His mind turned to his other friends — those who were elsewhere in their own corners of the world, fighting other battles. He wondered how Vincent and Kim were holding up flying over to California to take out Kiefel’s underlings and stop the annihilation of LA… then he thought about Lea, hunting down her past on the Irish coast — was she alone? He wished he could help her, but he guessed she didn’t need it. Then, at some undefined moment, exhaustion finally overtook Joe Hawke and he started to fall asleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Charles Grant had faced many challenges in his life, from his time commanding a unit of special operations men in Vietnam’s Khánh Hòa province all the way through his acting career, his time in the Senate and then the ultimate fight to the Oval Office itself. Tonight, however, he knew he faced the toughest test of his entire life — and perhaps the final test. Knowing the whole nation was watching, he steeled himself, determined to die with dignity. He knew this moment would be carved in history for eternity.
Now he watched, helpless, as the terrorists moved around him on the rear deck of the Perseus, Kiefel’s super yacht. They had landed a few moments ago, having flown up from New Orleans out of a private airfield, taking full advantage of Kiefel’s capacity to persuade Kimble to let their plane pass. Now, they were preparing for the final broadcast — Charles Grant’s death. He knew it was no coincidence that Klaus Kiefel had moved the show to the Perseus — while the Americans were dealing with Manhattan and Los Angeles being turned into a statue park, he could slip into international waters.
He watched the German with disgust as he launched into another lecture on the many failings of America, but the final horror was only now revealed as Kiefel commanded Jakob to tie the President into his chair and position him on the deck so there was no way to tell they were in Midtown Manhattan. This meant it was time to die.
Kiefel raised his hands and used them to frame Grant as if he were checking the ergonomics of a piece of furniture. “Ja… das ist perfekt, nicht wahr?”
Jakob nodded, humorless, while Angelika smiled and made a comment in German too fast for Grant to catch.
Kiefel turned to Grant and grinned.
“I hope you’re ready for your close-up, Charlie — it’s Showtime!”
The atmosphere in the Situation Room was grim when the appointed hour arrived and everyone gathered around the plasma TV. President Kimble in particular looked very nervous, and had to lean against the desk for support as the image they had all been dreading flicked to life on the screen.
“Greetings America!” Kiefel said. He was standing beside Charles Grant who was now tied to what looked like a deck chair. He was gagged and blinking wildly in terror.
“He looks furious,” Anderson said.
The President’s executive secretary, Margot, dried her eyes with a gentle dab of her pocket handkerchief before turning away from the screen. “He looks scared, to me.”
“He looks confused,” added General McAlister, clenching his jaw.
Kiefel smiled grotesquely into the camera. “You know by now that I have the power to turn man to stone, and you also know I am prepared to use that power. Here, you see before you your former Commander-in-Chief, Charles Grant.”
Kiefel made a big show of looking at his watch. “It is incumbent upon me to tell you Mr Grant has less than an hour to live. How sad.”
Grant struggled against the ropes but they were too tight.
“After Mr Grant has been turned into a garden ornament for my estate, I will turn this awesome power on the American people. Only in this way will my mother be avenged.”
The image was cut and the screen went black.
In the Situation Room, all eyes turned to the President, but it was Brooke, still irritated at being summoned back to the White House by Kimble, who spoke next.
“Someone get me Joe Hawke!”
President Edward D. Kimble couldn’t seem to stop his fingers from drumming on the edge of the Resolute Desk. After the video of Grant on the yacht, he had returned from the Situation Room alone, more than a little shaken by what he had seen.
Now, he glanced at the imposing grandfather clock by the door — the same one Charles Grant had installed on his first day as Commander-in-Chief. He felt an uncomfortable wave of nausea rise in his stomach. If everything was going according to plan, his German puppet-master would be televising the execution of his predecessor very soon. All that remained then would be Kiefel’s pièce de résistance — his long-held desire to turn large swathes of the global population into a theme park full of human statues, starting with America.
Maybe, just maybe, Kimble thought… I could use my new power as the President to liberate Klaus Kiefel from his madness — permanently…
The thought was an intriguing one. Perhaps, he thought, he was settling into the Big Chair at last.
It was time to give Klaus Kiefel a call and put an end to the insanity.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Racing north, thirty-five thousand feet above America, Hawke and his team watched the latest film with equal revulsion. Scarlet had woken Hawke to see the live YouTube broadcast, and he’d watched it in a state of genuine disbelief. Before anyone could voice a reaction, the pilot communicated to them that the US Secretary of Defense was on an incoming call from the Oval Office. Seconds later they were gathered around the screen on the cabin partition wall.
Hawke watched as the Oval Office appeared on the screen. The atmosphere looked bleak.
“Joe, this is Jack Brooke. I take it you just saw the broadcast?”
“Us and the rest of the planet,” Hawke said.
“We need to work faster on this, Joe…”
“I know, Jack… I know.”
Hawke watched Anderson pacing up and down the room behind Brooke. He ran a hand through his graying hair. “We need to find out where the hell they are and in a hurry.”
“We have the location of the target in LA,” Brooke said. “Kiefel owns a luxury beach house in Santa Monica. He sent two of his people out there — his lover Angelika Schwartz and the Australian Alan Pauling, his tech guy. We already told Agent Taylor and Vincent Reno and they’re on their way.”
“But we’re still in the dark about the location in New York…”
Kimble was silent.
“Did you hear me, sir?” Anderson said.
“Mr President!” McAlister’s bassy voice filled the room. Kimble looked up, shocked, as if shaken from a reverie.
“Sorry, what?”
“It is critical we locate this place. We cannot let this maniac execute a former President live on the internet, not to mention whatever the hell he has planned next.”
“Right, yes,” Kimble said. “What do you suggest, General?”
“Get this latest video analysed. I know the last ones gave us nothing, but if there’s anything on there at all — a certain type of unique sound, anything — then we might get something to go on, and then we can…”
“Wait a minute,” Hawke said.
Silence fell over the room and everyone turned to face the Englishman on the screen.
“What is it, Hawke?” McAlister said.
“Play back the video once again.”
“Which one?”
“The last one — the one we just watched a second ago. Play it back there and I’ll do the same up here.”
A staffer re-played the YouTube video and the same grim silence fell over the room.
“We’re wasting time!” Anderson boomed. “You heard him — he’s going to kill Grant any minute now!”
“No — look carefully,” Hawke said. “Do you see?”