But he was a professional and there was work to do. He glanced at his watch: not long now until Agent Dragonfly fluttered into his trap.
The Boeing 747 rumbled along the tarmac on its way to Runway 24 and Lexi Zhang’s eyes watched the clouds gather over Schiphol Airport. Her mind was elsewhere — she couldn’t stop thinking about her father. She had always been close to him. He was the one who had made her laugh, and comforted her tears away. Memories of her childhood rose in her mind like blossoming orchids — the time they walked around the park; when he taught her to ride a bicycle; helping him in their tiny garden.
Could he really be dying? The sound of her mother’s voice told her it was true. She sounded scared, weak and alone.
As the plane roared up into the sky, she pulled the shutter a little to block the sun and cast two uncaring eyes across the Dutch landscape below. Clouds flashed past her window and the wing bent up and down as they ploughed through some turbulence. Glancing at her watch she sighed and closed her eyes. The flight from Amsterdam to Beijing was scheduled to take a little under ten hours.
She was certain it was going to feel a lot longer than that.
The last few hours had lived up to Alex Brooke’s greatest expectations and wildest fears. Travelling alongside her father, who was still riding high in the polls back home and even more popular abroad, she had been whisked from one meeting to another and met more dignitaries than she could remember. She was also totally exhausted, and missing her friends more than she thought possible.
The Presidential limo was making its way toward Downing Street now, and she was sitting in the back with her father, an advisor named Todd Williams, and two US Secret Service men, including Brandon McGee. Brooke had been on the phone since the journey began and now he ended the call and sighed.
“A problem, sir?” said Todd.
“We’re getting some chatter about a terror attack in the UK,” her father said with his usual calm tone.
“What’s the target?” Alex said.
“Unknown. Our boys and MI5 are just picking up some talk. It happens. Don’t worry about it, darling.” He tried one of his famous crooked smiles, but it didn’t help to calm her nerves.
Under heavy police escort, the Presidential motorcade cruised past the Cenotaph and turned off Whitehall into Downing Street. Up ahead she could see a crowd of international press gathering outside the famous address. “Oh, God…”
“You’re doing great,” Brooke said. “We’re going home tomorrow morning, Alex. Hang in there, kid. I’m proud of you.”
Alex said nothing. Her thoughts turned inward again, back to Hawke and the team. She hadn’t heard from them since she’d said goodbye to Hawke and Kim in the Oval Office, and now she was starting to worry something had gone wrong.
The limo pulled up right outside the world’s most famous front door, and as if by magic it swished open to reveal the British Prime Minister.
Brooke clapped his hands together and took a deep breath. “All right, everyone. It’s showtime.” He leaned over to the advisor. “And Todd, while I’m talking with the PM I want you to get more on this security threat.”
“Yes sir, Mr President.”
“We don’t want any nasty surprises,” Brooke said, and then climbed out of the limousine.
As he turned and waved to the press pool, Alex shut her eyes to dodge the thousands of high-speed sync flashes now lighting up her father as he greeted the world yet again. He made a casual joke and they all laughed, and then he turned and walked over to the British Prime Minster. When they were shaking hands, McGee leaned over to her. “Time to go, Alex. Only Westminster Hall left on the schedule and then we’re done.”
“Sure thing, Brandon,” she said.
“Problems?”
“Just thinking that I can't stand four years of this.”
Todd leaned into the car. “Of course you can. And it’s eight years, you defeatist.”
Eight years, she thought, shaking her head. “I’ve got to get back to ECHO,” she mumbled.
“What was that?”
“I said let’s get that damned wheelchair, Brandon…”
She returned his smile, but she knew now where her heart lay and that was with ECHO.
And Joe Hawke.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Hawke fired into the air to disperse the crowd. With the sound of the gunshot still echoing off the buildings around Stationsplein, hundreds of people scattered in all directions and a flock of fat pigeons took to the air.
The men holding the girl now released her and hauled Kloos away to the station as fast as they could go. Hawke gave a sigh of relief as the girl ran screaming back to her mother.
“Get out of here!” he yelled at them. “Get as far away as you can!”
Scarlet and Reaper opened fire on Zito and his men, and Zito fired back. Reaper was the target but the bullet found its way into the neck of a man trying to flee while dragging his wheeled luggage behind him. He spun around in the street as a cloud of blood-mist burst from his jugular and he collapsed like a bar of lead over the tramlines.
His violent death triggered more screaming and hysteria but most people had now scattered, with some going to the sides of the station and others hiding behind the trams. Others were lucky enough to make it down into one of the entrances to the Metro. Their howls of terror boomed up from the tiled steps as they descended underground to escape the madness.
Hawke had taken cover with the rest of the team inside the lobby of the Amsterdam Visitor Centre, but now he stepped out behind one of the entance pillars and brought his Glock into the aim. He fired — this time not a single shot but a controlled burst of five rounds. The bullets struck Toscano in the chest and abdomen, puncturing his lungs and tearing into his stomach. The Italian gunman staggered backwards a few paces and crumpled to the stony ground outside the station’s main entrance.
Lea, Ryan and Scarlet joined Hawke outside the Visitor Centre, and across the square, Reaper led Kim and Devlin forward from the trams to the cover of a Renault van parked closer to the entrance.
“I do hope your man Devlin isn’t going to do anything stupid again,” Hawke said.
“He’s not my man,” she protested. “And I’m not responsible for what he does.”
Hawke reloaded the Glock as Zito and his men continued to make their way to the train station’s entrance. They were going slower because two of them had stopped to drag Toscano to safety, but when he died in their arms they lowered him to the ground. His corpse now lay cooling at the head of a long trail of blood where they had hauled his fatally wounded body. Driven by a sense of mad revenge, Bruno fired an entire magazine indiscriminately across the square, wildly swinging his weapon from Hawke’s team in the Visitor Centre to Reaper and the others behind the Renault.
The vicious fusillade echoed around the empty square but was drowned out by the sound of approaching sirens. It sounded like they were coming from the east — probably Prins Hendrikkade which was now bereft of all traffic and Hawke presumed sealed off by anti-terror police. It wouldn’t be long before the Dutch authorities took control of the situation, and he knew they had to move fast if they were to rescue Kloos; the former SBS man was confident that Zito would use the professor as a human shield if M-Squadron backed him into a corner.
A VW Beetle with police markings skidded into the scene. The men inside tried to get out and fire on Zito but he and his men overwhelmed them with their firepower and they tried to reverse. Bullets shredded the glass and killed the men inside in seconds as the Beetle spun out of control and veered to the right.