The King's Deception (38 page)

M
ALONE WAITED FOR AN ANSWER TO HIS QUESTION
,
BUT DECIDED
to add, “I know about the release of Abdelbaset al-Megrahi.”

“Then you also know that your government doesn’t want that to happen. They want us to stop Edinburgh.”

“Which you can.”

He’d been thinking about why that wasn’t possible. And only one explanation made sense.

Oil.

“What is it you want from the Libyans? What’s the deal they offered for al-Megrahi’s release?”

“Let’s just say that we could not ignore their humanitarian request.”

“So you sold out for oil price concessions?”

Mathews shrugged. “This nation has to survive. We are stretched, as is everyone, to the limit. We have something they want. They have something we want. It’s a simple trade.”

“He murdered British, Scottish, and American citizens.”

“That he did. And he will soon meet his maker and atone for those sins. He has terminal cancer. It isn’t like we are releasing him to live a long life. If letting him go gains us more over the long run, then why not do it?”

He now understood why the British government had stayed silent. If any hint of a trade leaked out, the repercussions would be enormous. The headlines devastating.
GREAT BRITAIN DEALS WITH TERRORISTS
. The American position was, and always had
been, no negotiations with terrorists, period. That didn’t mean no talking with them, just use the talk to buy enough time to act.

“Cotton, look at this another way. After World War II, both the United States and Britain utilized former Nazis. Your space program was born from them. Your aviation and electronics industries excelled. Intelligence services expanded. All thanks to ex-enemies. Postwar Germany was governed with their open assistance. We
both
used them to keep the Soviets off base. Was that any different than here?”

“If it’s such a great idea, why not tell the world what you’re doing?”

“I wish things were so black and white.”

“That’s another reason I got out. I can actually do what’s right now.”

Mathews smiled. “I always liked you, Cotton. A man with courage and honor. Unlike Blake Antrim.”

He said nothing.

“Antrim has been running a CIA-sanctioned operation called King’s Deception, here, on British soil, for over a year now. He’s been systematically stealing our national treasures. Delving into our secrets. Over the past forty-eight hours he sanctioned the violation of Henry VIII’s tomb in St. George’s Chapel. He used percussion explosives to crack away the marble slab, then rummaged through the royal remains. He also accepted five million pounds to end Operation King’s Deception. Half has been paid, another half will soon be owed.”

That grabbed his attention. “How do you know that?”

“Because I engineered the payment. I created a mythical opponent. The Daedalus Society. And convinced Antrim of its sincerity.”

“By killing Farrow Curry?”

“You know that course is necessary, at times. Curry became far too knowledgeable. He learned our secret. I thought his death would solve the problem. Unfortunately, we had to kill another.”

That he knew nothing about.

“One of Antrim’s operatives who provided us information in return for compensation. But he became greedy and wanted more
than he was worth. So we used his death as a way to ingratiate ourselves directly to Antrim. Which, I must say, worked. All was fine, and would have been, but for your appearance.”

“So you sent men to kill me in the tunnel?”

Mathews glared at him.

“That I did.”

K
ATHLEEN WAS BECOMING ANGRIER BY THE SECOND
.

“Malone was an unknown,” Eva said. “His presence has accelerated everything. But this is going to end here, now, today.”

“What is going to end?”

“The Americans want us to do something. We don’t want to do it. So they decided to find some leverage. A way to force us to do what they want. Thankfully, we’ve prevented that. All that remains is to tidy up the mess.”

“Meaning me?”

“And Antrim.”

She thought fast and knew what to do.

“I don’t want to die.”

She stared straight at Pazan.

“I’ll do whatever you want. But I don’t want to die.”

She stood from the chair.

Her eyes watered as she kept her gaze locked on the other woman.

“Please. I’m begging you. I don’t want to die.”

Pazan stared at her.

“I’m tired of running. I get it. You people have the upper hand. I’m in your custody. Can’t you contact Mathews and tell him I did what he wanted?” She found the sheets in her pocket. “I stole these from Malone. It’s what was on the flash drive. I was bringing them to Sir Thomas when you cornered me. I didn’t know you were working with him. How could I?”

She crept closer, the pages leading the way in her trembling left hand.

Pazan reached out to take them.

She handed them over. “I just don’t want any more problems.”

Her right hand balled to a fist and swung up to meet Pazan’s left jaw in a perfect uppercut that propelled the woman backward off her feet. She grabbed one of the chairs and pounded Pazan’s midsection. The SIS agent crumpled forward. A rage consumed Kathleen. She swung the chair upward, then down on Pazan’s head, sending her captor to the floor, not moving.

The door burst open.

The other man who’d been with Pazan inside the palace rushed ahead, the one who’d planted his foot on her face, a gun leading the way.

She whirled the chair into the hand with the gun, jarring the weapon away.

Another swing into his chest stopped him cold.

Raising the chair and slamming it down, she surely cracked the man’s skull, dropping him beside Pazan. She tossed her weapon aside, then found the gun and the pages.

“That makes us even,” she whispered to the man on the floor.

I
AN STOOD BESIDE
M
ISS
M
ARY AS THEY BOTH READ THE FILE
emailed to Miss Mary’s phone.

A translation of Robert Cecil’s journal.

I
WAS TOLD OF THE DECEPTION BY MY FATHER
. H
E CALLED ME TO HIS DEATHBED
and revealed something extraordinary. When but a child of thirteen, the young princess Elizabeth had died of fever. She was buried in the garden at Overcourt House, inside a stone coffin, with no ceremony, the Lady Kate Ashley and Thomas Parry the only two privy. Both feared for their lives, as King Henry VIII had charged them with his daughter’s safety. Henry was then unhealthy, enormous in girth, his temperament violent and irritable. Though Elizabeth’s death came from no person’s fault, both Ashley and Parry would have paid for the girl’s death with their lives. But circumstances worked in their favor. First was that the father rarely saw the daughter, his mind consumed with other matters. Thankfully, there were two wars ongoing, one with Scotland, the other with France. Henry’s fifth wife, Katherine Howard, had been unfaithful and was executed for infidelity. Then the wooing of Katherine Parr and his marriage for a sixth time became overriding. The perpetual worry for his legitimate son and heir, Edward, along with his own mortality, further dominated the final years of his reign. So his second daughter was relatively unimportant
.

It helped that Elizabeth lived an isolated life away from court, the Lady Ashley, her governess, her only constant companion. With the child dead something had to be done and it was Thomas Parry who proposed a solution. Parry was aware of the illegitimate grandchild of Henry VIII, the son born to Henry FitzRoy and Mary Howard. Until his death in 1536 FitzRoy had stood in great favor with the king. Henry had known of FitzRoy’s marriage to Mary Howard, and approved, but he had forbidden the consummation of the marriage until the young lovers were older. This decree was ignored and a son was born to them in 1533. Of this, Henry was never told
.

Parry proposed a substitution. The unknown grandson for the deceased princess. Lady Ashley thought the idea absurd and said they would all lose their heads. But Parry lay forth five principles in making his case. First, the imposter must have the likeness of the princess, as to create no suspicion. This was satisfied since the grandson had inherited the Tudor fairness of skin, the red hair, and the features of his grandfather. Second, there must be a familiarity with the circumstances of the princess’s life. The grandson had been raised in isolation by the Howards, but had been taught of his noble heritage. Third, there must be both education and knowledge similar to what the princess received. This, too, had been provided, the boy schooled in geography, mathematics, history, mechanics, and architecture. Fourth, a skill in the classics and foreign tongues was important. The grandson could speak and write French, Italian, Spanish, and Flemish. Finally, there must be an ease of body and the courtliness of a highborn. This the grandson possessed in abundance, as the Howards were the wealthiest in the realm
.

Thomas Parry traveled to where the grandson lived and proposed his plan to Mary Howard, the boy’s mother, who readily agreed. Thirteen years had passed since her husband died. She’d lived a quiet life, though her brother, the Earl of Surrey, was one of Henry VIII’s favorites. But unbeknownst to Parry controversy was brewing within the Howard family. Mary’s father had petitioned the king for permission to marry his daughter to Thomas Seymour. That permission was granted, but Mary, aided by her brother, refused. Her brother then suggested that she seduce the king and become his mistress. But she refused, considering the thought repulsive. She and her brother became estranged after that, and she eventually testified against him when Henry tried and executed him for treason
.

Mary agreed with all that Parry proposed, breaking off relations with her family. She never remarried and died in 1557, a year before her son was proclaimed queen of England. I inquired of my father how the deception was maintained since,
surely, some Howard relations would have wondered what happened to the boy. But after the Earl of Surrey’s execution in 1547, the Howards harbored a great hate for Henry. If any of them were privy to the deception, none ever revealed a thought. Mary Howard, herself, knew of her family’s quest for royal power and, while resenting her father and brother, surely took amusement in how she, the lowly daughter, obtained what no male Howard had managed
.

My father was told of the deception shortly after Elizabeth was proclaimed monarch. He was called to the new queen and found her alone in her chambers. She was twenty-five years old and had, for many years, worn the robe of a nun’s habit. She had, in every way, been overlooked in favor of her brother Edward, her sister Mary, and her father’s many wives. She had become accustomed to being forgotten. Now she was queen. She stood that day full of height and with a steady gaze, providing a commanding presence. Rings, fans, jewelry, embroidery, pearls, and lace garnished her attire. Her hair was yellowish red, the skin a dead white. Her eyes were set deep in their sockets and their stare was aggressive
.

“My Lord Cecil, you are a man whom we have long trusted, both for your wisdom and your discretion.”

My father bowed at the compliment
.

“We desire for you to serve as principal secretary. We have no doubt that you shall be faithful to us all. But there is something we must discuss.”

It was then that the imposter revealed himself, explaining all that I have detailed so far. My father listened with a patience that would characterize his life, realizing that he had been offered a unique opportunity. This man, of Tudor blood, but not born to reign, was now queen. No one, save for Lady Ashley and Thomas Parry, knew the truth. To expose the imposter would be to plunge the kingdom into civil war, as many would lay claim to the empty throne. Nothing would be gained by that. For the past twelve years this man had existed as a woman and no one was the wiser. He had become, in every way, Elizabeth Tudor. For my father to now know this would bind them together until one or both left this world. What was being proposed was not a position at court, but a partnership bound by a great deception
.

My father stared up from his deathbed, watching as I absorbed all that he had said
.

“I told the imposter that I was his servant and will forever remain such.”

I said nothing
.

“The queen is aware that I am passing on this great secret. She desires for you, my son, to serve her as I have done. I too want that.”

“My only wish is I can be merely half the faithful servant that you have been.”

My father died a day later, August 4, 1598, and I was summoned to the queen. She was sixty-five years old that day, her cheeks hollow, the high forehead, long chin, and aquiline nose exaggerating the gauntness of a dry and wrinkled face. Most of her teeth were gone. A curled red wig covered her head and an enormous lace ruff wrapped her neck. She stared at me with the same gaze that had kept England safe the past forty years
.