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

by Terry Toler

  I doubted she heard me. Or if she did, that she’d remember it.

  As I walked out the door, I almost ran into Weaver who had his hand in the air like he was about to knock on Jamie’s door.

  “Not now, Weaver,” I said roughly. “I was just on my way out.”

  “How’s your wife?” he asked.

  “How did you know she was here?”

  “She’s on the victim’s list.”

  “She’ll be alright. Just some slight burns on her knees and hands.”

  “That’s good to know. I need to ask you some questions.”

  “I was on my way out. I really have to run.”

  A plan was forming in my mind. I needed to know if I was being followed by the security cameras.

  “We can do it here, or down at headquarters. You’re choice.”

  The last thing I wanted was to go back to the headquarters and get tied up for hours. There were about four more hours until sunset. Enough time to carry out my plan if I hurried.

  “Hurry up. I really have to go. Can you ask me your questions as we’re walking? I don’t have anything to tell you that you don’t already know.”

  “Can you explain how you happened to be present for another attack?”

  “We weren’t present. We were in the White Tower. The attack happened in the courtyard. We just ran down to help. That’s how Jamie got acid on her.”

  “But you knew the victim. The model. Witnesses saw you together earlier that day. At the National Gallery.”

  That confused me. Weaver didn’t have time to interview witnesses at the Gallery. That told me he had been following us on the cameras. Or at least someone on his staff was and had informed him of what we did today and who we did it with.

  “We’re staying at the same hotel,” I answered. “Then we went to the art gallery together. Which apparently you already knew. Like I said, I doubt I can tell you anything you don’t already know.”

  We got into the elevator and pushed the lobby floor. I didn’t mention we were meeting them at the Tower of London. He wouldn’t know that unless he was listening in on our conversations. I highly doubted that was the case.

  “Any chance you were the target?” he asked as the elevator sped toward the first floor.

  “Why would we be the target?” I asked.

  “If you’re with the CIA, you might be a target.”

  “I’m not with the CIA. Do you know why we were at the National Gallery?”

  He had a blank look on his face.

  “I didn’t think so. If you did, you’d probably know we purchased a painting for three million pounds.”

  By the widened eyes, it was clear he didn’t know that piece of information. Telling him almost brought a smile to my face, but I had to maintain our cover.

  “I told you, we buy and sell paintings.”

  I hadn’t actually told him that information, since we just came up with it that morning. The bill of sale was still in my pocket. I reached in and pulled it out and handed it to him.

  He studied it carefully.

  “Would the CIA let me buy a painting for three million pounds?”

  The art business was going to be a good cover for operations. That argument would win the day every time. If anyone were ever suspicious of us, that would satisfy them. Under any other circumstances, Brad would never authorize that kind of money to be used for a cover.

  Weaver was clearly confused as his eyebrows were furrowed, and all the lines on his face were showing at once. His whole theory had just been blown out of the water.

  “Listen,” I said. “I really have to go. I’d say go find the killer. But I heard he’s dead.”

  He died on route to the hospital, according to reports. Weaver pulled out his card and handed it to me. He probably forgot that he had given me one earlier at the subway station.

  “If you think of anything, please call me,” he said, as we exited the building together.

  “I do have a question,” I said. “Were there security cameras in the courtyard where the acid attack happened?”

  “Yes. I’ve already seen them.”

  “Are those private cameras?”

  “They are, but all private cameras, at least those on the street and in public spaces, feed into our central location.”

  “Thank you. That’s what I wondered.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious. I wondered how you know where we are all the time.”

  “I could follow you around the entire city if I wanted to.”

  “Then you already know that we’re on our honeymoon and not on some mission with the CIA.”

  He nodded his head. Maybe he was agreeing with me, but I could still tell that he was skeptical.

  “I hope your wife gets better,” he said sincerely.

  “Thank you. Me too.”

  I felt bad lying to him, but it was part of the business. He really was a decent guy and a good detective. He’d put pieces of the puzzle together better than I had. He simply couldn’t connect the dots. Neither could I. Maybe there weren’t any dots to connect. I was determined to find out and had a plan I thought would work.

  Weaver didn’t know it, but what I was planning would help him. If I found a group plotting terrorist attacks across London, I wouldn’t hesitate to share that information with him. With Brad’s approval.

  I hailed the first cab in line. On the way back to the hotel, I stopped and bought three burner phones and cut the cab loose. Then I walked the rest of the way to our hotel and changed clothes. I got the gun out of its hiding place and put it in the front of my pants. The clothes I was wearing were perfect for concealing a weapon.

  After exiting the hotel, I walked quickly to Trafalgar Square. Keeping my eyes peeled for threats but trying to not make it look obvious. I didn’t make any evasive maneuvers to lose a tail. If there was one, I wanted them to follow me.

  Trafalgar Square was a large plaza right in front of the National Gallery. A huge tourist spot, large crowds gathered there for pictures, and the location was a transfer point for buses and cabs. The acre of concrete also had cameras set up everywhere. The spot I chose for maximum visibility was next to the Lion fountain. I made sure my face could be seen from any number of angles.

  At the same time, I looked for another location away from the cameras. Someplace where I couldn’t be seen and could get to quickly if necessary.

  Then I waited.

  ***

  Iran

  “What are you up to, Alex Halee?” Pok said to himself.

  He’d seen Halee leave the hospital and catch a cab back to his hotel. While he was disappointed that Halee’s wife hadn’t been the victim of the attack, she was still injured which brought him some satisfaction. And the attack couldn’t be traced back to him. The Iranians had already put out disinformation that a radical group from Somalia was behind the attack. That would keep the London authorities busy chasing a rabbit hole.

  Niazi was ecstatic. His man had performed admirably. So much so, that he was thirsty for another attack. His men were prepared to launch again at his command. He continued to compliment Pok on the brilliance of his plan.

  When Halee went back to the hotel, Pok wasn’t sure what that meant. At first, he was concerned that Halee would be tied up at the hotel for the rest of the night. When he left the hotel and started walking on the street, Pok was optimistic that another attack was possible.

  Now Halee was in Trafalgar Square. In plain view. By the lions. For no reason.

  That made Pok suspicious. Was Halee on to him? Should he lay low? Niazi’s man was just out of sight of Halee’s location.

  So far, everything was going as planned. At some point, he needed for Halee to figure out that he was behind the attacks. It wouldn’t be hard for him to surmise that Pok had tapped into the security cameras. It was the only feasible explanation. He needed him to come looking for him. Then the trap would be set.

  He sensed that Halee was already suspiciou
s. Perhaps he needed a little more coaxing. More proof. He’d give it to him. An acid attack in a busy London square would be the confirmation Halee needed. The London investigators would piece it together as well. Why was Halee present at every attack? This would confuse them. Did Halee set them up himself, so he could be the hero?

  Pok lived for creating confusion in his enemies. He felt like a puppet master controlling Halee with a set of strings of his own design.

  He gave Niazi the go ahead.

  “Send your man in. Launch another acid attack near Halee. Tell your man to wait until he has Halee in sight. Then go for the first target he sees.”

  Pok settled in his chair and stared at the screen. Halee was clearly visible. Leaning against one of the statues.

  This should be good.

  16

  Trafalgar Square

  London

  I saw him before he saw me.

  A good thing, considering the risk I was taking. Luring a terrorist with a bottle full of acid into a crowd of people bordered on reckless. But I had to know. Was I the target? Were the knife attacks and the acid attack on Gigi related? Was I being surveilled by a terrorist group through the London security camera system?

  Was Pok involved?

  The fact that within twenty minutes of showing my face in Trafalgar Square, a terrorist showed up, was all the proof I needed. Now I had to make sure no more innocent people were injured.

  Trafalgar Square consisted of two fountains and one big obelisk in the center surrounded by four large lion statues at each corner. Behind one of the statues was a dark area. Meaning the cameras didn’t capture that spot. Upon seeing the terrorist, I walked around the lion into the dark area, careful to stay out of the terrorist’s view.

  The shirt I was wearing was bright red, by design. I wanted to be seen. Red was the color most easily spotted. For instance, red cars statistically got the most speeding tickets because they were the most noticeable. In my current dress, I stuck out like a clown in a rodeo.

  Once out of the view of the camera, I slipped the red shirt off and left it on the ground. Underneath the red shirt was a grey one. A color that would blend into the environment and wasn’t as easy to see. In my back pocket was a baseball cap. In my right front pocket, a pair of dark sunglasses. Within seconds, I had a totally different look.

  That would allow me to walk around the square and not be spotted. Or at least that was my hope. My height might be the only thing that might give me away. Hopefully, the terrorist wasn’t smart enough to connect me to the man in the red shirt. I turned my face slightly away from the cameras in case they used face-recognition software. Whoever monitored the cameras would probably be scrambling right about then searching frantically for me.

  My plan worked, evidenced by the fact that the terrorist looked confused. He walked to the spot where I’d been standing. Another clue I was being monitored on the cameras. How else would he know where to find me?

  The monitors probably knew I’d left that spot, but I was counting on a delay in communications. While they could relay my location to the terrorist in real time, they had to find me first. That allowed me to get within a few feet of him without being spotted. In my disguise, I’d be able to walk right by him. Close enough to where I could smell the acid. Another confirmation he was a terrorist, and I was the target. Or at least the unsuspecting tourists around me were.

  Since he hadn’t recognized me, I was able to linger near enough to him to take him out if he made any move to remove the acid from his jacket. That sent my heart racing even faster if that was possible as images of Gigi flooded my mind. The memory of how destructive the acid was sent fear through my spine.

  The only competing emotion to the fear was anger. This man intended to kill more innocent people. Throw acid in someone’s face and ruin his or her life like his lowlife friend had done to Gigi. It made me even angrier when I considered that maybe Jamie had been the target all along.

  Either way, seeing the man was fueling my rage like a poker stirs a fire. My original intention was to let him enter the square and then leave. If he made any attempt to act, my hand was within inches of my gun and I’d shoot him down. That would blow my cover, but at least innocent lives would be saved. Weaver would understand.

  If the man didn’t act, I’d intended to leave him alone. Let him walk away since I’d gathered the intel I needed. Now that I’d seen the man and was close enough to kill him, my will wouldn’t let him walk away. He’d just regroup and launch an attack on some other unsuspecting innocent at a later time. Maybe even me.

  Not going to happen.

  I’d act as his judge and jury. Guilty. He needed to be taken off the face of the earth. I sentenced him to death right on the spot. Not on the spot exactly. I had a plan to do it in private. The hunter was now the hunted. Death was about to be his fate.

  I just had to lure him away from the cameras.

  ***

  MI5 Headquarters

  “Where’s Alex?” Weaver asked his control monitor with a sense of urgency in his voice.

  He was in MI5 headquarters watching Alex Steele’s every move. He’d followed him from the hospital to his hotel. Then watched him leave the hotel and walk to Trafalgar Square. Not hard to spot, Alex was wearing a red shirt and shorts. For whatever reason, he was hanging out at the Lion statues in Trafalgar.

  Why?

  Something about Alex was suspicious, Weaver didn’t know what it was but was determined to find out. A few phone calls to MI6, the foreign intelligence side of the British security services, had led to dead ends. They didn’t know who he was. The CIA didn’t know him either. No operative by the name Alex Steele was operating in Britain at that time. If the CIA had a man operating in a mission on British soil, MI6 was supposed to be notified first. No one was naïve enough to believe that the CIA didn’t sometimes engage in undercover operations without following normal protocols, but Alex Steele was moving around London in plain sight. Posing as a man on his honeymoon. Nothing undercover about his actions.

  Weaver didn’t buy the honeymoon ruse for a second. Steele was acting like an operative. Watching him in Trafalgar was raising even more alarm bells.

  Then suddenly, totally out of the blue, Steele disappeared from camera view. One minute he was standing next to the lion, a second later he was gone. Weaver kept changing camera angles trying to find him. Even more proof the man was a trained spy. The average person couldn’t escape his surveillance cameras which were the best in the world.

  Then he saw him.

  A suspicious man.

  Wearing a jacket. Middle eastern. His hand in his right pocket.

  He fit the profile of the other attackers. Was it a knife or acid?

  Weaver watched him walk to the exact spot where Alex had been standing.

  What’s going on?

  Was that what spooked Steele?

  Weaver had a SWAT team a block away. Just in case something went down. He hesitated. Should he send them in? Or just watch to see what happened?

  Better safe than sorry. The worst that would happen would be the man wasn’t a terrorist and was clean. Actually, the best thing. The man might be upset for being profiled, but Weaver could live with that when it came to terrorism. Brits didn’t attack other Brits with acid. That wasn’t entirely true. Some British gangs were involved in acid attacks with rival gangs, but not in tourist areas. Not on the subway platforms or inside The Tower of London. The middle easterners were the ones who attacked innocent civilians with knives, acid, and suicide bombs. Usually not inside tourist attractions either, but these were perilous times. He wouldn’t put anything past anyone.

  He had to err on the side of caution.

  “Send in the SWAT team,” he said to his assistant. “Stat.”

  ***

  Iran

  “Where’s Halee?” Pok shouted. “We lost him. He was right there, standing beside the statue of the lion. He disappeared. Like a deleted keystroke on the computer.”
/>   Pok panned through each camera angle. Nothing. Alex was gone.

  “What do you want me to do?” Niazi said.

  “Abort,” Pok said.

  “My man’s in place. He can launch an attack. There are a lot of people around.”

  “No! Halee must be nearby. He must witness the attack. That’s the plan.”

  Pok wondered if he’d been tricked. Maybe Alex showed his face and then disappeared on purpose. Why else would he be in the square and not at the hospital with his injured wife? Pok surmised that Alex was setting a trap to see if the camera system was following him.

  That brought a smile to Pok’s face. Alex must’ve known he was being watched. That didn’t mean he knew by whom or how. Pok expected Halee to figure it out by day four of the plan. Perhaps, he was smarter than Pok had given him credit for and started piecing things together two days sooner.

  Either way, he didn’t want to take any chances by having an attack not tied to Halee. He needed the British authorities to connect the attacks to Halee. That wouldn’t happen if even one attack happened and Alex wasn’t there.

  “Tell your man to get out,” Pok said. “Abort now.”

  Fortunately, Niazi didn’t argue further. He got on the radio and shouted out instructions to his man on the ground.

  “Tomorrow’s a new day,” Pok said to Niazi after he gave the order to abort. “Things are going very well.”

  Niazi agreed, although he was clearly disappointed that he couldn’t pull off this attack. Pok went back to the screen and searched for Halee again. He saw Niazi’s man walk out of the square. Rather than follow him, he continued to search the plaza, curious as to where Alex had gone.

  He wasn’t as disappointed as Niazi. The success of the first two day’s attacks were gratifying. Better to not get greedy. Halee might’ve avoided a second attack today, but he wouldn’t be able to avoid one tomorrow. If Alex tried the same maneuver with a suicide bomber, the outcome would be different. All Niazi’s man had to do was walk in the same area as Halee. As long as Pok had eyes on him, Halee could do nothing to stop it.

  Niazi had explained how the bombs worked. A detonation switch was in the bomber’s hand at all times. In fact, the button was activated when the bomber pushed the button. It didn’t detonate until the button was released. The purpose of that was in case the bomber got cold feet. After all, a lot of people had the courage to blow themselves up when they were talking about it. A different scenario often came into play once they were actually attached to a bomb and were seconds from ending their life. Many a mission in the past had failed when the bomber chickened out.