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

by Terry Toler

  One of my hands was carrying my laptop. I reached out with my left hand to steady her. My hand stopped her momentum as she slumped to the ground.

  The attacker was only a few steps away from me, but it was far enough away that I couldn’t reach him. He was still facing us, almost frozen in place. Our eyes met for a second time. He gave me a steely stare of satisfaction. Like it was for my benefit. The bloody blade was still in his right hand.

  I looked over at Jamie. Her angle was even worse to act. She was behind the young boy, who’d been dragged down to the ground with his mother who still clutched his hand. Jamie reached out and blunted his fall.

  I was torn. Should I tend to the mother or go after the attacker.

  Blood was already gurgling from her mouth. I knew that sound.

  Not good.

  The attacker started running for the exit. That motivated me to move. I was on one knee. I gently laid the mother all the way to the ground and stood. He had a head start and was already on the stairs. I bolted after him. Made more difficult by the throng of people who were coming down the stairs and the ones exiting up the stairs.

  When I reached the top of the stairway, I looked in each direction. The attacker was running. A block or so ahead to the left. He disappeared into an alley. I wasn’t prepared to chase him. I didn’t even think to do any preplanned reconnaissance. Normally, I would memorize the layouts of the streets.

  Why would that be necessary on my honeymoon? At this point, chasing him would be a waste of time and energy. I went back to see about Jamie and the woman.

  Jamie was sitting on the platform. The woman’s head laying in her lap. She was stroking the woman’s hair with one hand. Jamie’s hand and clothes were soaked in blood. The little boy sat next to his mother crying. Jamie had one arm around him, trying to console him. A crowd had gathered around them. A couple of people were on the phone, presumably to call the authorities.

  I knelt next to the mother. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead on the ceiling. A blank stare of unbelief enveloped her face.

  Then she coughed. More blood trickled from her mouth.

  She closed her eyes and quit breathing.

  4

  Iran

  As far as Pok was concerned, the plan couldn’t have gone better. Commander Niazi’s man timed his attack on the woman perfectly. Right in front of Halee and his bride. As an added bonus, the man escaped. Pok never expected that to happen in a million years. He knew of Halee’s skills. The odds of the man pulling off the attack without Halee stopping it had been less than fifty percent in his mind.

  Niazi seemed equally pleased. “I knew my man could do it,” he said, clapping his hands together.

  “A major success. I hope your man eludes capture,” Pok said.

  “He’ll disappear into one of our neighborhoods. The police won’t chase him there. He’ll wait for things to die down and then strike again at a later date when needed.”

  “Excellent,” Pok said, as they continued to watch the scene unfold in the subway. A crowd had gathered around the woman, and the police hadn’t yet arrived. They could see Halee sitting on top of her doing chest compressions. That must mean she was near death. Hopefully.

  Pok wouldn’t allow himself to celebrate long. He knew they wouldn’t all be this easy. Getting the man onto the same subway car at the same time as Halee wasn’t that hard to do. Knowing the flight arrival time and anticipating the time it took to get through customs was also easy. Tracking Halee around London and coordinating a man to get close to Halee again would be more difficult now that Halee would be on high alert.

  “I have another man in the vicinity ready to go if you want to launch another attack,” Niazi said. “They have to exit through the stairway. We can hit someone while Halee is walking to the hotel.”

  “Not this soon,” Pok replied. “Halee must think these attacks are random. If we hit him again, he’ll know something’s up. If he gets suspicious, he’ll go underground. We’ll never find him. He’s too good.”

  “My men are better,” Niazi said. “We could’ve killed Halee right then and there.”

  Pok knew that wasn’t true. He watched Halee closely as he got off the subway car. It seemed like he was suspicious of the man. The attacker got lucky. The woman was between Halee and him. Had she not been, Niazi’s man would’ve met a different outcome.

  He’d take this time to regroup. Halee would be tied up in questioning for a while. Then they’d go back to the hotel. Pok was unsure if they’d go out again or would go right to bed. He figured they’d go to bed. When they went out a few hours from now, probably at dinnertime, he’d be ready and would try another attack, even though it would be risky.

  He was torn. Should they risk another attack so soon after the last one? Originally, he had planned three. That seemed like overkill now. The last thing he needed was for Halee to realize he was behind the attacks and then go on the offensive. Right now, Halee had no clue. So, Pok had the advantage. Maybe for the first time ever. He might not get an opportunity like this again.

  Sometimes, the prudent thing to do was to cut your losses. In this case, the prudent thing to do might be to accept his winnings before there were any losses. He’d have to think about it carefully. If Halee and his wife went out again, he’d play it by ear. If they could get a man close enough, they’d go for it. Otherwise, they’d wait until tomorrow to launch an acid attack.

  Those attacks would be easier. A man with a knife had to get in close proximity to his target. Acid could be thrown. Niazi’s men only had to be in the general area of Halee. Day three, the attacks were suicide vest bombings. Even easier to coordinate. Those people only had to be in the vicinity.

  Day four were car bombings. Those just needed to be on the same block as Halee. When the dirty bomb went off on day five, all of downtown London would be affected. Halee would be at the royal wedding. In the blast radius.

  Maybe taking another knife attack off the table was the prudent thing to do.

  Pok didn’t think he could help himself. If the opportunity arose again, he was going to have to take it.

  ***

  The woman needed CPR. No breathing. No pulse. And no movement. The three signs that drastic measures were needed to save her life.

  “Lay her head on the ground,” I said to Jamie, who still had the woman’s head in her lap. She needed to be flat on her back. I got on my knees next to her.

  After taking several deep breaths of my own, I tilted the woman’s head back, held her nose, and blew two breaths into her. Then put my ear to her mouth to listen for any signs of breathing.

  Nothing.

  People were crowding in. I shouted for them to back away and give me some space. A quick glance around the platform confirmed that the paramedics hadn’t yet arrived.

  The woman was bleeding from the side of her chest. That told me the wound had possibly penetrated her heart. I found the wound. That caused me to pause. Performing chest compressions on a person with a chest injury could make things worse.

  The general rule was to do CPR anyway. The person was dying. If I did nothing, she would die for sure.

  I couldn’t afford to wait. I put my hands in position and pushed down gently but firmly so I went down at least two inches into her chest.

  Blood came squirting out of the wound right onto my clothes. The wound had penetrated her heart. I stopped doing compressions immediately. In my backpack was a spare shirt. A passerby was standing over us, and I told him to press the shirt against the wound. I showed him how to do it.

  “Press hard,” I said strongly. “We have to stop the bleeding.”

  Where are the EMTs?

  I sat on top of her chest so the man could get a good angle on the knife wound. In these situations, I had to calm my adrenaline. My strength was such that I could press on her chest so hard I might break her ribs or sternum. I took another deep breath to calm my nerves.

  Jamie was still tending to the boy trying to shield his eyes fro
m the horrific scene playing out in front of all of us.

  For a good three minutes, I alternated between rescue breaths and chest compressions. Two breaths, then compressions at a rate of 100 per minute for thirty seconds. Then repeated the process.

  My heart was racing. The mother was unresponsive.

  “Come on,” I said to her. “Don’t die on me.”

  Finally, the EMTs arrived and took over. By that time, I had blood all over my hands and clothes. Without thinking, I wiped them on my shirt and shorts, soiling them further. I rubbed the sweat from my brow, smearing blood on my face. The extra shirt the guy had been holding against the side of her chest was soaked in blood.

  Jamie’s hands, shirt, and shorts were red stained as well from where she had been comforting the woman in her lap.

  “Does anyone know what her injuries are?” one of the EMTs asked.

  “She has a stab wound to the side of her chest,” I said.

  He raised her arm and I showed him where the knife had entered.

  “She’s been unresponsive for at least four minutes,” I added.

  By that time, the British Transport Police had arrived and began cordoning off the scene. We were pushed back and away, behind a line of police officers.

  The boy was still clutching Jamie’s leg. She picked him up and held him close to her. Keeping her hand on his head so he couldn’t look at what the authorities were doing with his mother.

  I approached one of the officers.

  “That’s his mother,” I whispered, pointing at the boy.

  He nodded as if he understood and got on the radio. Within five minutes a woman had arrived to take charge of the boy. About the same time, his mother was loaded onto a stretcher. The EMTs were still performing CPR as they took her away.

  I retrieved my backpack and laptop, then took Jamie in my arms, and we stood there in shock for nearly a minute. Not sure what to do. Should we leave? We were witnesses. We could provide a description of the suspect. At the same time, we were both mentally and physically exhausted.

  A man approached us in a suit and tie. He looked like a detective. Probably chose us to question because we were still there and covered in blood.

  “My name’s Mick Weaver. I’m a counterintelligence officer with MI5. Did you see what happened here?”

  “A man attacked the woman with a knife,” I said. “We were right behind her. I saw the whole thing.”

  “Can you describe the man?”

  This was right in our wheelhouse. Jamie and I were both trained to remember every detail of a crisis situation. What details I didn’t remember, Jamie did. By the time we were finished, Agent Weaver had a complete description of the man down to the color of his eyes. By the look on his face, Weaver seemed impressed. Maybe confused. That normal tourists wouldn’t be that thorough in their descriptions.

  That reminded me that we should dial it down some. Even though we were on our honeymoon, we were to maintain our cover with the CIA. No one could know who we were or our relationship with the CIA. The goal of AJAX was for us to be able to travel around the world undetected. Able to operate undercover without being on the radar of other intelligence services. Brad would not like it if we were drawn into a terrorism investigation.

  “Can I get your number in case I have any other questions?” Weaver asked.

  I gave him my cell phone number.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “At the Palace hotel.”

  “I’ll be in touch if I need anything,” Weaver said. “I doubt I will. It should all be on tape.” He pointed to a security camera.

  “I hope you catch the guy,” I said.

  “You have a good rest of your trip,” Weaver added.

  How are we supposed to do that now?

  5

  The Palace Hotel

  The eyes of the lady behind the hotel counter were as big as British teacup saucers. I suddenly realized how strange we must’ve looked to her. Checking into a five-star hotel covered in blood. She was so shaken she left the counter and went in the back. When she returned, a man, presumably the manager, was with her.

  “Have you been in a row?” he asked sincerely in a very British accident. I assumed he meant fight.

  “There was a knife attack on the subway system,” Jamie answered.

  For some reason, I was still badly shaken. My knees felt weak and holding my hands steady took all my effort as I took my passport out of my backpack.

  “Were you hurt? Do I need to call an ambulance for you?”

  “We’re okay,” Jamie said. “We helped the woman who was injured.”

  “I’m sorry we look like this,” I said. “We need to get to our rooms so we can get a shower and change.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Please come with me.”

  He opened a door beside the counter and stood to the side to let us go in first. We were taken to an office in the back where we were given our keys after we showed him our passports and he confirmed our reservation. I was relieved the reservation was correct. At least we got something related to our wedding right.

  “I’ve upgraded you to a suite,” the manager said. “If there’s anything my staff or I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask. Thank you for being a, what do you call it… Good Samaritan.”

  “Thank you for the kind words,” Jamie said. “Mostly, we need to get some rest. It’s been a long flight and not a good start to our honeymoon.”

  “So, you’re on your honeymoon! Perhaps I could have some champagne sent to your room?”

  “Not right now,” I answered. “Can we take a raincheck? I think we just want to get a shower and some rest.” Celebrating with champagne wasn’t something I felt like doing at that moment.

  “We would like to take tea later this afternoon,” Jamie said. “Is there someplace you would recommend?”

  It startled me to hear Jamie talking in a semi-British accent. Had I been in the mood, a smile probably would’ve come on my face.

  “Afternoon tea at Kensington Palace is delightful,” the manager said twisting his mustache with one hand. “It’s a lovely walk from here.”

  “That would be fine. Please make a reservation for two. Under our names.”

  “Brilliant. Anything else?”

  “Where can we go to buy clothes?” Jamie asked.

  “There’s Oxford Street and Camden Market. Either would have what you would be looking for.”

  “How do we get there?” Jamie asked.

  He took out a map and showed Jamie the directions. “You can take a carriage or the underground,” he said.

  Jamie looked at me. I shook my head no. “I don’t believe we’ll be getting on the underground again today.”

  “Of course. I understand. A carriage will take you right to the shopping. You can even walk if you’re up for a bit of a hike.”

  I didn’t want to ride in a carriage either. Jamie must’ve seen my confusion because she mouthed the word, taxi.

  “We can decide later how we’ll get there,” Jamie said to the manager. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”

  The whole conversation was mostly a blur. My mind was still on that subway platform. The woman’s eyes staring at me were seared into my psyche.

  The manager personally escorted us to the service elevator and took us to our room. I could tell he was concerned about other guests seeing us. The entire time he was fidgeting and nervously looking around. We probably should’ve changed our clothes in the subway restrooms. I didn’t really think about it. Jamie was right, though. We needed clothes. I only brought two pairs of shorts and four shirts. One pair of shorts and two of my shirts were ruined.

  Our room was on the top floor. Along with all the other suites, the manager explained.

  Jamie let out some oohs and aahs when we walked into our room. At least one good thing had come out of our ordeal. This would be an ideal place to stay on our honeymoon.

  “I hope this room meets your satisfaction,” t
he manager said, obviously pleased with himself and proud of the property he managed.

  The room was a luxurious upgrade. Beyond what we could’ve expected.

  “This is lovely,” Jamie said. I remembered Jamie had a mission in London when she first joined the CIA. That must be why she could turn on the British accent and dialect so easily and speak their language. Her wide range of skills never ceased to amaze me.

  “This will be fine,” I said, tersely in my most American voice, as I escorted the manager to the door and put the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob as he walked out.

  “Thank you for all your help,” I added, so as not to seem too rude. He had been helpful.

  As soon as he was gone, I set my backpack on the desk and turned on the television. Then sat in front of it on the edge of the bed. The blood was dried on my clothes now, so I wasn’t concerned about staining the lush bedspread. I probably should’ve been more careful, but my focus was on the television screen.

  “What are you doing?” Jamie asked.

  “I want to see if the attack is on the news.”

  The screen flickered and there it was. Pictures of the familiar scene. Now empty. Just police tape and a big blood stain on the platform. I looked down at my hands and pulled my shirt out to look at it. The same blood was on me. Fighting back tears took all of my strength. The memories of the afternoon started flooding back in my mind.

  “One woman has been taken to a local hospital,” the reporter said. “No word yet on her condition.”

  I knew her condition as well as anyone. If she survived, it’d be a miracle. I mouthed a quick prayer for her. Jamie sat on the bed next to me with one arm on my shoulder and her left hand clutching mine.

  “I pray she’s okay,” I said.

  “Me too. I’m going to jump in the shower,” Jamie said, although I barely heard her. My focus was glued on the screen.

  For some reason, Jamie didn’t get up right away.

  “You need to get out of your clothes,” she said as she stood in front of me, blocking my view of the television.

  “Alex,” she said, shaking my shoulder.