The King's Deception (33 page)

K
ATHLEEN REACHED THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRWAY
,
BACK ON
ground level. She exited into a long corridor, then immediately entered a narrow room identified as the Upper Orangery. The outer walls were one closely spaced window after another. Sunlight filled the chamber. People were here, too. Not as many as on the first floor, though.

If Thomas Mathews was on site, why wasn’t he helping?

Instead, Eva Pazan was after her undaunted. It would not take long for her pursuer to realize that her target had fled downward. She was unsure which side Pazan was on, but after her experience at the bookstore she decided to trust no one.

Just leave.

But not by one of the exits, as those were certainly being watched.

Past the windows she spotted the magnificent Privy Garden, which stretched from the palace to the river.

That seemed the way to go.

She stepped to one of the windows and noticed no alarms. And why would there be? There were hundreds of windows in the palace, the cost and logistics of wiring every one incalculable. Instead, motion sensors were the way, and she spotted them inside the orangery, positioned high to catch anyone who might enter through one of the windows.

But those would be deactivated during the day.

She surveyed the room and saw none of the uniformed staff. So she unlatched the pane and hoisted the bottom panel upward.

The drop down was maybe two meters.

A few of the people nearby gave her a stare.

She ignored them and climbed out.

I
AN WANTED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT
H
ENRY
F
ITZ
R
OY
. H
E’D
been fascinated by what Miss Mary had said.

“This bloke, FitzRoy, married at fifteen to a fourteen-year-old girl?”

“That was quite common at the time. Marriages among the privileged were not for love. They were for alliances and the acquisition of wealth. Henry VIII saw the marriage to a Howard as a way to cement his relationship with that rich, powerful family. At the time his son’s illegitimacy was not considered a problem, since Henry was so open in his affections.”

“What did Henry’s wife think about that?” Gary asked.

“She was not pleased. It created tension, and probably accounted for some of the miscarriages. Katherine of Aragon was, in many ways, a fragile woman.”

The American named Antrim had retreated into the office with the two other men. Though he’d just met the man, Ian sensed something not right about him. And he’d learned to trust his instincts. He’d immediately liked Miss Mary and Cotton Malone. Gary was okay, too, though the younger Malone had little idea how tough life could be. Ian had not known either his mother or his father, and probably never would. His aunt had tried to tell him about his family,
but he’d been too young to understand and, after he left, too angry to care.

Gary had two fathers.

What was the problem?

He’d caught the caution in Miss Mary’s eyes as she challenged Antrim. She had a bad feeling, too. That was clear. Gary, though, was too absorbed in his own problem to think straight.

That was okay.

He could think for him.

After all, Malone had told him to look after Gary.

“Eventually,” Miss Mary said, “Henry VIII married a Howard, too. Her name was Katherine, and she became his fifth wife. Unfortunately, this Howard was promiscuous and the king had her head chopped off. The Howards never forgave Henry for that, nor did the king forgive them. The Howards began to fall from grace, no longer in favor. Mary Howard’s brother, Henry, the Earl of Surrey, was executed for treason, the last person Henry sent to the block before he died in January 1547.”

“How do you know all this?” Gary asked.

“She reads books,” Ian said.

Miss Mary smiled. “That I do. But this particular subject has always interested me. My sister, especially, is knowledgeable about the Tudors. It seems Mr. Antrim shares our interest.”

“He’s doing his job,” Gary said.

“Really? And what is his great interest in British history? The last I was aware, Great Britain and the United States were close allies. Why is it necessary to be spying here? Holed up in this warehouse? Why not just ask for what you want?”

“Spying is not always that easy. I know. My dad was one for a long time.”

“Your father seems like a decent man,” Miss Mary said. “And, I assure you, he is as perplexed by all of this as I am.”

A
NTRIM WAS IN A PANIC
.

MI6 had been involved with Farrow Curry’s murder? Which meant they were aware of Operation King’s Deception. Daedalus said they killed Curry. Which meant either they or Ian Dunne lied.

But which one?

And now Cotton Malone was at Hampton Court with Kathleen Richards?

What in the hell was she doing there?

He had to know, so he dispatched both of his agents to immediately find out what was happening.

He stared out into the warehouse to where the woman and the two boys sat among the items that would shortly be destroyed. He was waiting for the call that confirmed Cotton Malone was dead. He’d tell the sad news to Gary himself. Pam would certainly then become involved, but he should be okay. Gary would not allow her to block him out a second time, and there’d be no other father to interfere. The thought of victory made him smile. He’d already alerted his investigator in Atlanta to step up surveillance. Taps on Pam’s phone lines could prove useful in the months ahead. Information was the intelligence operative’s greatest ally. The more the better. And with seven million dollars in the bank, there’d be no worries about financing.

But first things first.

Operation King’s Deception had to end.

As agreed.

G
ARY WAS BOTHERED BY
M
ISS
M
ARY’S CRITICISM OF
A
NTRIM
. She had no right to say anything negative about him. And though her words seemed carefully chosen, he’d caught her meaning loud and clear.

Are you sure about this man?

As sure as he could be. At least Blake Antrim had not lied to him. Unlike his mother. And Antrim had not hurt his mother. Unlike
his father. He still needed to speak with his mother. She wouldn’t like what was happening, but she’d have to accept it. If not, he would follow through on his threat and move to Denmark. Maybe his dad would be more understanding.

“Henry FitzRoy,” Miss Mary said, “and Mary Howard had a child. A boy. He was thirteen when his grandfather, Henry VIII, died in 1547. This boy was thin and pale, with red hair, like the Tudors. But strong and determined, like the Howards.”

“Is this what my dad is looking into?” Gary asked.

“I don’t know. I truly don’t.”

Gary had seen that Antrim was bothered by something. He’d quickly excused himself and hustled back to the office. A few minutes ago the two other agents left the building. Antrim was still inside the office. He needed to talk to him. Movement across the interior caught his attention.

Antrim called out, “I’ll be outside. I have to make a call.”

“Where’s the toilet in this place?” Ian asked.

“Over here. The door right of the window into the office.”

I
AN DECIDED TO ACT
.

He did not need the toilet. What he needed was to know what Antrim was doing. The American had seemed surprised to learn about the old codger, Mathews, being involved. And even more interested in the SOCA lady. Malone was at Hampton Court? He wondered why. He’d visited there several times, the free-admission courtyards and gardens attracting a horde of tourists with pockets to pick. He also liked the maze. One of its gate handlers had taken a liking to him and allowed him to roam among the tall bushes for free.

He walked toward where Antrim had pointed out the toilet. Then, after a quick glance back to make sure Gary and Miss Mary were talking, their attention not on him, he detoured to the warehouse exit door. Carefully, he turned the knob and eased open the
metal slab, just enough to peek out. Antrim was twenty meters away, near another building, a phone to his ear. Too far away to hear anything and too out-in-the-open to approach closer. But it was clear Antrim was agitated. His body stiff, head shaking while he talked.

He closed the door.

And thought about how he might get his hands on that phone.

M
ALONE GRABBED ONE OF THE FLASHLIGHTS HANGING FROM
an aluminum rack, a modern addition to something that was clearly from long ago. He followed Tanya down a brick incline that ended at another tunnel, this one stretching left and right.

“Mr. Malone, you must count your blessings. Few get to see this. Two miles of culverts crisscross beneath the palace. State-of-the-art for its day. They brought water from sources miles away and removed the stinking waste from the toilets and kitchen rubbish.” She pointed her light to the right, then swung it left. “To the River Thames. That way.”

The stooped, narrow passage was tight and U-shaped, fashioned of bricks coated with white paint stained with mold.

“There’s a tale that Henry’s mistresses came in and out through here.”

“You seem to enjoy those tales.”

She chuckled. “That I do. But now we must hurry.”

She turned left. The floor angled downward slightly, surely to allow gravity to assist with the flow toward the river. A trough filled the center, pooled with standing water, alive in places with movement.

“Eels,” she said. “They are harmless. Just keep your steps to either side of the water.”

Which he was already doing. He thought himself capable of enduring a lot. He’d flown fighter jets for the navy. He’d jumped from planes and dove deep beneath the ocean. With the Magellan Billet he’d faced guns and men who’d wanted to kill him. But one thing he truly detested was being underground. He’d found himself there more than he liked, and always forced his brain through it, but that did not mean he was comfortable being surrounded by solid earth. And with eels, for godsakes. Tanya Carlton, though, seemed utterly at home.

“You’ve been here before?” he asked, trying to take his mind off the situation.

“Many times. We were once allowed to explore these. They’re quite remarkable.”

He noticed protrusions from the walls, beyond dark holes, about two-thirds of the way up. He examined a few with his light.

“Drainpipes from above. They bring the rainwater down and out to the river.”

He noticed that nothing around him was screwed, nailed, bolted, or mortared. The bricks fit to one another without the benefit of any binding. If not for the fact that they’d existed here for five centuries he’d be a little worried.

“We’ll pass the palace soon,” Tanya said. “It’s quite wide above us. Then we traverse the garden for a little while until there is an exit.”

The kitchens were located on the palace’s north side, the river to its south, maybe three football fields in between. A lot of being underground, as far as he was concerned.