The King's Deception (27 page)

K
ATHLEEN HAD NEVER BEEN SO GLAD TO SEE A FACE AS THE ONE
that had darted before the car, which she’d instantly recognized. She’d hoped Ian Dunne had not come alone and was relieved when Cotton Malone appeared. Now they were blocks over, just outside a closed souvenir shop. Ian carried a pocketknife, which was used to cut her plastic restraints.

“Why did you do that?” she asked Malone.

“You looked like you needed help. What did Thomas Mathews want with you?”

“So you know the good knight.”

“He and I have met. In a past life.”

“He told me you were an ex-agent. CIA?”

Malone shook his head. “Justice Department. An international investigative unit, for twelve years.”

“Now retired.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself. Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be listening. What’s Mathews’ interest here?”

“He wants me dead.”

“Me too,” Ian said.

She faced the boy. “That so?”

“He killed a man in Oxford Circus, then he wanted to kill me.” She glanced at Malone, who nodded and said, “He’s telling the truth.”

Then she faced the boy. “You took a chance walking in front of that car. I owe you.”

Ian shrugged. “I’ve done it before.”

“Really? Is it a habit of yours?”

“He’s a street pro,” Malone said, adding a smile. “One of them would stop the car and pretend he was hurt, another would steal whatever he could from inside. You were saying? Mathews wants you dead?”

She nodded. “I have apparently outlived my usefulness.”

“Could it have been a bluff?”

“Maybe. But I didn’t want to stay there and find out.”

“How about we trade what we know. Maybe, among the three of us, we’ll actually begin to make some sense out of all this.”

Which they did.

She told Malone everything that happened, since yesterday, at Windsor and Oxford, adding her suspicions about Eva Pazan and what Mathews had told her in the car. Malone recounted his past twenty-four hours, which seemed about as chaotic as hers. Ian Dunne filled in what occurred a month ago at Oxford Circus.

She omitted only three things.

Her current state of SOCA suspension, her past connection to Blake Antrim, and the fact that she’d been led to the Inns of Court specifically to see Antrim. None of that seemed necessary to reveal.

At least not yet.

“How did you find us at the bookstore?” Malone asked.

“Mathews sent me. He knew you’d be there.”

“He say how he knew that?”

She shook her head. “He’s not the most forthcoming individual.”

Malone smiled “What’s a SOCA agent doing working with MI6?”

“I was specially assigned.”

Which was true.

To a point.

M
ALONE WASN’T ENTIRELY SATISFIED WITH
K
ATHLEEN
R
ICHARDS
’ explanations. But they were strangers, so he couldn’t expect her to provide everything at once. Still, she’d said enough for him to make a few decisions. The first involved Ian. He needed him out of the line of fire, back with Antrim and Gary, but he realized that maneuvering the boy to leave would be tough.

“I’m concerned about Miss Mary.”

He explained to Richards that she was the older woman in the bookstore, then said, “Those men could come back, and we left her there.”

“The Met are no help,” Richards said. “They’re working with Mathews.”

He stared at Ian. “I need you to look after her.”

“You said
you
would do that.”

“I will, by getting both you and her to where Gary is.”

“I want to go with you.”

“Who says I’m going somewhere?”

“You are.”

This kid was bright, but that didn’t mean he would get his way. “Miss Mary looks after you when you need it. Now it’s your turn for her.”

Ian nodded. “I can do that.”

“I’m going to contact Antrim and have him come get both you and her.”

“And where are you going?” Richards asked.

“To get some answers.”

The slip of paper Miss Mary had given him with the phone
number was still in his pocket.
My sister. I spoke to her a little while ago. She’ll take your call in the morning
.

“You going to let me tag along?” Richards asked.

“I’m assuming that you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Hardly. But my SOCA badge could prove helpful.”

That it could. Especially for toting weapons.

He handed her one of the guns he’d snatched.

“I have to make a call to Antrim and check on my son,” he said. “Then I’m going to get a few hours’ sleep.”

“I’d offer my flat,” Richards said. “But I’m afraid that’s the first place they’re going to look for me.”

He agreed. “A hotel is better.”

M
ALONE FINISHED OFF SOME CEREAL AND FRUIT FOR BREAKFAST
. He and Kathleen Richards had spent a few hours at the Churchill, he on the pullout sofa bed, she in the bedroom. They’d arrived after midnight and a suite was all the hotel had to offer. Jet lag from the flight over had finally caught up to him and he’d fallen asleep almost immediately after lying down. But not before calling Antrim and making sure Ian and Miss Mary had arrived and that Gary was okay. Richards had told him that they still needed to have a chat, and asked him to keep her identity between themselves until after they talked. So he’d honored that request and not mentioned her to Antrim.

“I was sent by Mathews because of Blake Antrim,” Richards said to him from across the table.

The Churchill’s restaurant opened off the main lobby with a wall of windows that overlooked busy Portman Square.

“He and I were once involved. Ten years ago,” she said. “Mathews wanted me to use that relationship and make contact.”

“Is Antrim a problem?”

He needed to know, since Gary was in his custody.

She shook her head. “Not that way. Not at all. Your son is fine with him. Now, if he were a girlfriend breaking up with Antrim.” She paused. “Different story.”

He thought he understood. “Doesn’t let go gracefully?”

“Something like that. Let’s just say our parting was memorable.”

“And you agreed to reconnect with him?”

“Antrim is apparently into something that threatens our national security.”

That grabbed his attention.

“Unfortunately, Mathews did not say how.”

“So he sent you to the bookstore last night to connect with me and Ian. Let me guess. He wants the flash drive?”

She nodded. “Exactly. I don’t suppose you would share what’s on it?”

Why not? What did he care? This wasn’t his fight. Besides, it wasn’t all that much. “As amazing as it sounds, Antrim is trying to prove that Elizabeth I was actually a man.”

He caught the surprise on her face.

“You must be daft. Mathews was willing to kill me over that?”

He shrugged. “It gets worse. Mathews was there when Farrow Curry was pushed into an Underground train. One of his men did the pushing. Ian saw that, firsthand.”

“Which explains why he wants Ian Dunne.”

“He’s a witness to a murder, on British soil, which runs straight to MI6. Good thing Ian is in the safest place he can be, at the moment, with Antrim, whose interests are clearly opposed to Mathews’.”

“Does Antrim know all of this?”

He nodded. “I told him last night on the phone. He said he’d keep a close eye on Ian.”

Which also explained why Malone was still here. If not for the fact that Ian was clearly in trouble, he and Gary would leave today. But he could not simply walk away. He wanted to play this out a little longer and see if he could help the boy into the clear.

“Mathews provided me information,” she said, “that points to some sanctuary the Tudors concealed that held their personal wealth.”

“A point you omitted last night.”

She nodded. “I’m sure you held back a few things, too.”

He listened as she told him about what happened when Henry VII and Henry VIII died.

“I got the impression,” she said, “that the flash drive might lead to this location.”

But he could recall nothing from what he’d read that pointed the way.

“Go ahead and finish your breakfast,” he said. “I have to print out some stuff.”

“From the flash drive?”

He nodded. “A hard copy would be a good thing to have.”

“We going somewhere?”

“To Hampton Court. There’s somebody there we have to talk with.”

K
ATHLEEN SURVEYED THE RESTAURANT
. N
OTHING AND NO
one seemed out of the ordinary. Both she and Malone had switched off their cell phones, since Malone had said Antrim had tracked him through his. She was familiar with the technology and knew that a dead phone was a safe phone.

She wondered why they were going to Hampton Court. Who were they seeing? And what did it matter to her anymore? She’d lost two jobs in the past twelve hours. Not much left for her in this fight. Perhaps she should simply cut her losses and leave. But would that stop Thomas Mathews? Hardly. She still had to make things right with him. Had he seriously intended on killing her? Still difficult to say, but that Met officer would have shot her if she’d not quit resisting.

She finished her breakfast and waited for Malone, half listening to the murmur of other conversations. The waiter came and cleared the dishes, refilling her coffee cup. She didn’t smoke, drink much, gamble, or do drugs. Coffee was her vice. She liked it hot, cold, sweet, straight—didn’t matter, as long as it was full of caffeine.

“This is for you.”

She glanced up.

The waiter had returned and held an envelope, which she accepted.

“The front desk brought it over. A woman left it for you.”

Her mouth dried. Her senses came alive. Who would know she was here? She opened the envelope and removed a single sheet of paper, upon which was written in black ink.

She could not believe what she’d read.

Thomas Mathews was watching.

She told herself to stay calm.

Doing what Mathews wanted entailed betraying Cotton Malone. But he was a stranger. Of no consequence. Sure, she’d shared a room with him last night and he seemed like a decent man. But national interests were involved. Her career was at stake. And not as a SOCA agent, but perhaps as a member of Secret Intelligence. People did not apply for jobs there. You were recruited, then proved yourself.

Like now.

Provided, of course, that Thomas Mathews’ word—
as a knight of the realm
—meant anything.

She sucked in a breath.

Steeled herself.

And nodded her head.

A
NTRIM PAID HIS ADMISSION FEE FOR
W
ESTMINSTER
A
BBEY
and made his way into the massive church. He passed the black marble slab that marked the grave of the Unknown Warrior, then the choir with its famous wooden benches. Beyond the altar rails, in the sanctuary, was where British kings and queens were crowned. He caught site of a placard that identified the tomb of Anne of Cleves, Henry VIII’s fourth wife, the only one smart enough to walk away. Over the past year he’d read a lot about Henry, his wives and children, especially Elizabeth. He once thought his own family dysfunctional, but the Tudors proved that there was always something worse.