On Her Majesty's Behalf (21 page)

“No, only a fool would consider this an opportunity,” Burke quipped back at him. “You're in the middle of a war zone, Jones. Do you really want to weigh yourself down with stacks of pound notes?”

This time, Jones's expression made Burke laugh aloud. It was clear the other man hadn't thought much beyond the “get into the vault” part of his plan. A criminal mastermind he was not.

Jones might not be happy with how things turned out, but now that he was inside it, Burke thought the vault could be useful. It was large enough to give them all room to stretch out for the night and could even be opened from the inside, but with only one way in and out it wasn't perfect. Still, it would keep them out of sight of any casual passersby on the street outside, human or otherwise, and would prove an effective bunker as a last resort in the event they were overrun and had to wait it out.

Leaving the sentry at the door, Burke rounded up the rest of his group and moved them into the vault where most of them found space to stretch out and then tried to get some sleep.

Burke settled down just inside the vault's entrance, his back to the wall and his gun nearby. The position gave him a clear line of sight to the sentry by the bank's entrance and let him make use of the last of the lingering sunlight coming in through the bank's windows to examine his injured hand.

Thankfully, the damage wasn't as extensive as he'd first assumed. The last two fingers had been torn completely away and would need to be replaced. His thumb, index, and middle fingers were all still fully operational, however, which would allow him to continue using the hand for most tasks, especially since the mechanism that allowed him to lock his fingers closed was still functioning.

“You knew him, didn't you?”

Burke looked up to find Veronica standing over him, her expression impossible to see in the fading light.

“Sorry?”

“Back at the museum. You knew the . . . man leading the German patrol?”

Her hesitation over the word
man
had been slight, but Burke caught it just the same. He didn't blame her; he didn't know what to call Charlie at this point either.

“Yeah, I knew him.”

She bent to sit down, and he automatically scooted over to give her some room. She settled in beside him, her shoulder all but touching his own. He was very aware of her closeness.

He gave a frustrated shrug. “Until a few weeks ago, he was my platoon sergeant.”

“What happened?”

Burke explained their earlier mission and how Sergeant Moore had volunteered to lead the German pursuit away from them so that the rest of them could escape.

“Sounds like he was a good man.”

“He was,” Burke acknowledged and was thankful when Veronica didn't comment on the hitch in his throat as he said it.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

“Perhaps the process can be reversed,” she suggested tentatively, giving voice to something that Burke had been thinking but had not yet found the courage to say aloud. “The research we'd been doing at the Round Table prior to the attack had been very encouraging.”

“Perhaps,” Burke agreed, while privately thinking the chances were pretty minimal. They'd have to capture him and transport him back to the professor's lab in France to even attempt such a thing, and even then there were no guarantees they'd be successful. One wrong calculation and they could end Charlie's life rather than restore it. Then again, would that be so bad?

The ethics of the entire situation was maddening.

Burke needed to get his mind off Charlie and so he asked, “Tell me about these Gardens we're going to in the morning.”

“Kensington? What do you want to know?”

Burke shrugged. “Anything. Everything. It's hard to say what will prove to be important. Start with the layout of the land and we'll go from there.”

He sensed more than saw her nod, the sun all but set at this point, shrouding them in deep shadow.

“All right. Kensington is one of eight royal parks in the city limits . . .”

 

Chapter Thirty

Kensington Gardens

London

T
HEY LEFT THE
safety of the bank behind just as dawn's first light was breaking over the ruined city. There had been no sign of Sergeant Moore or any of the other members of the German commando unit during the night, but that didn't stop Burke from ordering his men to take the bottles of bleach they'd found in the bank's storeroom and pour them all over the roadway leading up to the bank's entrance. The stench of the ammonia would hopefully give them a larger head start than without. Not knowing how far the Germans were behind him made Burke anxious in more ways than one. It was bad enough expecting to find a band of shredders around every corner; having to worry about some German commando putting a bullet in the back of his head when he wasn't looking made things much worse.

There was the Queen's safety to worry about as well.

He looked in her direction, caught her adjusting the straps crisscrossing her chest that held the matched set of Webley revolvers she carried, and found himself captured anew by the combination of beauty, grace, and grit that this woman personified. Most of the women he knew, who admittedly were few and far between since the war began, would have been reduced to crying in the corner when those around them started turning into zombies, but not Veronica. She'd not only taken charge but had met the threat head-­on and was still doing so even now. They wouldn't have gotten out of the museum if it hadn't been for her quick thinking.

He was anxious to turn her over to the pilot of the incoming aircraft, whoever that might be, but at the same time he realized that the thought of leaving her side was strangely upsetting. He hadn't felt attracted to a woman since Mae's death and to feel so now, in the midst of all this, was rather surreal and just too much for him to think about.

Never mind the fact that she's the bloody Queen of England!

Burke tore his gaze away from her hands and looked up to find her watching him in turn. She raised one eyebrow questioningly and he blushed, realizing that he'd been staring. He shook his head and waved his hand in an “it's nothing” gesture before turning away lest he embarrass himself further.

His thoughts, however, kept returning to the way those straps emphasized her womanly curves . . .

To get his mind off Veronica, Burke considered what he knew about their destination. Kensington Gardens was one of several royal parks scattered about the city. This particular one was home to Kensington Palace, the birthplace of both Queen Victoria and her second cousin, Queen Mary, who was Veronica's mother. Burke knew that Veronica had spent plenty of time there while growing up; she'd been the one to tell him all this last night. She'd also described the park to him; 275 acres of woodlands, meadows, and riverfront views, all connected by a series of paved paths and gated entrances. It seemed an unlikely place to land an aircraft, but he'd been assured that there was a wide swatch of land in the middle of the park that would do the trick.

Guess we'll find out soon enough,
he thought.

They reached the eastern edge of the park without difficulty, but rather than enter at that point they followed Park Lane south until it bisected Kensington Road and then they headed west. They entered the park through the Albert Memorial Gate, near the memorial erected by Queen Victoria to her beloved husband, Albert, who had died of typhoid nearly fifty years before the war. The memorial itself was quite the affair; a statue of a seated Albert stood on a raised dais over which a canopy held up by four columns had been erected, the canopy very much in the style of the ciborium that stands over the altar in many English churches.

Must be close to 175 feet tall,
Burke thought as they made their way past it and into the park proper.

Just past the memorial was a long, paved walkway known as Lancaster Walk that ran directly north, deeper into the park, and it was along this pathway that Veronica took them. Trees grew thick on either side of the path and Burke was just starting to wonder how on earth Colonel Nichols thought anyone was going to land a plane here when they emerged into an open area where six different pathways, including the one they were on, intersected. An open mall of green grass stretched out to either side, like a long rectangle with the crossroads at its center. Looking left he could just make out the waters of Round Pond, and beyond that, the grandiose structure of Kensington Palace off in the distance, while to the right the mall extended in the other direction all the way to the banks of the river known in this part of the park as the Long Water. He estimated the distance between the two bodies of water to be a bit over three hundred yards, which seemed like more than enough space for a qualified pilot to land and take off in.

It would have been perfect, if it weren't for the damned statue that was situated smack in the middle of it.

Physical Energy,
it was called, and though Burke didn't really see how a naked man on horseback shielding his eyes against the sun represented that particular concept, he did agree that it was a wonderful piece of work. Unfortunately, the massive bronze sculpture and the granite block on which it had been erected stood right on their planned runway.

There simply wasn't enough room for a plane to land on either side of the statue without striking it. At first Burke wondered how the hell someone as meticulous as Nichols could miss something so obvious, but then it dawned on him that it hadn't been missed at all; Nichols simply expected him to find a solution and deal with it.

Looking the sculpture over, it was immediately clear that there was no way they were simply going to drag it out of the way. It had to weigh at least a quarter ton; he doubted they even had the brute manpower to knock it over.

No, their solution was going to have to be of a more permanent nature, no matter how much Burke regretted it.

He slipped off his rucksack and dug around in it until he located the two Mk III concussion grenades he'd stashed there before leaving France. The grenades were cylinders made of black painted cardboard with a crimped metal bottom and top, surrounding a core of TNT. A fuse assembly with a safety pin and pull ring projected out of the upper end. Unlike the Mk IIs, which were standard defensive fragmentation grenades, the Mk IIIs had been specifically designed to be used during trench and bunker assaults without producing fragments that could injure the user or other friendly forces nearby. Burke figured they'd do the trick quite nicely.

He wasn't thrilled with the need to use the grenades for the noise was sure to bring something running, be it shredders or the German commando team. He didn't see any other option, however. He'd have to take the risk and hope the distance and all the nearby buildings diffused the sound enough that Sergeant Moore and his undead commandos would be unable to get a fix on their location.

He stepped over to the base of the statue and began looking for the best place to situate the explosives, knowing he had only the two devices to work with and wanting to get it right the first time. He decided to place one, ignite it, and then use the second to finish the work if the first didn't do the job.

“What are you doing?” Veronica asked, coming close and eyeing what he was doing with a wary expression.

“The statue's in the landing zone. It needs to go.”

“What do you mean ‘needs to go'?”

Burke was busy thinking about blast points and explosive yields and so he didn't hear the flat tone of her voice or see the carefully neutral expression that crossed her face.

“We've got to get rid of it. It's too heavy to drag out of the way, so I'm going to have to blow it up.”

“Blow it up?”

Burke looked up, finally hearing the tension in her tone.

She didn't give him a chance to respond, just laid into him. “You do understand that this is one of the greatest masterpieces ever sculpted by George Frederic Watts? That it is a one-­of-­a-­kind, priceless piece of art that can't be replaced?”

Burke steeled himself, nodded. “I do.”

“And you are still going to blow it up?”

“I am. Unless you have some other solution?”

Veronica put her hands on her hips in irritation. “Well, of course I do! You can just . . . ah . . . well . . . um.” She glanced around for help, but no one had any better suggestions it seemed, for they simply stared back at her. Finally, she looked down at Burke again, who hadn't moved from his position at the base of the statue.

“Fine! Blow it up.”

Doing everything he could not to let his amusement show on his face, Burke nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

The grenades had a five-­second fuse, which wasn't very long at all, so he had the others move back to the safety of the trees before he did anything further. When he saw that they were out of the blast zone, he placed the first grenade directly beneath the horse's legs. Satisfied that its position should send the blast up and out, he pulled the pin, turned, and ran like hell for the tree line, counting as he went.

One one thousand . . .

Two one thousand . . .

Three one thousand . . .

Four one thousand . . .

He threw himself to the ground and covered his head with his hands, bracing himself for the blast to come.

The grenade went off with a loud bang, and seconds later pieces of statue began raining down around him. Burke opened his eyes just in time to see the statue's head hit the ground and roll to a stop a few feet away. A cheer went up from the trees, and Burke found himself grinning as he pushed himself up on his hands to see that nothing of the statue remained intact except for a small hunk of the granite base.

His timing couldn't have been more perfect, either, for as Burke climbed to his feet, he heard the drone of an aircraft approaching in the distance. He shrugged apologetically at the Queen's anguished expression over what had been done to the statue and then joined the others in searching for the aircraft overhead.