The King's Deception (37 page)

G
ARY ROAMED THE GROUNDS OUTSIDE THE
J
EWEL
H
OUSE
. H
E
stopped at a sign that identified the magnificent White Tower, which dominated the enclosure. He’d already examined the Tower Green, near the spot where, one of the uniformed Beefeaters had explained, executions once took place. Two of Henry VIII’s wives lost their heads there, as had Lady Jane Grey, a seventeen-year-old who ruled for nine days as queen until Mary, Henry VIII’s first daughter, chopped her head off, too.

His gaze focused on the White Tower and he read the sign. Its hundred-foot walls of stone formed an uneven quadrilateral, defended on the corners by three square towers and one round one. Once the exterior had been whitewashed, giving the building its name, but now its stone glistened a golden brown. High above, the Union Jack fluttered in a light breeze. He knew that this ancient citadel was one of the symbols of England, like the Statue of Liberty was to America.

He wondered what they were doing here. They hadn’t spoken much on the taxi ride over. Antrim had simply said that there were a few loose ends he had to deal with, which shouldn’t take long, then they’d return to the warehouse and wait for his dad to call. He’d asked about speaking to his mother and Antrim had assured him that they would do that, too.

She needs to hear from you
, Antrim had said.
Then I need to speak with her again, too. But we should talk to your dad first
.

He agreed.

That should be first.

The day was bright and sunny, the sky a deep blue. Lots of people were visiting the site. Antrim had bought them both tickets to the grounds, which he noticed also included access to the Jewel House, where Antrim had gone.

What was happening inside?

Why were they here?

He decided to find out.

A
NTRIM WAS IN SHOCK
. “W
HAT ARE YOU DOING HERE
?”

Denise looked gorgeous, wearing a pale blue bouclé skirt with a stylish jacket.

“I’m what they wanted you to see.”

He was confused and cautious.

“Don’t be so lame,” she said. “I was there, in Brussels, watching you all along.”

Could that be? “You’re with Daedalus?”

A slight nod of her head. “I was sent to monitor your whereabouts. That I did, for nearly a year.”

Shock filled him. He’d been the leak?

For a moment his gaze drifted through the polished glass a few feet away where he saw the four-hundred-year-old St. Edward’s Crown, the same crown the Archbishop of Canterbury reverently placed upon a monarch’s head, as echoes of
God save the king
or
queen
bounced from the walls of Westminster Abbey. What was happening here?

He gathered his thoughts.

“The whole thing with the man I saw you with in Brussels. Not real?”

“It was time that we parted ways. So we manufactured a reason that you would not question. We know how you become violent with women. There’s quite a trail behind you, Blake. We needed you to move on, in your own way, where you would be comfortable.”

“What would have happened? Another woman would have taken your place?”

She shrugged. “If need be. We decided to motivate you through other means.”

“By killing my agent in St. Paul’s?”

“The Lords wanted you to know then, and now, what they are capable of accomplishing. It’s important you fully grasp the extent of their resolve.”

She motioned for them to step off the conveyor belt, where they could linger for a few moments. He did, exhaling a short breath.

“These are symbols of what once was,” she said. “Reminders of a time when kings and queens held true positions of power.”

“Everything between us was an act?”

She chuckled. “What else would it have been?”

Her dig hurt.

She motioned at the jewels. “I’ve always believed that the English monarchy did itself a great disservice when it gave up real power in return for survival. They allowed Parliament to rule in exchange for being allowed to stay kings and queens. That downfall started in 1603, with James I.”

He recalled Farrow Curry’s lessons. James, the first from the house of Stuart to sit on the throne, was a weak ineffectual man who cared more about pomp, circumstance, and pleasure than ruling. His first nine years were bearable, thanks to Robert Cecil’s strong hand. But with Cecil’s death in 1612 the remaining thirteen years of his reign were characterized by a calculated indifference, one that weakened the monarchy and ultimately led to his son Charles I’s beheading twenty-three years later.

“Elizabeth I was the last monarch who enjoyed true power on the throne,” she said. “A queen, in every way.”

“Except one.”

Denise pointed a slender finger at him, the nail manicured and polished, like always. “Now that’s the wisdom and wit that you can, at times, express. Such a shame that, otherwise, you are a worthless excuse for a man.”

She was taunting him. In total control.

And he was powerless to respond.

“What does Daedalus want?” he asked.

“Unfortunately, that seems to be changing by the moment. Your Cotton Malone escaped Hampton Court. He’s still alive. Your two agents, though, were not as fortunate.”

Now he realized.

He was alone.

“I work for the CIA. There are plenty more agents.”

She seemed not in the mood for bravado. “But, sadly for you, none is here. We want Ian Dunne.”

“You can have him. He’s at the warehouse, which you obviously know about since your head Lord told me what’s in it.”

“That we do. But I wonder, Blake. I know that deceitful part of you. I’ve seen it. I told the Lords that you are not a truthful man. So, one chance, one opportunity. What else is there we don’t know about?”

And he suddenly realized that he may have a trump card, after all.

The copies of the hard drives.

No one had mentioned those.

“You know all I know.”

She stepped back toward the conveyor belt. Before leaving she stopped and brushed her lips across his cheek. A gentle gesture. More for the benefit of the people around them.

“Dear Blake,” she whispered. “We already have the copies of those hard drives you left with the man you hired. I told the Lords you would lie.”

She stepped onto the conveyor.

“Take care, darling,” she said, blowing him a kiss.

M
ALONE APPROACHED
T
HOMAS
M
ATHEWS
. T
HEY STOOD AT
center court, the spacious rectangle that enclosed them lit from a bright sun pouring through the upper windows.

“Haven’t seen you since London,” he said. “What? Seven years ago?”

“I recall.”

“So do I,” Malone said, and he meant it. Mathews had nearly cost him his life.

“Tell me, Cotton. Did you come back solely for Kathleen Richards?”

“So you’ve been watching?”

“Of course.”

“You make it sound like that was a mistake.”

The older man shrugged. “All depends on your point of view.”

He could tell Mathews was treading lightly, unsure of what, where, and when, at least insofar as things related to a retired American agent right in the middle of an active CIA operation.

“You attacked my men outside the bookstore,” Mathews said.

“Your men? I don’t recall anyone saying that. But it seemed like Richards needed help.” He paused. “And she did.”

“The question is why you felt the need to render assistance.”

But he had no intention of volunteering an answer to that inquiry.

“Henry VIII himself played tennis here,” Mathews said. “It is said he learned of the execution of Anne Boleyn while engaged in a match. A different game from what we call tennis, but nonetheless exciting.”

Everything around him, though encased within an ancient shell, was more modern, the refurbished court still in use today. Real Tennis the game was called, which utilized not only the floor but also the walls and ceiling to maneuver the ball over the net.

“It’s impressive how things so old can still be relevant today,” Mathews said, tossing out more bait—which, this time, Malone decided to snag.

“Like that Elizabeth I may have been male?”

The older man appraised him with cool eyes. This was one of the world’s premier spymasters. Even Stephanie Nelle spoke of him with awe and respect. He vividly recalled their encounter from seven years ago. Mathews had proven formidable. Now Malone was, once again, within the Englishman’s sights.

“I was saddened by your retirement,” Mathews said. “You were an excellent operative. Stephanie must miss your talents.”

“She has plenty of other agents.”

“And modest. Always modest. That I recall about you, too.”

“Get to the point,” he said.

“You may not think the fact that Elizabeth I was an imposter would matter four hundred years later but, I assure you, Cotton, it does a great deal.”

“Enough to kill Farrow Curry?”

“Is that what the boy said?”

He nodded. “That’s why you want him. Not the flash drive. You want the boy. He’s a witness. You want to shut him up.”

“Unfortunately, these circumstances demand extraordinary actions. Ones, normally, I would never sanction. Especially here, on British soil.”

“You won’t harm a hair on that kid’s head. That much I guarantee.”

“From anyone else I would take that as unsubstantiated bravado. But I believe
you
. What about your own son? Is his life equally valuable?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“It may not be, considering who has him, right now, as we speak.”

He stepped close to Mathews. “Enough bullshit. What the hell is going on here?”

K
ATHLEEN SAT AT THE TABLE INSIDE THE SMALL ROOM
, E
VA
Pazan positioned near the door.

“That show at Jesus College was for your benefit,” Pazan said. “A way to invest you in the situation.”

“Seems like a waste of time. You could have just told me. Who pressed my face to the floor with their shoe?”

Pazan chuckled. “I knew you wouldn’t like that. That was my colleague outside the door. We thought a demonstration of violence, coupled with an attack on me, might keep you focused. Unfortunately, we were wrong.”

“Are you part of the Daedalus Society?”

“It doesn’t exist.”

That did not surprise her. “Thomas Mathews created it. Right?”

Pazan nodded. “If you realized that, why run inside the palace?”

“It’s hard to be sure of anything around here. And, the last I checked, Mathews wanted me dead.”

Her captor smiled. “The intelligence business is not like yours. You hunt down facts and work for convictions. We have no courts. No prisons. This is life or death, and success is the only thing that matters.”

“Mathews created Daedalus for Antrim, didn’t he? He wanted to manipulate him, but could not reveal SIS was involved.”

“Smart girl. We’ve been watching Antrim and his operation since the beginning. We needed a way to get close, without any fingerprints.
A fictional, ancient society seemed the best way and, lucky for us, Antrim bought it. But you didn’t.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Hardly. You’ve proven quite a chore. We thought you might be helpful with Antrim, but things have changed.”

And she knew why.

“Because of Cotton Malone.”