The King's Deception_A Novel

by Steve Berry

  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.”

  IAN 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.

  Forty-two

  MALONE 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.

  “For a sewer, this doesn’t smell that bad.”

  “Oh, my, this hasn’t been used for waste in centuries. Can’t go dumping in the river anymore. It’s mainly for rainwater. There are staff that keep it cleaned out. The entrance we used was the way servants would come here in Henry’s time to keep the flow from clogging.”

  She seemed at ease with all this intrigue, as if it happened every day. But he had to say, “I’m sorry for involving you in this.”

  “Goodness, no. Most excitement I’ve had in a long while. Mary said there might be an adventure, and she was so right. I once worked for SIS. Did Mary tell you that?”

  “She left that detail out.”

  “I was an analyst in my younger days. Quite good, too, if I do say so.” She kept plowing ahead. “Not as exciting as things you once did, but I learned to keep a cool head on things.”

  “I wasn’t aware you knew what I did.”

  “Mary said you were an American agent.”

  He was forced to stoop as they walked. Tanya had no such problem. Their lights revealed only about twenty feet ahead of them.

  More eels splashed beside his feet.

  He heard a sound from behind.

  Voices.

  “Oh, dear,” Tanya said, stopping. “I’m afraid the palace staff must be involved. They are the only ones who could open that door.”

  KATHLEEN DROPPED TO A GRAVELED PATH. THE PRIVY GARDEN stretched out before her, the space full of pyramid yews, round-headed holly trees, fall bulbs, statues, and annuals edged with box hedges. Graveled paths and wide avenues routed traffic through the natural décor.

  She decided to head away from the river, to the rear side of the palace. From there she could double back to the train station and catch a ride somewhere. Anywhere but here. She needed to think. Make some decisions. Smart ones this time. The problem was she had only one place to turn. She was through at SOCA. Her employer would do nothing to protect her. The police were likewise useless. Only Thomas Mathews could help.

  Or could he?

  And if so, would he?

  She followed the path to the palace rear and turned left.

  Fifty meters away stood Eva Pazan and the same man from inside.

  Both spotted her.

  She turned and raced away, shielded by the corner of the building.

  Ahead was nothing but more buildings with more cameras.

  So she decided to go left, toward the river, into the riot of color and order that was the Privy Garden.

  MALONE REALIZED THEY HAD A HEAD START BUT WONDERED where Tanya was taking them. The concern for what lay behind them was helping with his unease at being underground. He thought about just stopping and confronting their pursuers. If it was MI6, why would there be a problem? If the police, same thing? What was the worst that could happen? Arrest? Stephanie Nelle could get him out of that.

  “It’s just ahead,” Tanya said.

  He assumed the men behind them carried flashlights, but he could not spot their beams. In absolute darkness weak pencils of light carried only so far. But that meant their flashlights were not visible, either. Ahead he saw a ladder that led into an opening in the ceiling.

  “Mr. Malone,” a voice said from the blackness behind them, with an echo, which signaled distance.

  “One chance. Stop and wait for us.”

  Tanya grabbed the ladder.

  He motioned for her to climb and fast.

  “This is not your fight,” the voice called out. “No need to die for it.”

  Die?

  He grabbed hold of the metal ladder. Aluminum. Sturdy.

  “Who are you?” he called out.

  “That’s not your concern.”

  He stared back into the darkness to his left. A pale glow, far off, to his right, revealed the emerging end at the Thames. Light appeared above him as Tanya opened a hatch in the short tunnel that led through the brick ceiling.

  He climbed up, free of the tunnel below.

  A bang.

  W
hich startled him.

  Then another.

  More.

  Gunfire raged through the passage beneath him.

  Bullets ricocheted off the brick. He was above it, near the exit, but was concerned about a stray. He quickly emerged at ground level, slamming down a metal hatch.

  “Thank goodness this portal is never locked,” Tanya said. “It was added years ago as a safety measure.”

  He grabbed his bearings.

  They were south of the palace, west of the great Privy Garden, a brick wall and tall hedges in between. The compact Banqueting House, which fronted the river, nearby. No people here, but he could hear voices beyond the hedges in what he knew were the Pond Gardens. He’d strolled through them before, where the fish served in the palace were once kept alive before heading to the kitchens.

  “Was that gunfire I heard below?” Tanya asked.

  “Afraid so. We need to disappear. Fast.”

  Things had just changed.

  Those men came to kill him.

  He studied the hatch and saw a lever that allowed it to be opened from the top side, which moved in conjunction with the one below. He looked around for something, anything, and found what he needed near a pond in the center of the garden. A walk leading to and from, bisecting the grass and the flowers, was paved with flat stones. He darted over and managed to dislodge one, about a foot square, from the moist earth. He carried it back and rested it beside the lever on the hatch.

  A workable lock.

  When anyone tried to turn it from below the stone would block its path.

  “Where to?” he asked Tanya, since she’d obviously brought them here for a reason.

  She pointed beyond the Banqueting House to the river.

  “That way.”

  KATHLEEN KEPT MOVING THROUGH THE PRIVY GARDEN toward the Thames. The manicured hedges were all low, offering no place to hide and no cover. A wide graveled path lined with knee-high box hedges led to a center fountain. Not many people here, but enough. Behind her Eva and her companion found the garden and headed her way.

  She still carried her gun and was deciding how best to use it. She’d shoot her way out, if need be, but the lack of effective cover cautioned, for the moment, against that route. Statues dotted the grass to her left and right, large enough to offer some protection, but getting to and from them required crossing open territory.

  So she kept hustling ahead.

  MALONE AND TANYA PASSED AROUND THE BANQUETING House. Tanya seemed to know exactly where she was going. They crossed a small lawn beneath bare trees and found an eight-foot-high brick wall that separated the palace grounds from a concrete walk bordering the Thames.

  “I live just there, on the other side of the river, up a tributary,” she said. “I motor to work every day in my boat.”

  He nearly smiled. This was a smart woman. He’d wondered how they were going to make their way off the hundreds of acres that surrounded Hampton Court. The simplest route? On the water. Which Tanya Carlton had known all along.

  An iron-barred gate opened in the wall, it too with an electronic lock. Tanya punched in the code and they passed through.

  “I come through here every day, so the groundskeeper has provided me access. Years ago, I was given a key. I daresay things have progressed since then.”

  They turned and hurried down the pavement, a white, wooden rail guarding the riverside, heading away from the gardens. He spotted the railway station where he’d arrived across the river. He kept a watch out toward the brick wall, ready to find his gun. A handful of others were also strolling the path.

  His mind was in full alert.

  Somebody had wanted him dead.

  And that underground passage, with its privacy, had offered them a perfect opportunity.

  He needed to speak with Antrim.

  As soon as they were away from here.

  KATHLEEN SPOTTED A DECORATIVE IRON FENCE, THE WORK OF some talented blacksmiths, which allowed glimpses of the Thames through its gilded foliage. The fence on either side was over two meters high and spiked on top. Eva and her pal were closing fast. She spied left, then right, and noticed where the fence ended and a high brick wall that further guarded the perimeter began. What caught her attention was a set of steps that led up to another level of the garden, higher, nearly even with the top of the brick wall. It would be easy from there to hop onto the wall and jump down to the other side, where pavement bordered the Thames. She could either run like hell or make a swim for it.

  She darted right and ran down the graveled path, then up the steps.

  Behind her, she spotted Pazan now running her way.

  She came to the top of the stairs and onto more gravel. She’d been right. The iron fence with its spikes ended and the brick wall began, lower here thanks to the new height. A simple matter to hop up and jump down the two meters to the other side. But before she could pivot onto the wall, two men appeared from ahead, guns in hand. Eva was now at the base of the stairs behind her, armed too.

  “You will not make it,” Pazan said. “Even if you do, look down. There’s nothing but open ground. We will shoot you dead before you get anywhere.”

  She glanced left. Where were all of the people? The gardens should be crowded on a beautiful Saturday morning. The few who’d been there before were now gone. And where was Mathews? Two large boats were tied to a concrete dock below her, but no one was in sight there, either.

  Pazan climbed the stairs and approached. “I need your gun. Slow and careful. Toss it down.”

  She found the weapon and did as told. “Who are you?”

  “Not who you think I am.”

  MALONE HOPPED INTO TANYA’S SMALL BOAT. A TEN-FOOTER with a respectable outboard at the stern. Two life jackets and a paddle lay inside.

  “Never had to use any of those,” she said. “Thank heaven.”

  “You want me to start the engine?” he asked.

  “Goodness, Mr. Malone, I’ve been yanking the cord of that old bully for years. I’m quite capable.”

  He watched as she pulled the starter twice and the engine groaned to life. He untied the mooring line and she motored them away, turning back toward the palace grounds, heading downstream on the Thames.

  “Stick to the far side,” he said. “Just in case.”

  She maneuvered across the brown water, away from the palace. They were approaching another concrete dock, where two large boats were tied. He spotted a woman, standing atop the same brick wall that wound its way around to the Banqueting House. She stood where the iron fence that separated the gardens from the water ended and the high wall began.

  Kathleen Richards.

  Another woman, along with two men, stood to her right.

  All held guns.

  Richards was yanked down.

  Tanya saw it, too.

  “It seems Miss Richards has found some bother.”

  No question.

  And, considering what just happened in that tunnel, he may have been totally wrong about her.

  Forty-three

  ANTRIM WAS BECOMING MORE AGITATED THE LONGER THE conversation progressed. The same gravelly voice from Daedalus had answered his call and seemed to be enjoying the situation.

  “Did you hear me?” he said into the phone. “The friggin’ head of MI6 is involved in this. He killed Farrow Curry, not you.”

  “I heard you, Mr. Antrim. I simply choose not to believe what a street brat has told you. I know what occurred. We ordered it done.”

  “Kathleen Richards is SOCA. I know her. What the hell is she doing involved? Did you know about that, too?”

  “That is new information. But I hardly see a problem. Everything is about to end. You will have your money and be gone before dawn.”

  You got that right. Sooner the better.

  “If Thomas Mathews is involved here,” the voice said, “he could have been deceiving his listener with misinformation.”

  True. But there was still the matter of Cotton Malone.


  “What happened at Hampton Court?”

  “I am awaiting word on that right now. The last I was told, Mr. Malone was being herded to a favorable spot where he would be eliminated. All was progressing without a problem.”

  “I need to know when that happens.”

  “What’s your interest in Malone?”

  “I don’t have one. You do. He read the drive. He knows things. He’s your problem, not mine.”

  “I truly doubt that. You are not an honest man.”

  “Like I care about your opinion of me. You murder people. You can believe it or not, but MI6 is in this. That means containment is going to be a big problem. Your problem.”

  “Yours, too. Once known, I imagine your superiors will be wondering what you are truly up to.”

  “Which means this whole thing will blow up and you can kiss your little secret goodbye.”

  Silence on the other end signaled that he was right.

  “Do you have Ian Dunne in your custody?” the voice asked.

  “Safe and sound.”

  “Keep him there. In the meantime we need to speak, in person.”

  Like he was going to do that. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d already realized that the safest course for Daedalus now would be to simply kill him, too.

  “Not going to happen.”

  The voice on the end chuckled. “I thought that request would concern you.”

  He remained silent.

  “All right, Mr. Antrim, to soothe your fears we’ll meet in a public place. One with security, so you might feel more at ease.”

  “Why do we need to meet?”

  “Because there is something you must see. And, look at it this way, you have Ian Dunne. He’s your security. I’m sure you’re about to hide him away in a spot only you know. He will be your insurance.”

  “Why do you want the boy? It’s the flash drive you want.”