The Plantagenet Vendetta (51 page)

West was waiting outside his new office in Westminster when the car arrived. It was a long, black limousine that he recognised immediately.

He opened the door. “You?”

“Get in,” Stephen replied from the back seat. “I hear you’ve done some sterling work.”

The new Secretary of State for Justice got inside.

“Tell me everything that’s happened since yesterday.”

85

Jen and Thomas looked to their left. Two men had entered the chapel. Jen had seen them both recently, whereas for Thomas several years had passed.

“I’m sure you’re familiar, Tom, with Sir William Catesby and Lord Ratcliffe, former Chancellor of the Exchequer. Jen, may I present to you, the Privy Council.”

She looked at them in disbelief.

He wasn’t joking.

Catesby entered first, his demeanour characteristically cold. He wore a large protective white jacket, the sort of thing she associated with a lab. Ratcliffe wore his usual suit and appeared the more annoyed of the two. He carried nothing, while Catesby held a brand-new, slick-looking revolver.

Thomas examined both men top to bottom, strangely amused by what he saw.

“The Cat and the Rat,” Thomas said. “Where’s the Dog?”

Catesby’s expression hardened. “A most unreliable man; probably skulking away somewhere.”

“Not exactly.”

The voice came from somewhere nearby. One of the side doors opened, one Jen had tried to open earlier that day.

“You’ve been there the whole time?” Edward asked.

“Yes, sir, I have, and listening to every word, I might add. Might I please suggest we get some medical attention for Brother Morris and Brother Daniel.”

Catesby removed a bandage from his jacket and approached the injured men. While Jen was baffled, it seemed obvious to Thomas that Lovell had already informed them of what had been going on.

Catesby bandaged Morris, a makeshift job at best, before walking toward the other hooded gunman.

“He’s dead,” Catesby affirmed, checking his vitals. He moved away from the dead friar, heading toward Lovell. The former headmaster had made it to the centre aisle.

“You chose not to participate?”

“I thought it wise, William, to observe and take in the proceedings from a distance. I see you both got my message.”

Ratcliffe was confused. “What message?”

“I sent you a text message, as well, Richard; you really must learn to use your phone.”

Catesby’s hard façade faded. Unlike the Rat, he was a man of science.

The grin had returned to Edward’s face. “That’s the full set. The Cat, the Rat and the Dog, Tom.”

“What would that make you? The Hog?”

“Not yet.” He gestured over his shoulder. Lord Jeffries had finally resorted to sitting down. Even over ten metres away the heaviness of his breathing was evident.

“So if he’s the Hog, then what does that make you? The little piggy that went wee, wee, wee–”

Edward thrust the gun into Thomas’s neck. “Just watch yourself. Didn’t Popup ever warn you not to antagonize someone holding a gun?”

Thomas arched his neck, the force of the gun pressing uncomfortably against his skin. Since the arrival of Catesby, there were now two guns aimed at him.

And only one at them.

“Give me the gun, Jen,” Edward said.

She refused, silently concerned she had little choice.

“I won’t wait this time, Jen.”

“Do as he says,” Thomas said.

Jen looked at him, reluctant. She tried to speak, but the words were trapped in her gullet.

“You can’t win; just d-drop it,” Thomas said.

She took a deep breath and finally obeyed, throwing the gun on the floor. It bounced past Edward, stopping inches from Lord Ratcliffe’s feet.

Ratcliffe picked it up. “You’re a woman of many talents, Miss Farrelly. It’s really quite a shame things had to turn out this way.”

“It’s a shame the same can’t be said about you,” Thomas said, taking extra care to compose each word without a stutter. “I always knew you’d sell your own mother, Richard. But your country?”

“Actually, sir, it is because of my love for this country that I agree with what you have just heard. And because of my love for my family I must seek revenge on the man who killed my own flesh and blood.”

Thomas was confused. “You think I killed someone from your family?”

“Yesterday at around 7pm there was an incident in Greenwich involving a small group of men and a large building; I understand you were the one with the gun.”

“They were relatives of yours?”

“The lad that died was me nephew.”

Thomas strengthened his resolve.

“Don’t get me wrong, Tom; I can call you Tom, can’t I?” he said, receiving no answer. “I know that you had no idea who it was you were shooting, and I know that you were under orders. If you want the truth, I didn’t initiate the commands yesterday; I just didn’t disagree with them.”

“So you agree th-that you also have b-blood on your hands?”

The comments seemed to sadden Ratcliffe. “Should I have my time over again, I daresay there are many things that I might do differently. But despite what some people may say, I’ve always stuck by my cause. Never been one to take a bribe, nor profit from another’s misfortune – at least not intentionally. If the press says otherwise, that’s up to them.”

“The man I killed was himself a k-killer. Had he not been f-firing at me I’d have left him alone,” Thomas said with fixed determination, accompanied by a cold expression that brought fear to the heart of Lord Ratcliffe. “Who gave the order?”

“That would have been me.”

The voice came from the fourth pew.

Thomas looked at Jeffries elder. “There’s bitterness in your voice, old man…in all of you.”

“How dare you address the King,” Edward said, his fury building. “You’re not in the palace now, Tom. This is white rose country.”

Thomas ignored him. “Why did you want to kill me?”

Lord Jeffries laughed. “You think I would waste my time on such a minor relation?” the old man asked, coughing. “Heavens no. My greater interest was, and still remains, the men responsible for the death of my son.”

But the King is dead.

Thomas shrugged. “Why go to the bother? Your grandson said it himself: you have no chance of claiming the throne.”

“You really think this is merely about reclaiming the monarchy? Sitting on an old throne, accompanied by dust and memory.” He shook his head. “I lost my son, and one of the men responsible has paid.”

Again, he was confused. “You really think my grandfather was responsible?”

“My dear sir, your words betray you. I know you have seen the footage of many years ago with your own eyes. Had I simply wanted your grandfather dead, then, believe me, I would have completed the task long ago: be it in a cloud of smoke, a long and hardened anguish, or at the hands of an unfortunate motorist…the choices seem unlimited. Throughout my life I have been forced to endure hardships, as most men would put it, and I have at times been forced to come to terms with personal loss. But only a man who has spent the latter years of his life mourning the passing of his son can really understand the torment that I have been through these past years. The man himself may no longer be with us, but for every son, there is an heir. And until the chain is broken, the past repeats itself.”

Thomas was now becoming alarmed. Clearly he meant the rest of his family.

Suddenly it dawned on him. “Was that why you tried to kill us at Greenwich?” Thomas bit his lip. “Stephen?”

Though Thomas laughed without humour, the idea brought new hatred. “I can honestly say I thought better of you. But when all is said and done, you’re nothing but a sad old man.”

He looked to his left at Jen.

“I tell you what, what say a trade? The great-nephew for the grandson. Only, let her go.”

Jen felt goose bumps all the way from her neck to the bottom of her feet. She could see from the prince’s expression that there was certainty in his eyes, as if he was prepared to carry out a great duty, perhaps even destiny.

The old man laughed, coughing again. “You are not in a situation capable of negotiation.”

He looked at Ratcliffe, then Catesby. “Come on, chaps. No more playing games. Let her go.”

Jen was still standing rigidly, her eyes locked on the two newcomers. “I assume you were two of the participants in Debra Harrison’s death ceremony?”

She looked at Lovell. “And you?”

The former headmaster was looking particularly uncomfortable.

“Who was the fourth?”

“I’m afraid that was me,” Edward confessed, remorse absent from his eyes. “There will always be sacrifices, Jen. Nobody likes them.”

“You don’t give off the impression you dislike them.”

“On the contrary, hopefully one day they will no longer be necessary. What’s the saying: if you want peace, war is inevitable.”

“An old saying,” Jen said.

“Still as true today as it was then.”

A strange silence had overcome the chapel, almost religious in nature. The sound of shuffling was the only disturbance, again coming from Morris. Nearby, Lovell was kneeling by his side, tending to his wound.

“So what’s your involvement in all this?” Jen asked.

The question was for Catesby. “It was my noble ancestor’s grand ambition to oversee a great transition from the turbulence that plagued England following the schism of the House of Plantagenet. Like his noble cousins, he understood that things like pestilence and bad harvest that contributed so greatly to the turmoil would be only temporary measures, leaving the developments of the realm safe among the prudent. I don’t, of course, expect you to be familiar with the work of my great namesake; his private writings have rarely made it out of the family.”

It saved her a question.

“But I daresay, not everybody lost in the result of the great schism. Our families perhaps had the most to profit. When the feeble Henry VI lost power to the great Edward IV, England briefly became a country of great enterprise: the flair of the merchant was rewarded as much as the toil of the industrialist, including that of the common man. In the past, the greatest mistake a man could make was to try to profit by someone else’s work. It was that which failed the feudal system.

“When Edward IV died, his son had the potential to be one of the greatest kings who ever lived, but even God could not prevent his slide into darkness. When the mantle fell upon the greatest general of Medieval Europe, England could have been secure for another twenty or thirty years. It’s been estimated that the Wars of the Roses saw the end of the great noble families. Less predictable, alas, the end of a great nation.”

Jen couldn’t believe her ears. “Most people would call it the shaping of a great nation. Let me guess. You’re going to deliver another diatribe about religion. Save your breath, I’ve heard them all before.”

Catesby’s indignation was apparent. “An understandable misapprehension, but a misapprehension nonetheless. In truth, the religious fires that came after were merely a by-product. By the time the bastard of Henry VIII took the throne, the Reformation had already gone too far to be countered altogether. It was never my ancestors’ intention to destroy the new. Only to make room for the old.”

He took a step forward.

“It is never possible to live peacefully through conquest. Only compromise.”

The sound of a helicopter interrupted Jen’s intended response. The atmosphere changed in a heartbeat. Glass shattered from the broken window, accompanied by a sudden gust of wind as the force of the blades passed by.

Edward was horrified. “You called MI5,” he said, unclear whether he was speaking to Jen or Thomas.

Standing alongside them, Ratcliffe and Catesby were both alarmed.

“You must’ve done.” Panic was written all over his face.

Thomas, meanwhile, was edging to his left, now touching Jen.

His next move was instinctive. Taking advantage of Edward’s brief look over his shoulder, Thomas pounced, taking Edward with him to the floor.

They landed heavily, Edward taking most of the damage on his back.

He lost his gun on impact.

Catesby was still armed. He aimed at Thomas, cocked and poised to shoot. He felt a thud on the back of his leg and fell over instantly, losing his gun. It skidded along the aisle, landing at Jen’s feet.

“Stay where you are,” she said, picking it up. “You too.”

Ratcliffe obeyed without hesitation. He lowered himself to the ground extra slowly and placed his hands over his head.

Jen looked to the side of the chapel. Lovell had disappeared, as had Morris. She heard the sound of a door closing, then locking.

She cursed her luck.

Now they could be anywhere.

She returned her focus to her new prisoners. “I told you to keep still.”

The gun went off, the sound echoing. Catesby flinched as a bullet ricocheted off the floor, barely a metre away.

Jen was so surprised she nearly dropped the gun.

She had no idea it was even cocked.

She turned and aimed at Jeffries, then Edward, but refrained from firing. The two cousins were still at deadlock, their hands gripping each other around the shoulders. Edward’s face had turned bright red, whereas Thomas was in better control.