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

by Terry Toler

  “Steele’s wife got acid on her and she’s in the hospital.”

  “I’d bet a year’s salary she doesn’t know anything about it,” Bond said. “That girl is diamonds. I just don’t see her being involved for any amount of money.”

  “Do you have a theory?” Weaver asked, anxiously waiting for the answer.

  “I do, but it’s pretty far-fetched.”

  “Hey. I’m at the end of my rope. I can’t figure it out.”

  Digby leaned back again and contorted his lips like he didn’t want to say what he was about to say.

  “Munchausen.”

  “The syndrome?” Weaver had heard of it. Munchausen Syndrome was when mothers hurt their kids to gain attention.

  Digby explained. “Hear me out. What if Steele is a Munchausen spy. Follow the logic. He’s on the outs with the CIA. He got fired for whatever reason. Probably for stealing money. That’s how he can throw money around like he’s a big shot. No CIA officer I know can buy a painting for three million pounds. Anyway, he learns about the attacks. He shows up to stop them. He becomes a hero again with the CIA. Maybe he gets his job back.”

  Digby paused, leaving an eerie silence in the room for the better part of thirty seconds.

  Then continued. “Or maybe Steele just misses the action. Some guys can’t live without it. When you’re used to killing people for a living, it gets in your blood. It’s hard to go back to being normal. Anyway, Steele is doing it for attention. Obviously. That’s my theory.”

  “What should I do about it?”

  “Arrest him.”

  “On what charge?”

  “Accessory. Conspiracy. Whatever. I don’t think the CIA is going to have his back. Worry about proving it later. If you put enough pressure on him, maybe he’ll tell you how he knows about the attacks ahead of time. Hell. Charge him with obstruction of justice. Anyway. Get him off the street. We’ve got the wedding coming up this weekend, and there’s talk about a dirty bomb.”

  “I read about it in this morning’s briefing.”

  “The last thing you need is to be chasing Steele around town. We’ve all got better things to do than that. You might not be able to make the charges stick, but you can lock him in a cell for a few days. At least until after the wedding.”

  Weaver’s phone rang. His assistant was on the other line. His heart skipped a beat as he expected the worst.

  “I need to take this.”

  He stood from his chair and turned his back to Digby. Not that he needed privacy, but so he wouldn’t see his hand shaking.

  “Steele is at Trafalgar again,” his assistant said. “He’s hanging around the lions like he did yesterday.”

  “Send your men in right away. Arrest him. I’ll be right there.”

  Weaver hung up.

  “That’s Steele. He’s back at it. I’ve got to go.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. You’ve been a big help. I’m going to arrest him right now.”

  “Good. I hope the charges stick. What kind of man lets a woman get stabbed right in front of him. Or let’s a model get her whole life ruined. A scumbag if you ask me.”

  “The lowest of the low,” Weaver said. “I don’t know who’s worse. The terrorists or Steele.”

  20

  Trafalgar Square

  My timing had to be perfect.

  Considering I was guessing and going on assumptions that may or may not be true, my chances were next to impossible to get it right. Curly wouldn’t like my plan. From my vantage point, I saw no other choice.

  I said a quick prayer. Why I didn’t do that more often, I wasn’t sure. If I ever needed help from God, this was one of those times.

  The plan was to lure the vest bomber to Trafalgar Square. I showed my face on the security camera hoping to accomplish that goal. The problem was knowing when he would arrive. I couldn’t be there. If the bomber had confirmation that I was in the square, all he had to do was detonate the bomb and dozens would be killed or injured, and I would be placed at the scene. I had to be long gone.

  Not long gone, but out of the square before he arrived. But I couldn’t leave too soon. That’s where the timing was critical. I needed to be far enough away from the bomber that he wouldn’t detonate, but close enough to entice him to follow me. Impossible, considering I had no idea if he was even coming, much less when or from what direction.

  If the plan didn’t work, it wasn’t because I wasn’t prepared. I’d studied the details until my eyes hurt. I felt comfortable in my assumptions and had to tamp down my concerns. The arrival time of the bomber was an educated guess. Based on yesterday, it took the acid attacker eighteen minutes to arrive from the time I showed my face to the time he entered the square. In my estimation, today’s bomber would probably take longer.

  The likelihood was that there were only two vest bombers as opposed to a dozen or more acid attackers. Finding the materials to make vest bombs wasn’t as easy as filling up a squirt bottle full of acid. So, they’d be spread out. One close to the hotel and one in a central location. Probably a twenty-minute walk from me. Pok wouldn’t expect me to come back to Trafalgar. Curly would like that part of the plan. Always do what your enemy least expects you to do, he said more times than I could remember.

  That little bit of indecision would work to my advantage. From the time Pok spotted me, notifying the bomber and for that person to make his way to the square, unnoticed, would take several minutes. Vest bombers were careful for obvious reasons. They didn’t walk as fast, and they moved hesitantly. Human nature. Even though they intended to blow themselves up, they weren’t generally in a rush to do so. Unless the bomber was in the direct vicinity of Trafalgar Square, his arrival time would be between fifteen and thirty minutes.

  I needed to leave the square four to five minutes before he arrived.

  Curly was right.

  This wasn’t a good plan. Or at least the Curly who was always in my head and offering the criticism of it.

  The problem was obvious. Even if I left at the right time, I needed the bomber to follow me. My plan was so detailed and intricate that I had to lead him to a predetermined point through a maze of streets. All the while, keeping my face on the camera so Pok could help the man keep following me, but making sure the bomber wasn’t close enough to set off his bomb. At least the path would lead us through less populated areas. I always had my gun, and could kill the man, but the bomb would still go off. He was going to die anyway.

  I had to make sure he died at a time and place of my choosing, not his.

  I also had Weaver to consider. He was watching as well. I was certain of that. If my plan worked, he’d realize that I’m one of the good guys and that I had saved lives by stopping the attacks. Not that I wanted to be a hero or wanted any recognition. I didn’t choose this battle. The whole thing looked fishy to him. I wanted to prove to him that I was helping him. He still needed me. There was the dirty bomb at the royal wedding to consider.

  Part of me wanted to tell Weaver the whole story. I couldn’t. Brad wouldn’t back me up, and Weaver would arrest me on the spot for hacking into the London security camera system. This was the only way. I began to get antsy again.

  The timer on my watch read ten minutes. That’s how long it’d been since Pok saw me on the cameras. The urge to leave was overwhelming. I had to force myself to wait. The plan couldn’t fail because I suddenly lost my nerve and couldn’t control my impulses.

  That’s why I needed divine intervention to show me the right time. Thinking about God would distract me for a few more minutes. A few months ago, I read an article about a person who’d had a near death experience. He was swept out into the ocean by a rip tide. It took rescuers more than ten hours to find him. Many times, he’d given up hope. Treading water for that long took every ounce of energy from him. The man related in the article that he pleaded with God to save him. Even admitted he made a number of promises to God that he’d already broken.

  “Save me,
and I promise to be a better husband and father,” he said, while in the ocean. “If you’ll rescue me, I promise I’ll go to church every Sunday for the rest of my life.”

  That article hit close to home for me for different reasons. Many people turn to God when they’re facing death’s door. The rest of the time, God’s on the backburner. Prayer is only turned to when they really needed it. I wasn’t judging. I did the same thing. Just the opposite, though. I faced near death experiences all the time. Because I was so well trained, I often relied more on my own abilities and forgot to ask God for help. I’d faced death four times in the last forty-eight hours! More times than I could count if I included the last four years. This was the first time in London, I’d thought to ask him to help me.

  Maybe I had become too used to the danger. Looking back, I remembered many times when it felt like God was protecting me, even if I wasn’t acknowledging it or pleading with him. It wouldn’t hurt for me to remember that more. In my line of work, I needed his protection every day. All of us do in our own ways, but today, I needed him more than ever.

  Too many things could go wrong with my plan. My angst returned with a vengeance.

  Show me the right time to leave, I prayed.

  At eighteen minutes, I couldn’t resist the impulse. I probably should’ve waited another five minutes but didn’t. It seemed like the right time. Almost like I could sense the bomber’s presence drawing near to the square. I stretched my arms, trying to look nonchalant, casual even. Like I was about to go for a stroll without a care in the world.

  Choosing which direction to leave the square was preplanned. Truthfully, I didn’t know if I was making the right choice. In a way, the odds were fifty-fifty. If I chose wrong, I’d run directly into the bomber, and my plan would be for naught. I hoped and prayed I was right.

  Maybe the odds were better than fifty-fifty since the odds were good that the bomber would come from the same direction as the acid man. A reasonable assumption, which was the best I could do under the circumstances.

  I forced my feet to start walking.

  I was on the move.

  ***

  Iran

  The timing has to be perfect, Pok thought to himself.

  Halee was standing in Trafalgar Square. Niazi had a man with a bomb on the way. Two bombers were in London ready to go. One was at Halee’s hotel, the other in a central location of London. Pok was shocked that Halee had gone back to Trafalgar, and that threw him off at first. It took extra time to scramble the man and get him headed to the square. Pok could only hope Halee would wait for him to arrive.

  So far, so good.

  Halee had been in the square for a good fifteen minutes and didn’t appear to be leaving anytime soon. As long as Pok had eyes on Halee, all the bomber had to do was enter the square and detonate the bomb. Halee was standing next to the lions. He wouldn’t be harmed, but he’d be in the camera shot. Once again for the authorities to see.

  The bomb would do significant damage, and there’d be loss of life. Niazi explained how the bombs were made and why they only had two available. Basically, the men took a special vest with shoulder straps and sewed shrapnel, steel ball bearings, and various other objects such as nails, brads, etc, into the pockets of the vest. They weren’t easy to make. The explosives connected to a detonator in the bomber’s hand which he kept in his pocket and had to be armed carefully so the bomb didn’t explode prematurely.

  More sophisticated devices could be set off with a cell phone from a remote location. These devices were simpler. The man had his finger on the button. He released the button and the vest exploded. If the target were within thirty yards, the bomb would do serious damage.

  Halee was making it easy for them.

  “Just a couple more minutes,” Pok said aloud to Alex.

  Niazi entered the room. “Are we a go?”

  “Everything still looks good. I’ll signal you when to detonate.” Pok had a split screen on his computer. He could see both men. Halee by the lion. The bomber walking down the street toward Trafalgar.

  “Just two more minutes,” Pok said. “Two more minutes.”

  Pok felt like he was watching a rocket launch. The same type of anticipation with a countdown.

  This was going to be more exciting than anything he’d ever seen before.

  ***

  MI5 Headquarters

  The timing had to be perfect.

  Weaver was back in headquarters monitoring the security cameras. He had a SWAT team on go a block away from Trafalgar Square, hidden from view. They were prepared to move at his command.

  Not too early, but not too late. That’s why the timing was critical.

  At the moment, Alex Steele was standing in the square by one of the lion statues. Just like yesterday. Weaver was tempted to rush in and apprehend him but sensed that something else was about to happen. Maybe another attack. This was a chance for him to take another bad guy off the street.

  If he moved too soon, the terrorist would get spooked and disappear without being spotted. If they waited too long, then Weaver ran the risk of the attack happening before his men could stop it.

  Just a couple minutes more, he thought to himself. That’s how much longer he was willing to wake. His case against Alex would be advanced even more if Weaver had evidence of a fifth attack about to take place in the square. No judge in London would believe that Alex being present at the attacks was coincidental. If nothing else, they had probable cause to hold him until after the wedding.

  His heart pounded in his chest. He tried to slow it by taking a sip of coffee. His hand was shaking so much, he almost spilled it on his shirt. This was probably what Bond Digby felt when he was on a mission. This was the most exciting case he’d worked since he started at MI5, years ago.

  Weaver kept his eyes peeled to the screen.

  Alex stretched his arms. It looked like he was getting ready to move.

  Indecision gripped Weaver like a vise. A quick glance around the square confirmed that there wasn’t a bomber in it.

  Should we go in or wait?

  Alex was walking now. Toward the northeast corner intersection.

  Weaver had SWAT on a direct line.

  “We have a visual,” the SWAT team commander said. “Do you want us to grab him?”

  Weaver hesitated.

  “No. Let him go. Follow him. Let’s see where he takes us.”

  “Roger that.”

  Weaver hoped he made the right decision.

  “Where are you going, Alex Steele?” he said to the screen.

  21

  Iran

  From Pok’s perspective, the plan could not have gone any better.

  He couldn’t wipe away the smug look on his face which even Niazi commented on. His plan was brilliant, even by Pok’s high standards. From the safety of Iran, he was able to follow Halee and the vest bomber every step of the way, even through the maze of London streets.

  The bomber arrived in Trafalgar Square two minutes after Halee left. At first, Pok panicked. He regrouped and worked the plan. All he had to do was go camera-by-camera and follow Halee’s every move then relay it to the bomber.

  The longer the chase continued, the closer Niazi’s man got to Steele. The gap was narrowing with every turn. Now, he was closing in. Halee entered an industrial complex. The bomber was about fifty yards behind him. The area wasn’t a good place to detonate the bomb. There were no people around.

  According to Pok’s maps, Halee was cornered, and there was only one way out. From the looks of it, Halee was leading the bomber right into an area with a crowded street on the other side of the complex. On the wall behind the televisions was a row of clocks set at different time zones. London time was at lunch hour. People would be filing out of the industrial complex in droves to get something to eat.

  The thought caused Pok to fill with emotions, although he knew better than to celebrate too soon. He kept his eyes focused on the screen. They had come too far to lose Halee now. The
bomber would be in range within a minute or two, and Pok would give the order to detonate. Then he would celebrate. Not a second before.

  Pok was in the main room where all the workers were congregated to watch the scene unfold on the many television screens. Tension filled the room like a London fog. All eyes were riveted to them with anticipation. Halee walked behind the building and turned the corner. From what he could tell, the bomber already had him in his sights because he quickened his steps.

  Within seconds, Pok would give the order.

  The bomber slowed and peered around the corner. Pok watched him round the corner and come into view on another camera. He turned his head and then started walking again. With purpose. Halee was not in view of the camera. Pok wasn’t sure what the bomber was seeing. Pok looked at the next camera. Just ahead was the street. That must be where Steele was headed.

  Pok prepared to give the order to detonate. The bomber only needed to be a few feet from the crowd in order to inflict maximum damage. The street camera should pick up Halee’s image any second.

  A fireball suddenly erupted on the television. It brightened the room as the image of the orange flame appeared on hundreds of screens at once. Then the TV’s went dark as a black plume of smoke covered the lens. The camera actually shook from the concussion.

  A cheer went up from the throng of people in Pok’s cyber lab.

  Niazi thrust his fist into the air.

  Pok wasn’t celebrating just yet.

  He wasn’t sure what just happened.

  ***

  MI5 Headquarters

  “What just happened?” Weaver asked the room full of people watching the cameras following Alex Steele.

  He’d just given the order to the SWAT team to move in and arrest Alex Steele. They’d followed him from Trafalgar Square a few miles east through a maze of streets into an industrial complex. Weaver ordered them to stay back and out of Steele’s sight. He was watching Alex in real time and told the SWAT team which path to take to follow him.

  Shortly after entering the complex, Alex disappeared from the camera view. That’s when Weaver acted and ordered the men to move on Steele.