Chapter 31 Royal Rumble
They rocked up into the values and antiquities room, swallowed by the sheer magnitude dwarfing them.
Rows of shelves lined across aisles with crates and boxes, their heights reaching towards the lofty ceiling.
Nearby, forklifts lay dormant, except for a lone forklift driver still going about his business. The industrial setting resembled that of an Amazon warehouse more than a treasure trove.
McBride's, tongue tingled with the bitter aftertaste of tar, a taste all too familiar.
Vacuum-sealed packages marked with 'food' in bold black letters, were loaded onto pallets. Behind a lorry labeled 'ready for export'.
“I can smell explosives in here, Robinson, is that so?” McBride whiffed.
Robinson grabbed a clipboard, trying to make sense of the jumbled mishmash of information.
Reading through an itinerary, flipping through a couple of pages.
“That would be it. C4 explosives. Due for export to Iran.”
“Iran?” Grey asked, dumbfounded.
“The royals have many stately duties. They also have a firm monopoly on the arms trade.”
“Well, that's one thing Victor Petrov didn't lie about. They are more corrupt than the Mafia,” Turner remarked.
“Turner, do you smell cannabis?” Grey snuffed.
Robinson started flipping through a sheet, running his finger down a page.
"Ah, we have a delivery—" Robinson began.
“Robinson, enough,” Ox said with criminal envy.
"We get it, you lot are in the drugs game too.
How about you bring that clipboard of yours, and point me toward your most valuable items?”
"Very well then. We need to proceed to section B-4.”
Robinson guided them through a series of captivating exhibits. He was droning on about the origins of how they cataloged and stored everything of historic value.
Jewelry, artwork, and antiques - all preserved under the watchful eye of the royal trust.
Arrangements fell into place as the stalwart forklift truck materialized.
Charged with the task of transferring the precious artifacts. Including the C-4 explosives into lorries, ready to be chartered away into the black market of the criminal underworld.
Section B-4 was concealed by a fortress of raw steel, adjacent to a transport exit ramp.
It provided a discreet passage to a road beyond the palace, shielding its secrets from prying eyes.
Robinson swiped his key card. Once inside. Robinson began removing the red Velvet that covered the shiny glass display cases.
A cloud of dust particles billowed up. Ox laughed out loud at the staggering treasures on display.
“This is more loot than I've ever seen in me life, Paddy!”
Grey and Turner had become so fixated on getting a one-on-one meeting with His Highness, they had failed to anticipate their greediness upon seeing the marvels on display.
Reaching inside one of the glass display boxes, McBride lifted a brilliant-cut, colorless oval diamond from a black leatherette pedestal.
“That has got to be worth a pretty penny right there?
What's the going rate on this one Robinson?”
“Mr. McBride this is not some car boot sale,” Robinson said, visibly annoyed.
“That is the Koh-i-Noor diamond. One of the largest cut diamonds in the world. A truly unique and historical artifact. But value I'd say 500 million in auction.”
“I don't mind if I do, I'm nabbing that.”
Ox's shovel paws were also in the process of reaching inside a display, picking up a hefty semi-transparent white stone. It was the size of a man's fist.
"Ox you are in the privileged position of holding the largest rough-cut diamond ever found.
The Cullinan diamond was discovered in South Africa in 1905 and was presented to King Edward VII as a gift."
"What can I get for it?"
"If one was to auction such a stone at Sotheby's," Robinson valued.
"The lucky owner could expect an estimated value between £2 billion and £3 billion."
“Well fuck me, I think I'll take that.”
It was so big Ox couldn't fit it in his pocket. He was already carrying grenades for McBride on his travels through the royal hold.
“Ox, yer stone is worth more than double mine?”
“Don't be an idiot, there's lots to go around.”
“Mr. McBride, Ox is quite correct,” Robinson pointed out.
“Anything you can physically load would easily take you both into the higher realms of billionaires.”
“McBride, can we have a private word, I have a new proposal for you?”
“If yer make it quick.”
“Grey, Turner both of yer take a little small something for yer troubles,” McBride said over his shoulder.
Grey-eyed Ox and McBride with a growing sense of unease, instincts pricked with suspicion.
Both stood before pallets. A pile of gold bars gleamed dully in the dim light.
A dozen or so gem-studded items also caught their eyes. As if they were transfixed by the wealth that lay within their reach.
Were Ox and McBride scheming to betray their comrades, with an impending double cross? Worse still would they massacre whoever got in their way?
Grey had his sights set on the collection of Faberge eggs, each a delicate masterpiece.
With intricate designs and precious gemstones. Turner nodded towards a glittery artifact, picking an egg for himself.
"Turner follow my lead and pretend we are inspecting the items for value."
"Guv, I don't need to pretend I want the set for myself."
"These are the Fabergé eggs a series of jeweled eggs created by the Russian jeweler Peter Carl Fabergé for the Tsars of Russia," said Robinson, admiring the collection.
"Some of the Fabergé eggs were acquired by the British Royal Family after the Russian Revolution."
"Stolen wealth from colonized lands, by the look?" Turner inquired.
"Indeed, the Royals have a very salty history of conquest," Robinson admitted.
"Keep giving us a history lesson Robinsion. And listen very carefully."
Robinson gave a slight shift of the head in comprehension to Grey. Ox and McBride shot a cutting look in their direction.
"Turner keep having a look at those eggs."
"I think McBride and Ox are planning to sail on out of here. With no passengers onboard." Grey was shifting through the gears.
"And don't expect any of us to be alive at the end of this either."
"Where would a lorry end up, if one was to drive out of here?" Turner casually asked.
Robinsion's red velvet cloth polished the exterior of one of the eggs. He opened one up to the light.
Grey and Turner watched on like Robinson was about to perform a magic trick.
"The cargo bay leads out to the back of the palace. You also have a lorry full of C-4 explosives in the mix."
"So how'd you end up managing all this blimey treasure?" Turner asked again.
"I had a past before this place."
Robinson squinted to Ox and McBride. They lifted the Sovereign's Sceptre and the Sovereign's Orb. No doubt negotiating the split of the plunder between them.
“Among my several responsibilities, aside from managing the royal matters. I was a head hunter in the past, M15.”
Doubts swarmed Grey's mind. What if Robinson was leading them into a trap? He also was not absolved from the dirty deeds of the Royal criminal empire.
“Do you know who the Bloodies are Robinson?” Grey asked straight out.
“I know everything."
“Then I can use you,” whispered Grey.
“But for now figure a way to get us out of here alive. You owe us that much.”
Ox and McBride jauntingly strolled over with smiles on their faces. Ox had a crown on his head. McBride had fingered away a couple of pearl necklaces, they rolled around in his hands.
"Give us the valuations then," Ox said to Robinson.
"Make it sound beautiful to me ears?"
McBride's finger twitched on the trigger of his rifle, watching Ox carefully.
"Don't be takin' it all for yerself now."
“The Imperial State Crown is estimated to be worth between £3 billion and £5 billion.”
"Oh, that is beautiful, very beautiful." Ox was feeling like he was the cat that had just got the cream.
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
“Do me as well Robisnion, why don't yer?”
“The necklaces used to belong to the former Queen. The first in the pair was given to her by her father, King George VI. Made of gold and set with 16 pearls,” Robinson stated.
“The other is a Diamond and Sapphire Necklace, which was given to her by her husband, Prince Philip. It is also made of gold and set with 17 sapphires and 19 diamonds.”
“Give me the good part?”
“45-50 million each, I would say,” Robinson pointed out.
“It is also important to note that the value of these items could fluctuate depending on several factors, such as the current market conditions and the demand for royal memorabilia.”
McBride swiped the crown from Ox's head. Pointing his rifle.
“Yer ain't havin' that yer greedy bastard, yer already takin a good share of the spoils?”
Ox put his hands up in a defensive position. A position where he could transition into a stiff left hook, and McBride knew it too.
“Don't be such a pled your Irish twat, have it then. I don't care.”
McBride plopped the crown on his head. Now satisfied he lowered his weapon.
“Get yer forklift guy to load up everything in the lorry,” McBride barked to Robinson.
“Then take us for a wee visit to the Royals?”
**********
At gunpoint, Robinson had his mouth over the intercom. The royal family huddled in their panic room, their fear punctuated by McBride's distant laughter.
“Your majesty. The helicopters are ready for your safe passage to Balmoral.”
“Robinson, what's taken you so long? Who is with you?”
“I am sorry Your Majesty we have had a few complications.”
"Complications?"
"Fueling problems your Highness."
“You're useless. Do you know that? I should have demoted you years ago. You stupid little peasant.”
"Again, my sincerest apologies. I am starting the evacuation procedure now."
The Queen kissed the king on the cheek, a gesture of love and support in the face of danger.
"Please my dear, calm down. Now is not the time to berate the lower-level staff."
"I'm sorry my love. Everybody get your belongings together we will be at Balmoral soon."
Ox wasn't particularly invested in McBride's plans; he was muscle for hire, and so were his pugilists.
Prizefighters toying with the idea of taking the whole payday for themselves.
McBride had his arm raised, like he wanted to set his men to work, but not before he went in first.
"Do it now, why don't ya?"
With a swipe of the keycard, Robinson slid open the armored-plated door.
Unfortunately, the Royal family got a little more than they bargained for.
McBride and his men stormed in onto the prized targets. The prime minister and Roger Blackwell went white with fear. Grey and Turner lolled in behind.
“Good evening Prime Minister. Mr. Blackwell, it is a pleasure to cross paths again.” Grey said manically.
Both looked at the IRA tattoo on Grey's forehead, then they looked into his resentful eyes.
“Inspector Grey?” the prime minister looked startled.
“You look like a mess!”
“Not as much as you're about to be,” Grey countered.
Turner looked at the whole lot of them in contempt and disgust. They had bespoke luggage, seated around comfy sofas. The women wore glamorous fur coats.
McBride delivered a powerful haymaker, causing the king's teeth to shatter.
"Hello, Charlie! Quite a splendid place you have ere'." McBride bowed with sarcasm.
Neo-Nazis and IRA members paraded around the room, dishing out punishment to the princes.
One of them even had the audacity to unzip his trousers, right up to Princess Isabella's face, wiggling around.
Robinson glared at Grey and Turner. It was as if he wanted them to decipher something; like something was coming.
McBride motioned for everyone to be herded into the main cavern of the corridor. Commanding the royal family to their knees into a ritual circle.
Princess Isabella wept uncontrollably, begging for her life. The King's wife had McBride's barrel shoved down her throat.
Blood and drippings of dribble ran down her chin in a mucus-like substance, her eyes wetting out.
"Please, not the woman," the king pleaded, hoping for clemency from his captives.
Now, Grey and Turner were holding knives up against the throats of Aurlior Ironheart and Roger Blackwell. McBride chuckled, tensing up his trigger finger.
"I will kill yer women first, so yer can watch, that yer will."
An engine's howl tore through the tunnel, coming directly from the cargo bay.
"What's that?" said Ox in bewilderment.
"Everybody fecking shoot at it," McBride snapped. "Probably the Royal Guards!"
McBride yanked the shooter out of the choking Queen's mouth. Neo Nazis and IRA guys aimed their guns.
Robinson swatted Grey and Turner across the shoulders, imploring them to follow him into the royal escape bunker. Their response was immediate, understanding his intentions.
Tires squealed from the advancing lorry, speeding towards the executioner's circle in second gear. Two gold bars pressed heavily against the clutch.
The forklift driver had locked the steering wheel at Robinsion's instruction.
Tying the Sovereign's Sceptre and the Sovereign's Orb with metal strapping, straps that were being used to secure transport pallets.
Roger Blackwell & the Prime Minister exchanged anxious glances not knowing what to make of the lorry bouncing along out of control.
They tried to follow Grey and Turner.
But the doors had been secured shut, thanks to Robinson.
“Follow me, or die,” yelled Robinson once inside.
Robinson, acting on impulse, rushed Grey and Turner, diving out the second exit of the evacuation room, leaving behind a maelstrom of violence and danger.
Gunfire intensified outside the sealed doors. A split second of screams followed by a blinding flash that seared retinas before they deceased.
By the time the detonation phase had passed, the bodies of their adversaries had been eviscerated, their limbs scattered like broken dolls across the now-bloodstained floor.
Then came a supersonic blast, a wave of concussive force that hit the three of them like a giant fist. Robinson felt the concrete beneath him crack and crumble as the stairs collapsed under the pulse of the explosion.
The blast sent them into the basement, hurtling into the abyss of darkness.
Their bodies tumbling and twisting. The scorching breath of a fireball singed Robinson's neck, lighting up the solid black blindness for a fleeting moment.
He closed his eyes, bracing for impact. Through a smoked haze of flying debris, he felt a sudden softness beneath him.
Luckily, he had been cushioned by cardboard boxes filled with bed mattresses. He lay there for a moment, his ears ringing and his body aching, before managing to open his eyes.
Nearby, he could hear Grey's moans of pain.
"You okay?" coughed Robinson.
Grey's ears rang as dust choked his lungs. Disoriented, the world spun as rubble tumbled.
"Think so," Grey replied breathlessly.
Robinson sat up and scanned his surroundings. Heated cracks started to splinter through the domed tunnel ceiling. Fires were raging up above. Sweeping through the labyrinthed corridors of the palace.
"We gotta get out!" Fear and urgency choked Robinson's voice.
“It's going to collapse on us, if we don't move.”
Robinson urged ahead. He soon found the door he was looking for.
“Turner?” Grey called out, but there was no answer.
Grey searched frantically through the debris.
“Turner?”
“Grey we have to go for Christ's sake,” Robinson demanded.
Grey dug faster, throwing rubble aside, his heart sinking as he realized his friend's predicament.
Turner lay trapped under a thick concrete slab, his body twisted at unnatural angles. Blood soaked his clothing from multiple deep lacerations across his chest and legs.
Turner's dust-covered eyes flickered as Grey lifted concrete from his crushed chest.
"Hold on." Grey pleaded, gripping Turner's cold hand, feeling a faint pulse beneath torn and bloodied skin.
"You still with me?" Grey asked, fighting back tears.
Grey knew he had to move quickly, or he would be trapped.
The explosive aftermath was at such high temperatures, that it was causing the concrete to serrate - threatening to collapse Buckingham Palace in on itself.
"Move now or we're all gonna be toast," Robinson could not hold on any longer.
Grey knelt beside his friend. Holding his hand in his own. Turner's eyes widened as he recognized Grey.
In that instant, they both saw all the years of their friendship flash before them.
But he was losing his battle with life. Reality crashed in - Turner was going to be left behind.
“I'm going to miss you my oldest chum.”
Struggling to let go. Grey slowly unclasped his fingers. Robinson pulled him away through the smoke-filled corridor. Grey dashed after him out of the exit door.
Robinson navigated the tangled bomb-proofed corridors and secret passways, spurred on by muscle memory in the darkness.
The walls were hot, but not hot enough to touch for Robinson. Luckily engineers had reinforced thicker concrete in a recent security renovation, which made them more resistant to the heat of the explosion.
Grey struggled to keep up, his lungs burning from the smoke and dust. A series of loud crashes followed them as the floors and walls of the building began to fall.
Metal beams and girders began to bend and twist.
Not before Grey and Robinson flew out into the cargo bay car park. Buckingham Palace was collapsing like a badly made souffle.
Dust and debris piled up in the air. Another shockwave hit them, sending them to the gravel.
Turner's final moments were filled with pain and terror, the inflaming structure collapsed in on him, before his world went dark.
The forklift driver approached - a grizzled man in his 60s, concern etched on his weathered face.
"I've certainly seen my share of explosions in my days with the forces. But you gentlemen certainly know how to make a dramatic exit," he said.
"You lads alright?"
Grey and Robinson scraped their faces away from the tarmac. They could feel the metallic blood in their mouths, and the taste of ash and soot down their throats.
Shell-shocked they stared at the smoldering ruins in silence, unable to give a straight answer at first.
"Battered but alive, thanks to you and Robinson," Grey replied.
The driver nodded. "No need for thanks, just doing what I can in my old role. Name's Williams, retired Senior Guard. Bomb disposal unit in my younger days, luckily for you"
"We came to an agreement before the explosion didn't we, Mr. Williams?" said Robinson sincerely.
Williams spoke gently, "I'd say there is enough payment in the lorry hold, to be paying an old dog like me?"
Williams fired up a cigarette, exhaling slowly.
"Best we get you boys some medical attention first. I'll give you a lift." His matter-of-fact tone hid deep compassion.
In the crowded lorry, Grey breathed deeply. Processing Turner's death, sadness slowly gave way to anger.
"A lot of innocent people have died today," Grey said sadly.
"I promise you'll get the answers you seek. For now, rest - you've suffered a grave loss this day."
Grey stared ahead in numb shock. He turned to Robinson quietly.
"How do I know you're really on my side? What's your play in all of this?"
"I feel like I'm getting more and more blood on my hands every day."
Grey listened to Robin's remarks and thought for a moment.
Behind the lorry. A trio of royal helicopters passed them and vanished into the pitch-black sky, taking with them the helipad's spoils - Spike no doubt.
Grey turned to Robinson and said firmly.
"I want to know everything?"
"You knew about Sanderson's death. You know of the Bloodies. And you must have known of my investigation. Your debt is nowhere near cashed in yet Robisnion."
"I will give you my every resource and every fiber of my being."
"Good then! Glad to hear it!" Grey said, satisfied for now.
Williams drove off as Grey formulated a plan. Royal staff on the lawns laid half melted into the grass, torn from skeletal remains.
From afar new batches of fire engines and sirens blared.
Grey was injured. Still lucky to be alive in fact. It certainly didn't feel that way.
Revenge had been exacted, but with Turner gone, he had lost another part of himself.
With renewed purpose drowning out the ache of loss, if only for now. Grey knew that the hunt for the Bloodies was just beginning. He would soon discover who the mystery man in the royal box was that day.