The Curse of Medusa

The Learjet cruised thirty-five thousand feet above Virginia on a bearing of forty degrees. It would be landing in New York in a little over an hour and Hawke tried to clear his head. Now, he knew a man like Klaus Kiefel was capable of anything, and taking him out before he could execute the President or release the bacteria over Manhattan would be the greatest challenge he had faced.

Behind him, he heard Scarlet Sloane talking to Agent Doyle. A thin smile appeared on his lips when the next image in his mind was that of a cougar stalking a bunny rabbit. He had no doubts about Doyle’s ability to fight a man like Kiefel, but defending himself against Cairo Sloane was a different matter altogether. On that score, the smart money either stayed in his pocket or backed Scarlet.

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.