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

by Terry Toler

Jamie and I signed the bill of sale for the painting and left the National Gallery for the Tower of London. On the way, Brad, our CIA handler called. I knew what it was about. He’d probably seen the transaction for the money coming out of the account but wouldn’t have seen the money coming in, since we just closed on it.

  Time to have some fun with him.

  “Is there something you want to tell me?” Brad asked me after I answered.

  “No. I don’t think so.” He couldn’t see the smug look on my face.

  “Something about a four-million-dollar transaction on your AJAX account?”

  “Oh that. We bought some artwork. A painting. Degas. Have you ever heard of him?”

  “Why would you buy a four-million-dollar painting?” Brad was clearly not amused at my sarcasm.

  “Jamie and I decided that the cover for AJAX is buying and selling artwork. We thought we’d get started on it.”

  “While I like the idea of artwork as a cover, you should’ve run it by me first.”

  I suddenly felt guilty. That’s probably how I sounded to Jamie when I went off on her.

  “Why should I run it by you?” I argued, raising the intensity of my words. “I thought this was our company and our money to run as we see fit. I distinctly remember you saying we were off the books and that our budget was a hundred million dollars the first year. This money is a drop in the bucket compared to how much we have.”

  I suddenly realized I was using the same arguments Jamie had used with me.

  “That’s what I said, but—”

  “But nothing. You said you trusted us with the money. That’s what you should do. We wouldn’t have bought the painting if we didn’t think it was a good idea. I don’t want to have to run every expenditure by you.”

  “That doesn’t mean you aren’t accountable to me for what you spend,” he said, matching my intensity.

  Now I was getting annoyed. I’m sure it’s how Jamie must’ve felt.

  “We brought that money in. It’s not even the CIA money. We’re going to buy a lot of paintings over the years. Don’t micromanage us. The last thing I need is you looking over our shoulders.”

  I could tell he was about to say something.

  “Besides,” I continued, “we already sold the painting. You’ll see an eight-million-dollar wire in our account later this afternoon.”

  Eight million, two hundred thirty-six thousand, and two hundred dollars to be exact.

  I had memorized the number for posterity. Our first transaction for AJAX and our first purchase as a married couple.

  I repeated myself for emphasis.

  “Like I said, don’t micromanage us. We know what we’re doing.”

  I hung up on him.

  Jamie laughed out loud.

  “I guess that put him in his place,” she said.

  “That felt good,” I replied. We’d both wanted to tell Brad off a thousand times over the years. While I often pushed back on him, it had never gone as far as hanging up on him.

  Then the guilt returned when I thought about how I had handled it with Jamie. We were in the backseat of the taxi. I turned so I was facing her.

  “I’m sorry I was rude about the painting,” I said. “I should’ve trusted you.”

  Her eyes softened as she seemed genuinely appreciative of my words.

  “And I should’ve talked to you about it first,” Jamie admitted. “I got caught up in the moment. Anyway… apology accepted.”

  No more words were necessary. They would’ve only ruined the moment. We kissed a little. Actually, a lot. Both of us were oblivious to the taxi driver.

  Anticipation was building. I could feel it. Jamie must have felt it as well as she suddenly became breathless and pulled out of the kiss.

  “We won’t stay long at the Tower of London,” she said, her face red.

  “I wish we could go back to the room now,” I said.

  “We can’t stand them up.”

  “We could, but it’d be rude. You’re right. I don’t want to do that to them. I really like Gigi and Tad,” I said.

  “I love them,” Jamie said effusively. “I hope we can stay friends.”

  She texted them and said we were on our way. Gigi responded that they signed up for a tour that was about halfway over. They were on their way to see the Crown Jewels. We made an agreement to meet them in the courtyard in an hour.

  That would give us time to visit the Royal Armory. A separate wing at the attraction with a large collection of weapons and instruments of torture. Jamie had read about it before we ever left home. It was the one thing she insisted on seeing. That and the art gallery. We were going to knock them both out on the same day.

  ***

  Pok had his eyes transfixed on the courtyard at The Tower of London. The camera shot was from a distance, so he wasn’t able to see their faces. Definitely them though. The big guy had to be Alex. The blonde had to be Jamie, his wife. They were walking from building to building with a group of people. Probably on a tour.

  Niazi’s man was already in position with a bottle of acid hidden in his coat. The man wandered around the courtyard. He came in and out of the picture.

  Biding his time. It wouldn’t be long now.

  ***

  The White Tower, as it was called, housed more than weapons of war. It had various types of guns, including those used for sport by sovereigns through the years. The first room we entered was called the Tournament Room where instruments for jousting were displayed including armor and the lances used for the contests.

  “This is boring,” Jamie said. “I wanted to see the torture room.”

  We learned from the handout that an entire room was devoted to weapons of torture used in the Spanish Armada. The walls were lined with glass cases filled with various weapons including knives, spears, lances, and swords. Along with several instruments of torture, diabolically designed to create maximum pain.

  The room gave me the creeps. Some of the devices were downright sadistic in their design. They rang too close to home. I’d never been tortured, but I’d come close. The worst of it had been Curly’s training. For a good four days, he simulated what we might experience should we be captured in the field in a soviet bloc or third-world country. We were waterboarded, sleep deprived, called every name in the book, and forced to go without food and water for long periods of time.

  We were never physically abused, which was against training regulations, but no rules applied to the mental and emotional abuse we were put through. I was glad when that part of our training was over. I’d never allow myself to be tortured in the field. Whoever wanted to harm me would have to kill me first. That’s assuming I didn’t kill him before he had a chance.

  Jamie and I went to two different sides of the room. She spent more time looking at the weapons display. I focused on the armor. The “Line of Kings” collection displayed armor worn by royals throughout the centuries. Called the Tudor Room, the exhibit was started by King Henry VIII. A fascinating king who beheaded a number of his wives, if I remembered my history lessons correctly.

  Jamie said the courtyard where we were to meet Gigi and Tad was where people were tortured and executed, including Anne Boleyn. That reminded me that Tad and Gigi were probably in the courtyard by now.

  The top floor of the White Tower had windows that overlooked the area between the buildings. The windows were opened, allowing a gentle breeze to flow through the exhibit hall. I could see a group gathered in the far-right corner of the courtyard, standing on a slight incline. Tad and Gigi weren’t hard to spot. They towered over the others.

  I wasn’t more than fifty yards from them. I shouted to get their attention. They looked up at me. When they saw me they waved enthusiastically.

  A movement out of the corner of my eye, startled me.

  Out of place.

  Someone was running. Shouting.

  My mind took too long to process it.

  A middle eastern man was running toward the group with some
thing in his hand. Shouting “Allahu Akbar.” I recognized those words as a war cry.

  Tad and Gigi were still looking at me. I tried to warn them of the threat but couldn’t. They saw the man after it was too late.

  The terrorist came upon the group. For whatever reason, he went straight to Gigi. She instinctively took a step back. The man squeezed the bottle in his hand and a stream of liquid spewed out right into Gigi’s face.

  I shouted, “No!”

  Not sure why, it’s just what came out of my mouth.

  Gigi let out a horrifying scream that even echoed in our building. Getting Jamie’s attention. Within seconds Jamie was next to me looking out the window.

  Gigi grabbed her face and fell backwards into the ground. Tad reacted. Like the football player he was, he lowered his shoulder and tackled the man. They rolled to the ground. Tad was on top of him.

  The bottle was still in the man’s right hand. He squirted some of the liquid on Tad’s back. I heard him cry out in pain and roll off the terrorist. To my horror, Tad was flapping on the ground like a fish suddenly out of water.

  Jamie bolted toward the steps.

  I took off after her.

  When we exited the building, the terrorist was running across the courtyard, back toward the front of the area in the direction of the exit. Jamie veered to her left. Toward the man.

  I followed. Only a few steps behind. The courtyard was filled with the screams of agony coming from the area where the group was attacked.

  Two security guards were in pursuit of the man with their guns already drawn. They opened fire, hitting him several times. He fell to the ground. Jamie changed direction and veered to her right toward where the victims were.

  I was still headed in the direction of the terrorist, but then changed course as well. The officers had the man subdued. Maybe he was dead.

  Tad and Gigi were laying on the ground along with several others in the group. Jamie went to Gigi first. She knelt down next to her.

  Suddenly, without warning, Jamie cried out in pain. A bone chilling scream. She rolled onto her back and was clutching her legs.

  What just happened? My mind tried to process the scene. Now Jamie was in trouble. Before, I was headed to help Tad. I changed direction and went right to Jamie.

  “My legs are on fire,” she said as I arrived next to her.

  Her legs were bright red. Blisters were already forming.

  Apparently, when she knelt next to Gigi, she had gotten acid on her knees. I glanced over and saw a small pool next to Gigi.

  Jamie’s hands were bright red as well from touching her knees trying to brush the acid off of them.

  “It hurts so bad!” Jamie said, her face contorted into a grimace.

  “Don’t touch your face or eyes,” I warned her.

  I had a bottle of water in my backpack. I took it out and began spraying Jamie’s kneecaps. Then her hands. That seemed to calm her some.

  “Go check on Gigi and Tad,” she had the presence of mind to say.

  Tad was still on the ground several yards away from his bride. Writhing in pain. Almost delirious. He kept trying to reach his back. At least he was moving.

  Gigi seemed to be in worse shape. She lay on the ground, totally still. An eerie moan was all I could hear from her. She was obviously in shock. Except for her form and the clothes she was wearing, which I recognized from earlier, I never would’ve known it was her.

  The once-gorgeous model was now disfigured beyond belief. I wanted to turn my head away but forced myself to look at her. I tried to remember my training. We were taught what to do in case of a chemical attack on the battlefield.

  Water.

  I was out. I’d used all mine on Jamie.

  I looked around. Others were coming to help. I didn’t see anyone with water. We needed a water hose or a bucket.

  I felt helpless.

  The only thing I could do for Gigi or for Tad was to pray.

  The whole scene overwhelmed my senses. My friends laid on the ground in agony, which was killing me inside. The smell of chemicals and burning flesh almost caused me to become nauseous. The chemicals in the air burned my eyes. Still lingering, even though it was several seconds after the attack.

  Who would do something so heinous?

  I looked over at the terrorist in utter contempt. He wasn’t moving. I hoped he was dead.

  There was nothing more I could do. Just go back to Jamie and comfort her.

  “Is Gigi okay?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  I purposefully put my body between hers and Gigi’s to block her view.

  In all my years in the CIA, I’d seen some horrific things. This was the worst thing I’d ever seen. By far.

  15

  Royal London Hospital

  The senseless acid attack of American supermodel Gina Garth Gentry had created an international incident. The outcry and denunciations from governments across the globe were swift and severe. London authorities were to blame for not cracking down on terrorists and their policy of open borders that allowed them to come in undetected to carry out such heinous crimes.

  I still couldn’t believe it happened right in front of my own eyes.

  Even Londoners were demonstrating against the violence. The Queen called for a moment of silence and a day of prayer.

  Gigi was taken to Queen Victoria hospital which was world renowned for handling burn victims. The nonstop news reports said she was in critical condition. Her road to recovery, if she survived, would be long and arduous. Jamie’s injuries were less severe. The main concern was possible infection. She was given a powerful antibiotic and a painkiller.

  I glanced over at her when she let out a slight moan. She’d been asleep for the last hour. At first, she resisted taking the painkillers. When she finally asked for it, I knew the pain had to be severe. Jamie had as high a pain tolerance as anyone I knew. If she wanted the medication, then she was really hurting.

  Her hands were wrapped in heavy gauze. It looked like she had two oven mitts over them. Her left knee was heavily bandaged as well and was elevated.

  She looked much worse than she actually was. The doctor said she could be released tomorrow if everything went well. Within a couple days, she should be close to normal. Thank God. I couldn’t imagine what Tad was going through at that moment. I know how I would’ve felt if it had been Jamie and not Gigi.

  Tears welled up in my eyes. I brushed them roughly away. Then I cleared my throat. I took out my phone and dialed the last number on the list of recent calls.

  Brad answered on the first ring.

  “Did you call to hang up on me again?” he asked jokingly.

  “Jamie’s in the hospital,” I said, ignoring the jab which was deserved under any other circumstance.

  “What happened?” he asked. The concern obvious in his voice.

  “Did you hear about the acid attack in London?”

  “Yes. It’s all over the news.”

  I figured he had. Not many things happened in the world related to terrorism that Brad didn’t know about it.

  “Jamie and I were there. We witnessed it.”

  “How did Jamie get caught up in it?”

  “Trying to help. She got some acid on her. It burned her knee and hands, but she’ll be okay. We knew the victim. The model.”

  “Such a tragedy. Her career is obviously over. Hopefully, she’ll survive.”

  “Sounds like it’s touch and go.”

  “The President is putting a lot of pressure on the Prime Minister and the Queen. People are calling for a boycott of London over it. They’ve got to do something about the attacks or it’s going to affect tourism. We’ve been warning them. Unfortunately, it might take something like this to get their attention.”

  “We’ve been here two days and we’ve already seen three attacks.”

  Silence on the other end told me Brad was processing that information. I knew that would send up a red flag in his analytical
mind. We all tended to disregard the possibility of

  coincidences in our line of work. The odds of randomly witnessing three terrorist attacks in a forty-eight-hour period of time, defied logic.

  That’s why I was calling him. I didn’t see how they were connected to us. Maybe he would. Then he asked the obvious question.

  “Is it possible you were the target of the attack? Or Jamie?”

  “I’ve thought about it, but who would be behind it? And why?”

  I told him the details of the other attacks.

  “Those are pretty big coincidences,” Brad said.

  “Nothing makes sense.”

  “I saw pictures of the model. She kind of looks like Jamie. Could Jamie be the target and not you?”

  “I thought it was Pok, but how could he pull something like this off? What about Jamie? Does anyone come to mind who might be after her?”

  “She has plenty of enemies. A lot of people would like to see her dead. But they all operate locally in their own regions. They don’t have ties to Iranian terrorists. You’re the most likely target.”

  “How are they tracking me?”

  “Have you sensed any tails?”

  “No. That’s the thing. We’ve been all over London. Jamie and I were at the National Gallery. We left. Got in a cab and went to the Tower of London. They would need more than one tail to keep up with us.”

  “They’d need eyes everywhere.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “I said they’d need eyes everywhere to follow you that closely and pull off something like this in a planned operation.”

  Security cameras. They did have eyes everywhere.

  “I gotta go.”

  I hung up the phone abruptly for the second time today.

  I gathered up my things.

  “Jamie,” I said from the side of her bed. “I’m going, but I’ll be back soon.”

  Her eyes twitched open. She was still out of it.

  “Don’t go,” she said. “We’re supposed to make love tonight.”

  She reached out to me with her two huge bear claws. It would be at least two more days before she’d be in any condition to make love. If then.

  “Go back to sleep,” I said. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”