He couldn’t tell if it was Simeon, though, the man facing away from him. It was possible he was a criminal rather than a terrorist; a pickpocket relieving wealthy tourists of their valuables. But he had to check, and do so without alerting the suspect.
Eddie moved to the balustrade, positioning himself beside an Arab family gawping at the scenery. He leaned outwards, head almost touching the taut netting as he tried to peer past them. He still couldn’t see the black man’s face clearly, his features obscured by short dreadlocks protruding from beneath the hat. But he could see that his free hand was fiddling with something made of glossy white plastic inside a satchel. Whatever it was, it was no memory card.
The man gave the retreating cop another wary glance, then bent lower, putting down the camera to lift the white object out into the open—
Eddie’s view was suddenly blocked by the face of a small boy as his father lifted him up to see the vista below. He frowned and tried to look past him, only to draw first surprised, then offended looks from both parents. ‘Sorry,’ he told them, retreating. The father eyed him with suspicion, then raised his child higher.
The Englishman sidestepped to peer behind them — and saw a bandage on the man’s hand.
It was Simeon. He took the object out of the bag. Eddie felt a chill as he identified it.
A drone.
The satchel contained a compact quadcopter. And beneath it, he glimpsed a familiar stone shape. The angel.
Simeon’s plan became clear. A drone that small would not have enough power to maintain flight with the statue hanging from it but it would still be able to slow its fall. If he released it from the observation deck, the little aircraft could carry the angel far enough to reach the Grand Mosque.
And then detonate. There was a pale yellow strip taped to the figure. Plastic explosive. Enough to shatter the angel and disperse its deadly contents across the crowded courtyard.
If that happened during the call to prayer, tens of thousands of worshippers would be killed — and far more outside the mosque and in the city beyond. Eddie fought a surge of fear. The cop was now too far away to call back without alerting Simeon, and he couldn’t see any of the other officers nearby. But with the American about to make his attack, he couldn’t risk letting him out of his sight to find backup. If he had been armed, he could have simply shot the cultist and ended the threat right there, but the Saudis had not allowed him to bring weapons into the country.
He would have to take him down with brute force.
Eddie moved out from behind the tourists. Simeon was twenty feet away, still concentrating on preparing the drone. The Yorkshireman closed on him. He needed to score a solid, brutal kick to the back of his head to knock him down, then put him in a choke hold and drag him away from the statue before he could set off the explosive—
Laughing, the father lifted his son higher, pretending to throw him. The little boy screamed in fear.
Simeon’s head snapped around at the noise — and he saw Eddie.
33
The two men were still ten feet apart. Eddie started to charge — but Simeon snatched a gun from the satchel. The Englishman instantly changed direction, diving through an arch. A bullet cracked off the pillar behind him.
Tourists scattered in blind panic, people being knocked down and trampled. The policeman tried to fight through the crush, yelling for them to move as he drew his gun—
Simeon fired again. The bullet hit the cop’s throat, blood splattering over the polished marble floor. He fell backwards into the crowd, their screams growing louder.
Eddie glanced around the pillar. Simeon grabbed the satchel, leaving the little drone behind as he raced through an arch into the covered gallery. Another shot came from an entrance to the clock tower’s interior.
The Englishman sprinted to the dead cop and grabbed his gun — a revolver rather than an automatic — then followed the American. Chaos met him inside, trapped visitors trying to flee and a second policeman down in a puddle of blood. ‘Where did he go?’ he yelled.
‘Down there!’ shrilled a woman, pointing. ‘He went down there!’ Eddie pushed through the crowd towards one side of the lobby.
A gunshot somewhere ahead. He ducked, but it had not been aimed at him. Two more retorts followed. He forced his way into an open space, seeing one of the tower’s security staff dead on the floor. Where was Simeon?
‘Chase!’ Rajhi battled his way through the throng, gun drawn. One of the cops was with him. ‘Did you see him? Where did he go?’
‘There!’ Eddie replied. A door near the dead guard was ajar; from the way it was painted to match the walls, he guessed it was only meant for maintenance and emergency use. He hurried to it, the cop and Rajhi meeting him. The lock plate had a pair of bullet holes in it. ‘Cover me.’
He readied his gun, then kicked the door wide. Nobody there. A metal staircase spiralled upwards. The clank of hurried footsteps echoed down from above. Eddie aimed up the stairs, but all he could see of Simeon was his shadow against the railings.
‘He’s got the angel, and it’s rigged with a bomb,’ he told Rajhi as Nadhar and another policeman arrived. ‘Come on!’ He led the way after the American, the Saudis following. ‘He was going to use a drone to blow it up over the mosque. He can’t do that now, so he’s gone to Plan B.’
‘What is that?’ Rajhi asked.
‘I dunno — and maybe neither does he. Where do these stairs go?’
‘To the machine floor for the clocks,’ Nadhar told him.
‘Can he get outside from there?’
‘Only through a hatch, and it can only be reached from a special lift.’
‘So either he’s trapped — or he actually does have a Plan B.’ A door banged above. ‘He’s off the stairs.’
‘The clock room,’ Nadhar confirmed, grim-faced.
Eddie reached the next landing, knowing Simeon would have had enough time to prepare an ambush. ‘Okay, Mr Nadhar,’ he said. ‘You know what’s in there — where’s the nearest cover?’
Nadhar briefly closed his eyes to picture the room. ‘We will be in the north-eastern corner,’ he said. ‘There is a display for VIP tourists to the left, and on the right there is some machinery.’
‘Which will give the most cover?’
‘The machinery.’
‘That’s probably where he’ll be.’
Rajhi issued orders to his men. ‘We are ready,’ he told the Englishman.
Eddie took hold of the door’s handle. ‘Okay, on three. One, two, three — go!’ He yanked the door open.
The first cop rushed through — and took three bullets to the chest. He crashed to the floor, lifeless limbs flailing. The second man was right behind him; he tried to retreat, but another two rounds caught him in the upper arm and shoulder. He fell back on the landing, a bullet splintering the door frame behind him.
‘Shit!’ Eddie gasped, helping Rajhi pull the wounded man into cover. ‘Did you see him?’
Rajhi repeated the question in Arabic, getting a strained reply. ‘By the machine,’ he translated, glancing through the doorway. ‘It is about ten metres away.’
Eddie looked for himself, spotting a large generator or transformer. ‘He’s got a Glock 25,’ he said, remembering the glimpse of Simeon’s gun as he took it from the satchel. ‘Nine mil, these wounds look like. And he’s fired twelve shots, so he’s got three left. If we can make him use ’em, that’ll give us a chance to get into the room while he reloads.’
‘Unless he has reloaded already,’ warned Rajhi.