“Explain.”
“Neptune allows Leander to reach the shore.”
“Interesting,” the queen said, nodding slowly. “In that case, we should like to see it.”
As she finished speaking, a solid slap drew her attention. Several feet away, a heavily muscled man clad in the white tunic and plumed golden helmet of a Grecian warrior was attempting to kiss the mermaid Marlowe had seen earlier. The mermaid was having none of it.
Queen Elizabeth turned back to Marlowe. “We’ve a couplet you may use in your poem, if you like.”
“I would be honored.”
Very softly, she said, “Maids are not won by brutish force and might. But speeches, full of pleasure and delight.”
“Your Majesty’s words sparkle as brightly as the jewels in your crown, fair Queen. They shall light up my page.”
“Well then, Kit Marlowe,” she said, dropping her usual royal plural, “it is I who am honored.”
“Have you gone deaf? Stuffed cotton in your ears?” Helen demanded, snapping Marlowe from his reverie.
“What?”
“You were right. The crookback. It’s him.”
Marlowe nodded. Since learning of the fifty thousand pounds Cecil had pledged to Ralegh for the Guiana voyage, he’d felt reasonably sure that Cecil was the smuggler.
“What next?” she asked.
“His house. He’s a traitor. We seek out evidence for the queen.”
Throwing back her shoulders, Helen sniffed, “I did not command—”
“Theother queen,” Marlowe said with a grin.
Adjusting his wimple such that only his eyes were visible, he followed her back to the river.
25
LONDON—12:05P.M., THE PRESENT DAY
The Dickens Inn was overflowing. Every seat on its three-tiered wood-beamed veranda was filled, and dense clusters of bright flowers spilled out of every window box.
Cidro Medina was seated at one of the tables arranged out front near the water. He was within spitting distance of a gaudily painted black and yellow yacht lashed to the dock. Sipping a soda, he was looking out to the marina, a picnic basket at his feet.
“Hey, sailor, buy a lonely girl a drink?”
“I’m meeting someone any minute,” Medina said, eyes traveling from her face down to the steel toes of her boots. “But…”
The snug hem of her black miniskirt now held his gaze. “But what?” Kate asked, laughing.
“Good God!” he exclaimed, recognizing her. He reached over to touch her hair. “Is this real?”
“No. A wig,” she said, of the bone-straight, jet-black long hair shot through with chunky crimson highlights. Dark brown lenses were covering Kate’s green eyes, her skin was several shades darker—courtesy of a sunless tanning lotion—and a fake barbed-wire tattoo ringed her right upper arm. The look, which was completed by Victoria’s Secret’s most miraculous bra, matched an alternate passport she’d brought from home. She’d used her real passport to fly from Rome to Paris’s Charles de Gaulle airport, then had ducked out to make a few quick purchases and book a hotel for the night in order to leave a credit card trail. She’d then changed in one of de Gaulle’s bathrooms and had flown to London under the alias.
“Remember that humdrum assignment I mentioned?”
Medina nodded. “Dodgier than you expected?”
“Right.”
“Is it serious? Are you…?”
“Looking like this, I should be fine.”
“But we’ve been seen together for days. Whoever is trying to find you, won’t they—”
“Hey, a guy like you—one ofHello! ’s highest ranked eligible bachelors—anyone watching would expect you to be with a new girl today, right?”
He grinned. “Good point.”
“Mind calling me Vanessa for the day?”
Standing up, Medina slid his hands around her waist and pulled her close. “Would Vanessa object if I do this?”
“Well, I’d be bringing up all the reasons it’s a bad idea…but Vanessa? She’s just plain easy.”
Laughing, Medina kissed her. Tenderly at first. Then harder, with passion. For how long, Kate had no idea.
Picnic basket now full, Kate and Medina headed for Tower Pier. They purchased tickets from a booth, handed them to the captain, then found seats on the upper deck of the tour boat.
“You said we’re plotting some kind of heist?” Medina asked softly, pulling her legs across his lap.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“At Greenwich Park?”
“Yup.”
“It’s, uh, royal property.”
“True.”
“Guarded by some special royal police force, I’d imagine.”
“And your point is?”
“You just don’t strike me as the type to break that kind of law,” Medina said. “Risking jail, I mean.”
“Of course I don’t,” she said solemnly. “We at Slade’s never break the law.”
“But…”
“Vanessa Montero, however, is a bartender with fewer scruples. As far as my company is concerned,I’m on my way home. Which is good becausethis,” she added, touching her forehead to his, “would feel a tad awkward if money were still changing hands.”
The captain’s voice interrupted their quick kiss. “Welcome to theMillennium of London,” he declared over a loudspeaker. “ ’Bout fifty miles in from the North Sea, we are. Thames is a tidal river, rising and falling twenty-six feet….”
The motor rumbled to life, and the boat pushed forward. “Just on your left,” the captain continued. “Traitors’ Gate. One of London’s first oneway streets.”
Hearing chuckles, Kate turned to look. The once-feared passageway was now sealed over with moss-covered stones.
“Also on your left, Executioner’s Dock. Pirates and smugglers were lashed to it and left to drown in the rising tide. Captain Kidd was the last. Chained to the Dock in 1701, he was. And the half-timbered pub just beyond—Charles Dickens wrote many of his novels in the attic above.”
Leaning back into Medina’s arms, Kate watched decrepit wharves and warehouses zip past, along with the occasional set of luxury condominiums, which stood out from their surroundings like flying saucers.
“Now…Vanessa,”Medina said, squeezing her shoulder, “are you going to keep torturing me, or are you going to tell me what you figured out last night?”
Smiling, Kate turned to face him. “Okay. Remember that numerical report we’ve been talking about? The final page of the manuscript? I’m pretty sure it’s the one, and that I was wrong about Jade Dragon’s intentions. He’s not trying to keep information out of the public eye for fear it could hit him in the wallet somehow. His motivedoes seem to be about money, but it involves gaining a windfall, not preventing a loss.”
“So the report itself is valuable somehow…and not as a tool for blackmailing anyone?”
Nodding, Kate slipped a piece of paper from a pocket in her skirt. “Remember how yesterday I told you that Christopher Marlowe was investigating the Muscovy Company in May 1593? And discovered that one of its higher-ups had an illegal trading relationship with a Barbary pirate?”
Medina nodded.
“Listen to this,” she said, unfolding the paper. “ ‘Most beloved and mighty Queen, I must tell Your Majesty of a treachery. Your crooked back man—’ ”
Looking up, Kate explained, “Marlowe’s referring to Robert Cecil, who was a hunchback. Also a top courtier and one of the directors of the Muscovy Company.”
“Got it.”
Kate continued reading the message. “ ‘…stole arms, which he then changed for treasure at sea. If you believe not me, then believe your own eyes. In the ground beneath the ship bottom near your tree, behold what was found in his river home, and ask of him, from whence did this come? A dutiful man, with looks like a great hill, will soon return you your filched arms…’ ”
“Her tree?” Medina interrupted. “You know what that means?”
“Y
eah. In the Tudor era, there was a royal palace at Greenwich where the Royal Naval College now stands. It was Queen Elizabeth’s favorite residence. And in the grounds out back, there was an oak calledher oak. Supposedly her parents—Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn—used to dance around it, and people say Elizabeth hid in its hollow when she was young.”
“That tree is still there?” Medina asked.
Kate nodded.
“And you believe Marlowe’s letter never reached the queen? Not even a copy? That whatever he buried is still there?”
“It’s possible.”
“What about…what was his name? Uh…”
“Phelippes?”
“Right. Surely if Marlowe revealed the location of some kind of treasure, Phelippes would have pounced on it.”
“Ifhe’d been able to decode Marlowe’s message,” Kate replied. “But I don’t think he ever did. Because if he had, no doubt there would have been some kind of investigation into Marlowe’s accusations against Cecil, and there’s no record of any such thing. Cecil wasn’t disgraced that spring, and he eventually beat out the Earl of Essex for the position of secretary of state. Was later made an earl himself. So, in my opinion, there’s no way Phelippes ever read Marlowe’s last report. In fact, it’s possible that no one ever has.”
“Until now. Good Lord. How’d you do it?”
“I had aserious advantage. Marlowe based his code on a poem he was working on around that time, which wasn’t published till five years after his death. Phelippes probably never knew he was writing it. For me, it was right on the Internet.”
“But to even think of it…”
Kate shrugged. “Lucky guess.”
“What do you think the so-called treasure is?” Medina asked. “An actual jade dragon?”
“Could be. Marlowe did mention riches from the East, and in the Ming Dynasty, which was right around that time period, Chinese craftsmen used a lot of jade. Dragon designs were popular then, too.”
“Why do you think he buried it? If he wanted to return it to the queen, why her backyard and not her…I don’t know, lord-in-waiting or whomever?”
“Probably for leverage. He’d been arrested and was…out on bail, you could say. Certainly not off the hook for the atheism stuff. And at the same time, he was stepping on the toes of two of England’s most powerful men. Phelippes must have been fuming that Marlowe wasn’t providing him with the identity of the smuggler, and Cecil could not have been pleased that Marlowe had uncovered his secret and stolen his treasure. I’d guess he was trying to figure out a way to stay alive in the midst of all that.”
“Having read Marlowe’s final report, do you know who killed him?”
“I couldn’t say for sure, but I have a better idea,” Kate said. “I may have told you that according to the coroner’s report, there were three witnesses to Marlowe’s death? One was Cecil’s top spy, another worked for Essex’s network, and the third was a shady businessman—or con man, really.”
“Two spies and a con man? Their word must carry some weight,” Medina said wryly.
Kate smiled. “They’d supposedly gathered in a room at a Deptford inn for a day of eating, smoking, and walking in the garden. After dinner, they said, Marlowe was lying on the bed while the other three were sitting at a table—side by side, mind you—eating or playing backgammon, as a later account suggested. Then, Marlowe and the con man—a guy named Frizer—are said to have started arguing about the bill. Marlowe grabs Frizer’s dagger from his belt, slashes at the back of his head, and then somehow Frizer turns around, and in spite of the fact that his legs are under a table and he’s sandwiched between two men, manages to wrestle back his knife and stab Marlowe through the eye socket. Frizer claimed self-defense, and the royal coroner ruled it as such.”
“Sounds like bollocks to me.”
“Tell me about it,” Kate said, smiling. “I mean you’ve got that bizarre positioning—who eats or plays backgammon sitting three people in a row? And that physical behavior—from what I’ve read, Marlowewas handy with a sword and apparently had a hot temper, so if he’d wanted to hurt Frizer and came at him from behind, surely he’d have done some real damage. Instead, Frizer only had light flesh wounds and somehow managed to outfight Marlowe from a really awkward position, with the other two just sitting or standing there like paralyzed idiots. None of it makes sense. And then there’s the fact that these were not people who normally got together for a good time.”
“So…”
“I think the claim that they all spent the day together is a lie,” Kate said. “They just weren’t a bunch of buddies. I’d guess the killer got to Marlowe first, then the others showed up for some reason and agreed to help with the cover-up. Now, about who and why—”
“Cecil’s spy? To keep Marlowe quiet about the smuggling?” Medina suggested.
“Nice work! Youhave been paying attention,” Kate marveled. “And yeah, to me, Cecil’s spy, Robert Poley, seems most likely. Or, Phelippes wouldn’t have wanted Marlowe dead, I don’t think, but no doubt he would have wanted his spy, Nick Skeres, to get hold of Marlowe’s final report. Maybe they scuffled in the process of that. Now Frizer, he may’ve shown up to help Marlowe. He worked for one of Marlowe’s closest friends.”
“So why would he agree to take the rap?”
“Maybe the others pressured him into it. As the only non-spy, Frizer would have been the most believable. Deadly brawls were common back then, but with a spy doing the killing, a political motive would have been suspected. And with all three men seen entering that room that day, they all could have gotten in trouble if the self-defense story didn’t fly.”
Hearing the captain announce that they were passing Deptford on their right and the Isle of Dogs on their left, Kate glanced at the shorelines. They’re so different today, she thought, seeing nothing but wharves and densely packed condominiums. The colors were all muddy earth tones, with hardly any green in sight.
Gesturing toward the Isle of Dogs, she told Cidro, “That used to be all forest. In the sixteenth century, it was a big hideout for fugitives.”
As they neared Greenwich Pier, the captain directed their attention to a set of water steps at the top of which Sir Walter Ralegh had famously laid his cloak over a puddle so that Queen Elizabeth could proceed dry and unhindered.
Within minutes, Kate and Medina were themselves disembarking. Passing souvenir shops, pubs, and the National Maritime Museum, they made their way to the park, a vast green expanse dotted with trees and the occasional flower bed. Just inside the gated entrance, a large plastic map stood on display. The park, they saw, was a large rectangle with paved paths lining the edges and winding throughout.
Medina turned to Kate with a curious smile. “Remind me why you want to commit a crime tonight rather than inform the proper authorities?”
“If we go through official channels,” she said, “red tape will hold up any digging for months, you and I will be cut out of the loop, and we’ll be no closer to finding whoever’s behind all of this.”
“You have a point,” he said, not fully convinced. “But I still—”
“We can find an anonymous way to get whatever we unearth to the Crown. I’m just impatient to verify that it’s what Jade Dragon is after. If the chest is there and has a jade statue of a dragon in it…”
“We’ll be sure.”
“Yup.” Pointing to a spot in the center of the map, Kate then asked him, “Can we meet here? At Queen Elizabeth’s Oak?”
Medina nodded.
“I just need twenty or so minutes alone for this next part.”
“Sure. I could use a nap.”
Ten minutes later, it was time for her third attempt.
Strolling down the path along the park’s western edge, Kate saw a middle-aged woman approaching from the opposite direction, walking her dog. Kate bent to pet it. Smiling up at the woman, she said, “He’s adorable.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s a beautiful park. I can’t i
magine having it in my neighborhood.”
“It is very nice,” the woman admitted impatiently, making it clear that she was not in the least impressed with Kate’s outfit.
“I’m sorry to bother you. I shouldn’t have, it’s just that it’s my first day in London, and I’ve never traveled alone….”
“Not to worry,” the woman said, warming up a bit.
Admiring the grounds once more, Kate repeated the same line she’d used on two previous passersby. “The local college kids must sneak in here at night all the time.”
“Oh, no,” the woman responded. “After dark, the park police drive around periodically and release their dogs.”
The Queen’s Oak, Kate saw, had long since fallen. A decaying carcass—about ten or so feet long—was resting on the ground, enclosed by a wrought-iron fence.
A few yards away, Medina was lying on the grass, too. His eyes were still closed when Kate reached him.
“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” she said, kneeling beside him.
Reaching out, he pulled her on top of him. “How’d it go?” he asked, face inches below hers.
“Very well,” she replied, hoisting herself back up. “Come with me.”
Taking his hand, Kate led him to a massive, curiously shaped hole in the ground. A giant gully that resembled a ship’s hull. “Now this, Cid, is where we’ll dig.”
“Every night for a month?” he asked wryly. The gully was more than a hundred yards long. “That letter doesn’t give a precise spot?”
“The wording is a bit vague, but I think there are only two possible locations.”
“Seems doable.”
“Yeah. Now let’s eat and talk about how we’re gonna pull it off.”
BELVEDERE OFPUNTACANNONE,CAPRI—2:34P.M.
“Where is she?” de Tolomei asked, entering his surveillance room.
“East London,” his assistant answered. “In Greenwich.”
“The team will be departing soon?”
“Yes, sir. In a few hours.”
26
Go on, my lord, and give your charge I say,
The Intelligencer Page 29