He smiled. “Or she, is old enough, that her daddy loved her. And Darling?”
“Yes?”
“I will always love you, and be watching over you.”
She finally lost control, her sobs wreaking havoc on his own self-control. Sustained gunfire and several cries on the other side of the door ended his moment of self-pity.
“I have to go, my dear. I will call you as soon as it is over. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He hung up the phone, and looked about the room. The servants, experts at disguising their emotions were looking elsewhere as if nothing were amiss, Harry continued to examine his leg uselessly, and his grandmother looked at him with a slight smile. She held out her hand.
Suddenly there was pounding on the door with shouts in English and Arabic to open it. This got a reaction from the room. The servants looked about, unsure what to do. Harry rose to his feet, readying his weapon, and his grandmother rose, still holding his hand.
“Dignity, everyone, dignity.”
She positioned herself at the center of the room, Harry and William on either side of her, their weapons clasped behind their backs. She nodded at the servants.
The doors were opened, and the servants stepped back, positioning themselves in front of their Royal Highness, their bravery not lost on William as they stared down the dozen men, unarmed, guns pointed at them as they surged into the room.
William, closest to the window, took a quick sideways glance outside and saw several black vans race through the gates toward the entrance.
The ARU!
Depending upon resistance, they could be there in as little as two minutes. They needed to stall.
“Who is in charge here?” he demanded, stepping forward, his weapon still gripped tightly behind him. He stared past the three servants and at the half dozen men in the room, another half dozen outside, in the hall.
One man pushed his way forward, shouldering his weapon.
“I am.”
The man looked young, perhaps early thirties. He had no accent, was well dressed considering what was happening, and had an air of dignity, of pride in purpose.
And eyes that burned red with rage.
“You know who I am?”
“Of course.”
“Then may I ask your name?”
“You may not.”
Gunfire in the distance almost made William pause, but he continued, as if it were of no importance, hoping their attackers would treat it the same.
“And why might that be?”
The man sneered at him. “Because I don’t answer to false idols.”
It would appear to me you just did.
“False idols?”
“All representations of Allah’s creation of man, all monstrosities built by man then worshipped by men, must be destroyed. Statues, sculptures, paintings, people.”
“People?”
“Those who would pretend to be Allah’s representatives on Earth, like the infidel Pope, or the head of the Church of England, for example.” The man stared at the Queen over William’s shoulder, and William instinctively leaned more to his left to block the view.
“Under what authority do you do this?” But he already knew the answer. It would be some insanity about Allah and Mohammad, and he also knew there would be no rational debate.
Delay, however.
“Under the authority of almighty God! Under the authority of the blessed Koran, written by Mohammad, peace be upon him, guided by the angel Gabriel, who on Allah’s behalf provided the Holy words meant to save mankind from the corruption of His will by those who came before, to create a world ruled by the word of Allah, not the word of Man, to create a Caliphate the world over where all worshipped under a single flag, the flag of Islam.”
William debated whether or not to point out the fact that Mohammad was illiterate and didn’t write down anything Gabriel had told him, assuming Gabriel had told him anything, which though open minded, William found hard to believe. But he was open minded, raised to be so, his people of all faiths, so he had to respect their beliefs.
But I don’t have to respect the way they have implemented those beliefs.
“Is Allah not merciful?”
“Blasphemy!” roared the man, his eyes flaring with rage. “How dare an infidel use this form of the almighty’s name? Only true Muslims may call God ‘Allah’!”
William bowed slightly, his hands still clasped behind his back, his finger sliding along the weapon to see if the safety was off as more gunfire erupted.
That’s sounding closer.
“I apologize. I wasn’t aware of the restriction. But is not God merciful?”
“Of course he is. Allah is merciful to all who believe in him.”
“And is not my god the same as your god?”
The man frowned, but nodded. “This is true.”
“So would he not be merciful to us as well?”
The man smiled. “Yes, he would. If you are true believers, true followers of him, he will be merciful, even if an infidel such as yourself. Indeed, Allah is merciful.”
Footsteps pounded down the hallway causing the terrorists to turn as one. Something was barked in Arabic by their captor, and those guarding the hall opened fire, the flashes from their muzzles causing the dimly lit hall to flicker like a fireworks display. His captor returned to looking at William, failing to see several of his men dropping behind him, the better trained ARU team apparently closing in.
“So then why not show us mercy?”
The man chuckled.
“It is not for me to show you mercy, it is for Allah. I am but a man, who cannot take the place of the Almighty. It is up to Him to be merciful.”
And William suddenly understood the logic the man was employing. He flicked his weapon twice, signaling Harry, hoping he would pick up on it.
Two more dropped in the hall, the footfalls closer.
“When you die, Allah may very well be merciful.” William saw the man’s hand begin to move, then freeze as a throat cleared behind William. He turned to see his grandmother step forward.
“We understand your concerns young man, but if you think you can frighten us, you are sadly mistaken. Should we die here today, we will die free, not under the yoke of oppression that your warping of God’s word would have us live under. In England we have freedom of religion, and from religion. It is an important distinction, that you and your kind have failed to realize. We are free to worship as we wish, or not at all. We have separated Church and State, which is a concept your religion does not appear to fathom. Mankind needs to be free. We yearn for it instinctively, we were created, by God, to be free. And free men are more powerful than any forced into service, whether it be to their country, or to their God.
“We will prevail in the end, no matter how many of us you kill, as we are free, and freedom is the most important of God’s gifts, for it is life, and life without freedom is mere existence, and existence is not what we stand for in our country, in our Britain, or in our church. You may kill us today, but you merely create martyrs to a cause that in the end will ultimately defeat your ignorance and hate for all things different. Just as we learned to look at the Bible figuratively rather than literally, you need to learn the same of your Koran. And until you do, you will be trapped in the age it was written, never to progress, never to advance, and never to succeed in your mission, a perverted literal interpretation that has an entirely different figurative meaning.
“You misinterpret your own holy book, sir, and it discredits you, and your cause. You and others like you should open your eyes to the loving God we have embraced, and cast aside this notion that killing will bring you closer to Him.” She paused, taking another step toward the man. “But I can see by looking into your eyes that you are not a man of reason, but a man filled with hate, consumed with a lust for death that no words could sway.” She stepped back then took several steps toward her chair in front of her makeup table and sat down, her
knees together and to the side, her hands resting on them.
Dignified to the end.
William’s eyes glassed over as he looked at her.
If only her detractors could see her now.
During the entire speech, there had been no rebuttal, no comment whatsoever from the man, except an increasingly tightening jaw. The battle for the hallway was much closer now, and he wondered if this anonymous man was remotely aware of what was happening behind him.
Suddenly the man raised his weapon, swinging it toward the Queen.
“No!” yelled William as he dove toward his grandmother, his eyes focused on the trigger as it was slowly squeezed. A shot rang out and he felt a jolt then a searing pain in his shoulder. As he hit the ground a rapid series of shots rang out. William felt his stomach flip and he spun toward his grandmother, but saw she remained unscathed. His weapon still gripped in his hand, he spun toward the gunfire, raising it, but found no one to shoot at, only his brother standing, weapon raised, and the bodies of six dead terrorists on the floor, those tours in Afghanistan apparently paying off.
Gunfire from the hall ripped at the rug in front of the bed and Harry jumped to the side, rolling to a kneeling position, weapon raised. The servants had hit the ground and scrambled away from the line of fire. William pointed at the two on the same side of the room as his grandmother. “Protect Her Majesty.”
They nodded and rose, positioning themselves between their monarch and the door, just out of the line of fire. William and Harry approached either side as the gunfire continued in sustained bursts, tearing apart the floor and bed.
Something metal bounced on the floor of the hallway, then there was a hissing sound, a sound William recognized from Initial Officer Training. Smoke grenade. He risked a quick glance into the hall to confirm that smoke was now billowing from a canister not twenty feet from the door. Another canister hit with a heavier thud, the tone different from the first. He caught a glimpse and immediately recognized it. Shoving the door closed, he yelled, “Flash bang!”
Harry’s eyes widened as he too began to push the other side of the door closed. A terrific explosion from the hall was followed by screams of pain as their attackers’ senses were overwhelmed. Even William’s ears pounded from the intense noise and he turned to check on his grandmother, and almost laughed when he saw her primping herself in the mirror, as if nothing but a stray hair were amiss.
There were shouts outside, authoritative, and in English, then heavy knocking on the door.
“Is there anyone inside there?” asked the voice. “Your Majesty, are you okay?”
William looked at the bodies on the floor, his grandmother rising from the mirror, her servants, shoulders squared, in position at the center of the room, the two doormen already prepared to take over their duties at the doors now manned by the two brothers.
Harry stepped back as did William, both positioning themselves in front of their grandmother, weapons aimed at the door just in case this was a ruse.
“We are secure in here, and are armed. We are opening the doors now.”
William nodded at the doormen, who opened the doors a little more slowly than they probably normally did. Smoke filled the corridor from the grenade tossed only moments before, and William squinted to try and see through it. Red laser beams sliced through the smoke as several black forms advanced. The first stepped through the smoke and into the room, his weapon raised, and immediately lowered it upon sight of his monarch and her heirs, instead training it on the bodies on the floor. He activated his comm.
“We have Redfern, I say again, we have Redfern, over.”
Several more men entered the room and William lowered his weapon, as did Harry, both audibly sighing in relief.
“Is everyone alright?” asked the first man.
William was about to answer when his grandmother cleared her throat. William looked back then smiled, stepping aside as he recognized her expression, which was one of command. The two brothers stepped back and the Queen stepped forward.
“We are all unharmed.” She nodded at the men on the floor. “Do what you must with them, I trust you can have this room restored to order before bed.” She looked at Harry, then at William.
“Dinner?”
William and Harry exchanged grins, then followed their grandmother as she stepped around the bodies littering her bed chamber, and out into the hallway, two of the servants bringing up the rear as the family went for their evening meal as if nothing were amiss.
Nothing but dignity.
Nubian Desert, Egypt, University College London Dig Site
Professor James Acton stood amongst a throng that consisted of the entire population of the camp, all eagerly listening in on his conversation with his friend and boss, Gregory “Corky” Milton, Dean of Saint Paul’s University. The camp had two satellite phones, one the official phone for the camp, so it was not being used at the moment in the event they were to receive a call about the current situation, and the other, Laura’s private satellite phone, which was pressed to his ear now as he repeated the parts of the conversation he knew the others would be interested in.
“When did it happen?”
“About two hours ago, I think. I’m just getting up to speed on it now. They hit it late morning.”
“Late morning. How?”
“Details are sketchy, but reports are saying boats might have been involved.”
“Boats?” Acton resisted back chair quarterbacking, and instead tried to focus on the facts. “Is she—” His voice cracked, and he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.
“Yes. Destroyed pretty much.” His friend paused, and Acton knew he was trying to control his emotions. “God, Jim, it’s the saddest thing I’ve seen since the towers fell, and this time there’s nowhere near the casualties, but, there’s something about it being her that makes it so hard to look at.”
Acton felt a lump form in his throat, and he squeezed his free hand into a fist, his fingernails digging into his palm as he struggled to maintain control.
“Casualties?”
“They’ve pulled at least fifty bodies out so far, they expect a lot more.”
“At least fifty dead,” he said to the gathered group, which was greeted with gasps and some cries. “What else is going on?”
“They hit Buckingham Palace at exactly the same time, late afternoon there.”
“And?”
“A lot of casualties, but apparently the royal family is okay. Prince William was shot saving the Queen, but he’ll be fine.”
Acton turned to Laura, then looked at her cadre of British students. “They attacked Buckingham Palace. There were a lot of casualties”—more gasps and cries—“but the royal family is okay. Prince William was shot saving his grandmother”—one girl collapsed, as did Terrence—“but he’ll be okay.”
“There’s more,” came Greg’s voice over the phone.
“More?”
“Much more. They hit the Eiffel Tower but it’s still standing, and they took out the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio.”
Acton’s heart leapt into his throat as he pictured the mammoth statue of Jesus that overlooked the mighty Brazilian city.
“My God!” He quickly related what he had heard, and he joined the group now choosing to sit in the sand, rather than risk collapsing. “Is there more?”
“It’s sketchy. There’s random reports of some Hollywood types being targeted, musicians, and other famous people. This was extremely well organized.”
Greg continued for a few minutes, but Acton had stopped listening as his mind pieced together what had happened, and why.
“They’re targeting idols.”
“What was that?”
Acton looked at Laura, gripping her hand. “They’re targeting idols. Everything they’ve hit is something or someone important to us, that our culture worships in some way.”
He heard the dawn of realization in Greg’s voice. “My God, I think you’re right.”
> “And we’re sitting on one of the biggest icons of them all.”
“Jesus, Jim, you’ve got to get out of there.”
“We’ll get right on it. I’ll call you back in one hour.”
“Be safe.”
Acton ended the call. Laura had already jumped to her feet.
“Okay, we’re getting out of here,” she said, slapping her hands together. “We’ll grieve later, but right now, we’re in danger. Pack only what you need to reach Cairo. That means food and water, pretty much nothing else. Shutdown all of our equipment, pack up what needs to be protected from the elements, then we’re out of here in thirty minutes.” She clapped again. “Let’s move!”
The students scrambled, and Leather motioned for his men to begin packing up their equipment, then approached the two professors.
“Mum, one little problem.”
“What’s that?”
“We don’t have room enough for everyone. The workers took our transport truck. We’ve got a jeep and a small lorry. We can fit the students in those, but there won’t be room for the, shall we say, adults?”
Acton quickly ran the numbers in his head as he stared at the two vehicles, both suddenly appearing very small, especially considering they needed to carry ten hours of food and water as well as gasoline.
He looked at Laura.
“What do you think?”
She frowned, looking at Leather then Reading and Chaney, and finally Acton.
“The students are our priority.”
“Agreed,” said Reading. “Get the students out of here now. We’ve called for help and it should be here by the end of the day. But get the students out of here now.”
“I’m good with that,” said Chaney.
“Me too,” replied Acton.
“Should we arm them?” asked Leather.
“Absolutely not,” replied Laura. “They’re more likely to get killed if they start brandishing weapons. Unarmed, well documented. Hopefully they only run into regular military, or no one at all.”
“Agreed,” said Acton, turning to Leather. “Have your men make sure the vehicles are fueled up, get enough water and food on there, plus gas if needed, for the trip. I want those kids gone by the bottom of the hour.”
The Arab Fall (A James Acton Thriller, Book #6) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 15
