'In addition to Lady Beale, I'm afraid they've shot your colleague, Sir David Trulove, m'lord. Didn't want you to be shocked, sir.'
Hawke, stunned to the core, showed nothing. 'Let's go get 'em,' he said, headed for the pantry.
HAWKE COULD HEAR A LOW rumble of voices before he could see anyone. With the aid of night vision, they'd slipped through most of the pitch-black cellar without a sound. He turned and signaled the two SAS snipers to join him. They had prearranged the commencement of the operation.
Hawke, Stoke, and two SAS snipers would advance toward the enemy first, moving to within one hundred yards of the location where the hostages were held. From Higgins's drawing, Hawke had seen that the snipers would have a clear shot at the Royals' alcove. First, the snipers would use silenced weapons to neutralize any terrorists guarding the Queen and her family.
Hawke could feel the presence of the SAS team gathering just behind his position. Their coiled-up energy was palpable. They were spoiling for a fight and they were about to get one.
There were two guards in close proximity to the Queen. One on either side of the alcove, both holding AK-47s. The two terrorists were clearly on edge, probably very high on the massive amounts of methamphetamines they used to stay awake. The two snipers dropped to one knee, sighting in on their targets. Both men nodded, a signal to Hawke that they had acquired and were ready to fire.
HAWKE LOOKED AROUND AT THE TROOPS gathered immediately behind him. He held up three fingers. Three seconds until 'go.' Simultaneously, he lightly tapped the top of each sniper's helmet. They fired on the signal. A nearly invisible muzzle flash, two silent pffts, and two clean head shots later, the two targets dropped like sacks of dirt.
'Go, go, go!' Hawke shouted, entering the room, already firing at targets he'd chosen.
In they went.
The terrorists began spraying bullets wildly as the hostages, screaming in fear for their lives, put their heads down or dove to the floor. Hawke spotted Ambrose Congreve and Diana Mars to his right and began moving in that direction, taking out anyone who got in his way. Congreve spotted him in the fiery chaos and screamed, 'Alex! Montague is Smith! Watch out for him!'
Hawke was momentarily stunned by disbelief.
Montague Thorne was Smith?
A lot of tumblers started clicking into place as Hawke scanned the room, looking for him. He heard fire coming from the direction of the Queen's alcove and whirled in that direction, smiling at what he saw there. Prince William and Prince Harry had immediately grabbed the weapons of the two dead guards and were now on their feet, joining the battle. Prince Charles had moved to his mother, shielding her with his body, putting himself between her and the guns.
Hawke saw Stoke, too, now standing shoulder to shoulder with the two young princes, all three of them forming a protective cordon of lethal fire around the Queen and her family. It was a brilliant idea and Hawke damned himself for not thinking of it. But this was why you needed Stoke; he instinctively did the right things in battle.
The air was filled with lead. The SAS troops were going about their business with deadly precision, calming prisoners even as they fired short bursts that always found their targets. These incredibly brave men practiced 365 days a year for precisely this kind of situation and it showed. The room had filled with choking gun smoke, making visibility difficult, but Hawke saw two middle-aged women in satin gowns suddenly rise from their hiding place with the obvious idea of making a run for it.
They almost made it.
A terrorist, little more than a boy, saw the fleeing women, whirled, and fired a sustained burst that simply tore them both apart. Furious, Hawke ran toward him, and instantly and brutally returned the favor with his assault knife. His blood was up now, he was keenly alive, and doing exactly what he'd been born to do.
Hawke sensed movement behind him and spun to see a bad guy swinging his gun up and aiming, not at him, but at Ambrose and Diana. Hawke raised his gun to fire, but Congreve beat him to the punch. Ambrose simply exploded off the divan, dove at the man, knocking his AK aside with one hand and plunging a knife directly into the man's heart with the other.
Seconds later, Hawke knelt at Congreve's side.
'Are you both all right?'
'Let you know when it's over. Alex, you've got to find Montague. This is his operation now. He shot Sir David, for God's sake.'
'I'll find him.'
Hawke stood and scanned the room, trying to pierce the veil of smoke and see the face of the man who'd betrayed them all. There was still sporadic fire, but the battle was winding down and there was little doubt as to who'd won. And then he saw the demonic 'Mr. Smith,' stealing ever closer to Stoke and the two princes in a low crouch, using the furniture to conceal his advance. His intentions could not have been clearer. Another second or two and he'd have a shot at all three.
And then, a clear shot at the Queen.
'Montague Thorne!' Hawke called out as loudly as he could.
Their eyes met.
Seeing Hawke had him in his sights, Thorne dropped and rolled behind a heavy sofa. Hawke moved toward him, firing into the sofa, then saw Thorne on his feet, running through the scrim of smoke and disappearing into the blackness, headed for the main staircase.
HAWKE REACHED THE BOTTOM of the steps just as Thorne reached the top and raced away to the right. Emerging at the top, Alex saw the traitor about to duck into the nearest room, the Queen's Library. Hawke had his pistol in his hand and fired at him. But he missed and the man ran into the room. He was trapped but he didn't know it. The Library had only one door, the one he'd just entered.
Thorne quick-peeked around the door and fired a short burst at Hawke. Alex returned fire and ducked back out of sight. Then he raced into the next room and the next after that until he entered the small, walnut-paneled office. Here the Queen answered her correspondence, wrote letters of thanks, or offered condolences. The office shared a common wall with the Library where Thorne had taken refuge, but it also had its own little secret.
Hawke hurried behind the desk and pushed ever so gently on a wide wooden panel, almost invisible, in the center of the wall. On the other side of the panel were bookshelves full of books from floor to ceiling. Perfectly balanced, it made not a sound as it swung inward.
Hawke, pistol in hand, peered into the Queen's Library.
Thorne had his back to him. He was still hiding beside the door he'd entered, weapon at the ready, fully expecting Hawke to appear at any moment. Thorne didn't know it, of course, but he just had.
Hawke stepped silently into the room and pointed his pistol at the back of the monster's head.
'Thorne,' he said, just loud enough to be heard.
Montague whirled, bringing his weapon up.
Their eyes locked.
'You're dead,' Hawke said.
And pulled the trigger.
EPILOGUE
IT WAS ON A NASTY NOVEMBER evening some months after the Balmoral affair that Alex Hawke received a most intriguing phone call. Because the call would ultimately have enormous significance in his life, he could recall every detail surrounding it.
He remembered, for instance, that he had been sublimely stretched out on the worn leather sofa in his dimly lit library. Remembered four solid walls of leather-bound books disappearing up into the darkness near the ceiling. And that the dying embers of a fire were in need of a good stoking.
