The Arab Fall (A James Acton Thriller, Book #6) (James Acton Thrillers) (18 page)

Spinning
around, he saw the carnage on the other side of the rise. The roadblock had
been decimated, three army vehicles destroyed, the gate open and smoldering,
bodies littering the ground. He rushed toward the scene, eying his own car the
entire way, hoping, praying—but it wasn’t to be.

He
circled the car, its hood open, its windows down, to find not a scratch on it.
He kicked the piece of junk he had been hired to transport. It had broken down
twice on him already, this the third time, and he knew this beautiful piece of
garbage would be the death of him if he had to continue.

And he
wasn’t willing to die for some piece of junk.

He
looked around and saw a weapon lying beside one of the soldier’s bodies. He
picked it up, aimed it at the car, then unloaded the entire clip into the
engine compartment, laughing in glee as he did so, praising Allah for bringing
some goodness from the tragedy that had befallen the checkpoint.

The
weapon spent, he tossed it to the ground, then stared at his handiwork with a
smile.

I
hate Jaguars.

Nubian Desert, Egypt, University College London Dig Site

Laura pulled at her hair in exasperation. There were at least a
dozen reporters, most with crews, all demanding their attention at once. She
hadn’t dealt with this much press since the London incident, and there she had
the luxury of the “no comment” statement.

Here,
she did not.

But
James, her rock, had rescued her from the frenzy, offering anyone who would
follow a blow-by-blow description of how the tomb was found, slowly walking
away from her, leaving her alone within seconds.

And she
had made her escape to the tent, lying down on her cot and closing her eyes.
She heard the outer flap open, then the inner, the dual entry designed to keep
the air conditioned coolness inside as much as possible. Whoever it was banged
into something, then cursed, and she smiled as she recognized Terrence’s
clumsiness.

She
debated announcing herself, but decided instead to feign sleep, her eyes still
closed, and her body almost ready to slip into a deep slumber as her weary
muscles collapsed, one by one.

Tapping
at a keyboard told her either her ruse was successful, or more likely, Terrence
hadn’t noticed he wasn’t alone.

I
really hope he’s not in here to ‘read a magazine’.

She
nearly chuckled out loud to the
How I Met Your Mother
euphemism, but
caught herself.

“Oh my
God!”

It was a
whisper, one that at first had her thinking he really was ‘reading a magazine’,
but then she recognized the horror in it. There was a confusion of sounds as
she opened her eyes. Terrence was bolting for the tent door, the chair he had
been sitting at was turned over, the computer monitor still open.

She
swung herself from the cot and walked over to the monitor.

What she
saw had her hand darting to her mouth, her eyes watering with tears.

Oh
no!

USS Arleigh Burke, Segregated Common Area

Dawson lay on a faux leather couch, his eyes closed, his hat sitting
over his face, as he continued to unwind from the mission. The debriefs had
been long and detailed, which was to be expected considering the sensitivity of
the region. Every piece of equipment had been inventoried before they left, and
every piece checked upon their return.

And as
he could have told them, nothing but bullets and sweat had been left behind.

And
those bullets were from weapons common to the area, so untraceable to the US
military.

It was a
completely successful op. No friendlies were hurt, no civilians, and there
would be no evidence they had ever been there. But most importantly, the sarin
gas had been destroyed, and it wouldn’t be harming any innocents in the future.

“What
the fuck is that?”

It was
Niner’s voice that finally brought him out of his stupor.

“Turn it
up!” ordered Atlas, and suddenly the television was blaring and the music
killed.

“—
seeing
live footage of what
was
the Statue of Liberty.”

Dawson
bolted upright.
‘Was’?

His jaw
dropped as he saw the screen. The great lady was a smoldering heap, her body,
gutted, laying on its side, her head, off to the side, the smoke still drifting
up from the base. The camera panned to show her arm, the torch gripped tightly,
embedded in the ground, still raised in defiance of her attackers. The sight grabbed
his chest as he felt a rage build inside, something he hadn’t felt since the
first tower had collapsed on 9/11. His home had been attacked again, by the
same cowards he had no doubt, the audacity of something like this too bold for
domestic terrorism.

His jaw
tightened.
It had better not have been ‘home grown’.
His teeth gritted
at the thought of Americans doing this to America. He couldn’t believe it.
She
was America. Even the most crazed anti-government radical worshiped her. She
was the true American idol, an icon to everything the great nation of America
stood for. She was beyond governments, she was beyond scandals.

She was
pure.

She was
America.

And she
was gone.

“Christ,
they hit Paris too.”

Dawson
glanced at Jimmy, then at the screen his eyes had blurred at. The shot showed
the Eiffel Tower, still standing, one of its four struts badly damaged but
still mostly intact, hundreds of emergency crew swarming the still volatile
area.

The
image then flashed to a Breaking News graphic and an image of a building he’d recognize
anywhere.

Jesus
no!

Nubian Desert, Egypt, University College London Dig Site

“This is the man who actually found the site.”

All the
cameras and microphones spun to follow Acton’s outstretched arm, and an
embarrassed Detective Inspector Chaney turned beet red as he was bombarded with
questions. He stammered several times, not knowing who to answer, beginning
only to be cutoff by the next question.

Finally
he had had enough and raised his hands.

“One at
a time.” He pointed. “You.”

Acton
smiled as Reading approached, a pleased expression on his face as he watched
his former protégé begin to handle the throng.

“I
taught him well.”

“Indeed
you did.”

“How
long do you think this circus will last?”

Acton
shrugged.

“Who
knows? I’ve told them I’d let one pool cameraman into the tomb later to take
some footage that they could share, then that was it. My guess is once they’ve
distributed that amongst themselves, and they’ve all got a few minutes of sound
bites, they’ll be gone.

“Let’s
hope.”

“Oh my
God!” yelled a voice, bursting from the communal tent. Acton looked over to see
Terrence stumbling from the full height structure, tripping over one of the
cords.

That
kid with a gun is terrifying.

“What is
it?” asked one of the students closest him.

“They
just blew up the Statue of Liberty, and now there’s an attack in London!”

Acton
felt his chest tighten and the world swim as images of the fallen lady filled
his mind. If there was one symbol that was America besides her flag, it was the
Statue of Liberty. To think of New York City without her guarding its harbor
was unimaginable, to think of her shores unguarded by her arm, raised defiantly
in the air, gripping her torch, was unthinkable.

He stood
frozen, as they all did, then the reporters suddenly broke from their
questioning of Chaney and hit their phones as he felt a hand grip his arm,
pulling him toward Terrence.

It was
Reading, taking control.

“Who did
it?” he managed, as he neared Terrence.

“Early
reports say Islamic fundamentalists. It’s just happening now. London is still
happening!”

“What’s
happening in London?” asked Reading, but before Terrence had a chance to
answer, Laura burst from the tent.

“They’re
attacking Buckingham Palace!”

Reading and
the cadre of British students gasped.

“The
Queen!” exclaimed one of the girls, who had to be held up by a classmate.

“Is she
there?” asked another.

Laura nodded,
her voice cracking.

“They’re
all there.”

Buckingham Palace, London, England

William lay on the bed, one leg crossed over the other, hands clasped
behind his head, eyes closed as his wife busied herself in the mirror. He
didn’t see the need for makeup—he thought she was beautiful just the way she
was, but she always insisted on looking her best, especially when seeing
Grandmother. There was no arguing with her, not that he would.

Especially
with that baby bump growing every day.

Me! A
father!

It was
shocking how quickly things were happening. He knew nothing was happening fast
enough for the public, but that was to be expected. He tried to ignore the
pressures from the public, and completely ignored the press, his morning news
briefings provided by staff who vetted the papers of anything “Royals” related.

“How do
I look?”

He
opened his eyes and pushed himself up on his elbows, then smiled.

“Absolutely
fab,” he said, then added with a wink, “as always.”

Kate did
a quick curtsey and motioned for him to get off the bed. William swung his feet
off the bed and onto the floor, then grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him.
Wrapping his arms around her, he rested his ear against her stomach, listening
for the tiny heartbeat inside.

“Can you
hear him?”

“I think
so.”

He
pulled back slightly then placed his forehead on her stomach.

“Someday,
you’ll be King.”

“Or
Queen!”

He
kissed his wife’s stomach then stood up, giving her a peck on the forehead, not
daring mess up her carefully drawn lips. He puffed out his chest, pushed his
shoulders back, and stuck his left elbow out, his hand on his hip.

“Shall
we, my dear?”

Kate
looked at him, desperately trying to keep a straight face, finally losing the
battle with a burst of laughter that quickly infected him. Recovered, she took
his arm, then he did a walk that would have been worthy of the Ministry of
Silly Walks, which had her gasping for breath again.

“Stop,
Will, please, or I’ll give birth right now!”

William
snapped to attention, grabbed the door knob, then looked at her red face, tears
threatening to spoil her makeup. He let out the breath he had been holding, and
offered her his handkerchief.

“Time to
be serious,” he said, his smile gentle so as not to elicit any further
laughter.

Kate
took the handkerchief and dabbed the corners of her eyes, the red quickly
subsiding, but her cheeks retaining a healthy glow. He pulled open the door and
two palace guards snapped to attention. Having grown up with them all his life,
he had long ago stopped wondering how much they heard through the thin doors,
but his wife hadn’t.

Which
had led to the order that at night, the guards were to position themselves down
the hall, otherwise the baby the public so desperately wanted, might never have
happened.

A loud
noise had him immediately thinking of a car crash, but to hear it in here would
mean it would be on the palace grounds, which was nearly impossible unless
somebody had done something spectacularly stupid.

He
rushed to the window, fingers crossed, hoping his brother wasn’t about to make
the papers again. He gasped at what he saw. Below, it appeared a breakdown
lorry with a ramp had run into the east gate, the reinforced barrier holding.

There’s
no way this is an accident.

And as
if to confirm it, three cars that had stopped at the scene suddenly emptied of
their occupants, who rushed up the ramp of the wrecked truck, and jumped over
the fence to the palace grounds below.

And they
were all armed.

He spun
on his heel and pointed at one of the guards.

“We’re
under attack. Get the princess to safety immediately.”

“What
about you, sir?” asked the guard, readying his weapon.

“I need
to get to Her Majesty. They’ll be after her.”

“Will,
no, come with me!”

William
shook his head, taking his beloved wife in his arms for what he prayed wouldn’t
be the last time. He kissed the top of her head. “You need to protect our
child. Go with them. I’ll be along shortly.”

She
nodded, and he turned to the guards.

“You
have your orders, now go!”

The two
guards snapped to attention, then nearly carried Kate away as her reluctant
legs refused to cooperate. William turned down the hall and saw his brother
Harry poke his head out the door.

“What in
blazes is going on?” he asked, wearing nothing but trousers and an undershirt.

“We’re
under attack!” replied William. He pointed at one of the guards manning his
brother’s door. “Weapon.”

Without
hesitation the man tossed his L85A1 rifle to the Prince as Harry grabbed the
other guard’s weapon.

“Where’s
Kate?”

“They’re
taking her to the safe room.”

“Plan?”

“Get to
Grandmother, then Father.”

“Let’s
do it.”

William
turned to the guards. “You’re with us. Cover our sixes.”

The men
nodded, their sidearms already out. The foursome rushed forward, soon meeting
up with other guards and staff. William recognized one of the senior staff,
Reginald Tucker, and waved him over.