of a charity. We needed a solid business reason for AJAX to exist. One that wouldn’t invite scrutiny. Neither of us were prepared to answer the obvious next question.

  “What do you import and export?” Tad asked.

  I said the first thing that popped into my head. “Art!”

  Jamie tilted her head in disbelief.

  “We buy and sell fine art,” I said like it was true.

  A broad smile came on Jamie’s face. I knew that’d make her happy.

  “That’s right,” she said. “We travel the world in search of artwork to collect.”

  “That’s so fascinating,” Gigi said. Tad didn’t seem the least bit interested.

  I wasn’t interested in art either, except for that it was the perfect cover. Jamie loved art. Her minor in college was Art History. On the few times we traveled to a foreign country together, she always wanted to go to the local art museum. That wasn’t always possible considering the nature of our operations. When we did, she was like a kid at the zoo. She could spend hours in a museum. I wanted to leave after ten minutes. Something that would have to change now that we were in the art business. Apparently.

  “Have you been to the National Gallery?” Gigi asked.

  “No!” Jamie said. “But that’s the first thing on our list. Have you been there?”

  I remembered Jamie mentioning that the National Gallery was the biggest art gallery in all of England. A must see on our list of tourist attractions.

  “We’re going there now,” Tad said. “You guys should come with us.”

  “We sort of had plans,” Jamie said reluctantly.

  I could see the disappointment written all over her face. Her shoulders had drooped, and her smile was fake.

  “It’s okay. We can do that later,” I said kind of roughly. “Let’s go to the museum with them.”

  “Are you sure?” Jamie asked me.

  “I’m sure.” I said it with mixed emotions. Disappointment was mostly what I felt. Then I warmed to the idea. Spending the day with the Gentry’s would be fun. Maybe things would be better if our wedding night were actually at night. This time, nothing was going to ruin it. We’d enjoy the day and come back to the room early. It was all planned out in my mind.

  “It’s settled then,” Tad said.

  “We’ll meet you down in the lobby in ten minutes,” I said.

  On the way back to the room, Jamie was apologetic. For the second time that morning. “Are you sure you’re okay with us going to the art gallery? We could’ve said no.”

  “I’m sure,” I said sarcastically and for effect even though I really was fine with it. “I’m kidding. Really. It’s okay. It’ll be fun.”

  Jamie was clearly excited, and that made me excited. The main thing was we were married, and we were together. That fact warmed my heart.

  “I’ll make it up to you,” Jamie said. “I promise. We’ll go to the museum. Then catch some other tourist sights and come back to the room and make love. It’s going to be a great day.”

  “I hope there aren’t any more incidents,” I said, thinking about the events of the previous day.

  “There won’t be. I think you’re right. Those were isolated and not related to us at all.”

  At breakfast, Jamie and I had talked about it at length before Tad and Gigi showed up. My angst from the night before had dissipated. I didn’t see any way Pok could orchestrate such an extensive operation. It wasn’t his style. He was a cybercriminal. He got his kicks stealing money. I’d never known him to be involved in any type of violence.

  “Do you want to bring the gun just in case?” Jamie asked.

  The gun was carefully hidden in the room.

  “I don’t think I could get in the National Gallery with it. I’m guessing they have metal detectors.”

  “You’re probably right. Besides, someone with a knife couldn’t get in either.”

  “They wouldn’t attack a tourist area. I don’t think, anyway. Besides, Tad looks like he could handle himself as well. Between the two of us, no one’s going to mess with our girls.”

  Tad played safety in college at UCLA. Second team All American his senior year. I knew from experience that safeties were tough guys. We called them headhunters. They sat back in the secondary waiting for someone to come into their area. Then they laid the wood on them and took their heads off if given the chance. Receivers hated hard hitting safeties like Tad. So did quarterbacks. Many times, after I escaped the pocket and was running for my life, a safety had made me see stars.

  “Thank you for doing this,” Jamie said sincerely as we were about to leave the room. She hugged me tightly.

  By that point, I didn’t mind. Seeing her this happy, made me happy.

  ***

  Iran

  Pok was almost nauseated. Niazi had just shown him more pictures of people who’d been attacked with acid. The images of the victims were horrifying.

  Niazi had been almost gleeful in describing how his men would pull off the acid attacks today. This was what trained killers like him lived for. Inflicting as much pain and terror on innocent civilians as possible.

  Pok was more comfortable behind a computer, figuring out how to steal people’s money. This kind of extreme violence was new to him. And he liked it.

  “Torture in a bottle,” was what Niazi called it.

  When Pok’s assistant mentioned innocent people being hurt, Niazi exploded.

  “There are no innocent people in the west. They support their leaders who start endless wars against my people. They put economic sanctions on our government, so our people barely have enough to live on. It’s a war. Everyone is fair game in war.”

  Pok had to search his soul to see if he agreed. While Alex Halee wasn’t innocent, his wife was. Did she deserve to be maimed and disfigured for the rest of her life simply because she was married to the lowlife scum? The plan was to attack her with the acid today. Right in front of Halee. At first, he had been elated. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  Of course, if his plan came to fruition, she’d be a widow in a few days anyway, Pok realized. That was his main goal. Kill Halee. End the threat to hi
s enterprise. The dirty bomb was to kill thousands of people. What did Pok care if Halee’s wife got what Alex deserved?

  At this point, Pok could do nothing about it. The genie was out of the bottle, so to speak. He was so far into it nothing was going to stop Niazi from carrying out the plan. Pok couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. Even if it did make him queasy. He just wished Niazi would quit talking about the acid.

  “Most of the time we use sulfuric acid,” Niazi explained even though Pok had not asked. Niazi loved talking about the weapons of his warfare.

  “Occasionally nitric acid is used,” he continued. “Actually, you can use any number of things. Even household products. Hydrochloric acid can be used, but it’s not as damaging to skin. Even things like bleach and rust remover can do a tremendous amount of damage. Hydroxyzine peroxide is a good substance. Ammonia. Chlorine. Even a pool cleaner will blind a person if thrown right into the eyes. Sulfuric acid is the best, though. That’s what my men are using today.”

  “How do they make it and carry it without harming themselves?” Pok asked reluctantly, not sure he even wanted to know.

  “They mix it at their house and put it into a squirt bottle. That way they can direct a stream directly onto a person without getting any on themselves.”

  “What are the effects of the acid?”

  “Sulfuric acid will peel the skin right off the body. Normally, it’s not fatal. That’s the beauty of it. It causes excruciating pain. I’ve seen it firsthand. We tested different chemicals on numerous prisoners. It took many attempts, but we eventually perfected it. Sulfuric acid will make a person suffer from the burns for the rest of their lives. They’ll need a dozen or more surgeries. Skin grafts will be necessary. Most of the time, it’ll cause permanent blindness if it comes in contact with the eyes. Which is the goal. Our men are trained to spray it right into the face of the person. The fumes from the acid will burn their lungs and cause breathing problems for the rest of their lives.”

  Pok shuddered.

  “Acid is so much better than knife attacks,” Niazi continued. “Knives are fine to hurt or kill a person. But acid terrorizes people. That’s what we want. Strike fear in the hearts of our enemies.”

  Pok made himself overcome any reservations. His Supreme Leader in North Korea would be proud of him. He took several deep breaths to strengthen his resolve. Drawing on his hatred for Halee helped.

  Now was not the time for cold feet. It was a time for bold action. These people weren’t innocent, Niazi had argued. The west must be fought with every weapon available to them. Halee would not hesitate to kill him. That’s what he needed to remember.

  Nothing would make Halee suffer more than seeing his new wife lying on the ground, writhing in pain, disfigured for life. Pok needed to focus. They had a lot of work to do before this mission was considered a success. Halee was certainly capable of stopping an attack. It must be planned and timed perfectly.

  Pok went back to his office to go over the plan again.

  Several minutes later, his assistant burst in without knocking.

  “Halee’s on the move,” he said excitedly.

  “Where?”

  “He just left the hotel.”

  “Don’t lose him.”

  Pok pulled the hotel up on his screen. Then rewound until he saw Halee and Jamie walk out of the hotel with another couple. He had to do a double take.

  The other couple looked just like Alex and Jamie.

  12

  National Gallery

  Trafalgar Square

  London

  Going to the National Art Gallery in London with Jamie was like having our own private tour guide. I had no idea she knew so much about art. Tad and Gigi seemed impressed as well, as Jamie’s knowledge of painters, paintings, styles of art, and obscure art trivia was on full display.

  Had it not been for her, I would’ve been bored. The plan was to spend two hours at the gallery and then go to the Tower of London. Gigi wanted to see the Crown Jewels displayed there. Jamie wanted to see the weapons armory and dungeon. What a contradiction in personality. Here at the gallery, my bride was totally into the arts. There, it was swords, knives, and weapons of warfare over jewelry.

  As it turned out, we were at the National Gallery for nearly four hours, and that wasn’t long enough to see everything. I expected it to be torture but was pleasantly surprised. Observing Jamie in her element was as pleasurable as viewing the paintings. Although I enjoyed those as well.

  If this was going to be our new business, I’d better learn to appreciate it.

  That’s what Jamie said after I had blurted out art collecting at breakfast. She was totally into the idea.

  “That was brilliant,” she said. “We can buy and sell art. I love it.”

  I was warming to the idea as well. The gallery was giving me a new perspective on the arts. Particularly the Artemisia Gentileschi exhibition.

  When we came to that exhibit, Jamie was as excited as a puppy about to be fed a treat. I couldn’t even pronounce the artist’s name, much less tell who she was.

  Jamie knew everything about her.

  “Artemisia was an Italian baroque painter of the seventeenth century.”

  “I thought baroque was a type of musical instrument,” I said.

  Jamie gave me a glare as if to say, just keep quiet so you don’t show your ignorance.

  “It’s also a style of painting,” she explained. “More of a movement than anything else. There’s baroque architecture as well. And musical instruments as Alex pointed out.”

  If Jamie noticed my purposeful smug look, she didn’t acknowledge it. She barely took a breath between sentences.

  “Artemisia is best known for her biblical paintings,” she said.

  That explained why Jamie loved her so much. Jamie loved everything Bible.

  “According to the exhibition handout, this is the largest collection of Gentileschi paintings ever assembled,” Jamie continued.

  She then took us through the exhibit pointing out each painting. She barely referred to the guidebook. Most of the paintings she recognized and knew by heart.

  Mary Magdalene. Joseph and Potiphar. Lot and his daughters.

  “She’s particularly known for painting the story of David and Bathsheba. Here’s a famous painting called Bathing Bathsheba.”

  We all crowded in together around it. “You can see David off in the distance, watching.”

  Fascinating.

  We spent more than an hour in that room. After the exhibit, we split up for the last hour. Jamie and Gigi went off on their own, and Tad and I went to get a snack and a drink. We spent the better part of the hour talking about football, which was more in my element.

  We were interrupted by an urgent text from Jamie.

  You have to see this. Meet us in Room 4.

  No mention of what she wanted us to see. It took several minutes to find Room Four. The Gallery was so huge it would be easy to get lost, and Jamie had the map.

  When we found her, the hallway outside the room was buzzing with activity. People were milling around. A table was set up just outside the main doors. A sign above and behind the table said Art Auction.

  Jamie’s face was lit up like a billboard on Times Square. She had something in her hand with the number 87 on it.

  “What are we doing?” I asked.

  “They’re having an art auction. I registered us.”

  “What’s in your hand?”

  “An auction paddle. It’s for bidding. We’re not going to bid, but you can’t go in without one.”

  “Okay,” I said hesitantly. This might be fun. “Are you guys into it?” I asked Tad and Gigi.

  They seemed like they genuinely were.

  After the first painting was auctioned off for more than eleven million pounds, I was into it as well. That amounted to roughly fifteen million dollars! It felt like my mouth was permanently agape in disbelief at what I was witnessing.

  The atmosph
ere was invigorating. The room was abuzz. This is the type of excitement I felt when I played football in a full stadium. The auctioneer was skilled at keeping the auction moving while enticing the crowd to bid. As the price of a piece went higher, so did the intensity. When two people got in a bidding war, the crowd went into a frenzy. As an auction neared the end, the tension was as thick as a San Francisco fog.

  I had no idea an art auction could be so much fun.

  The room was filled with people of considerable means. We seemed out of place in our shorts and tee shirts. Most were there in suits and ties and fancy dresses. They let us in anyway, so I decided not to feel embarrassed. All the chairs were taken, so we stood in the back. I didn’t mind. We had a better view from there anyway. Watching the people and their reactions was the best part.

  More than a hundred pieces of artwork were to be auctioned. Jamie had the list and was whispering information about the paintings as they came up in order. Some only went for four or five hundred thousand pounds, but most brought seven figures. I had no idea people paid that much for artwork.

  When one piece, a Manet, went for twenty-seven million pounds, I almost fell over. A deafening cheer went up in the room. Jamie was right there with them. Hooting and hollering. Whistling. Clapping enthusiastically. It felt good to see her so happy. I was glad we decided to go to the museum and really glad she found the auction.

  “Next is a Degas,” Jamie said excitedly.

  “What’s a Degas?” I asked.

  “Not what,” she said, “Who? Edgar Degas is the artist. A French Impressionist painter. He lived in the late 1800s early 1900s. He painted dancers.”

  The painting was smaller than some of the others. We had to strain to see it from our vantage point. It looked like a painting of a ballerina in a tutu.

  “I love this painting,” Jamie said.

  “How much do you think it’ll go for?” I asked.

  The four of us made a game of it. Each one would guess how much a painting would go for and then see who was closest. Jamie won hands down. Her estimates were almost always the closest. My guesses were way off. The ones I thought would go for a lot went for the least amounts. The ones I thought for sure were worth less, sold for the most.