The King's Deception

Fifty

Gary used the crowd, making his way toward the exit gate, still a hundred feet away from Antrim. Though clearly aware of the woman and man behind him, Antrim had not, as yet, noticed the two men at the gate. If he did, why keep heading straight toward them?

While Antrim had been inside the Jewel House, Gary had roamed the walks, admiring the White Tower rising to his right. He’d listened to the colorfully dressed Beefeaters as they entertained groups gathered around one spot after another. Everything here seemed attached not to the present, but the past. History was not a subject he enjoyed in school, but here it was all around him. What a difference from words on a page, or images on a video screen. Surrounding him was one of the oldest fortresses in England, where men had died defending the walls, and something was happening.

Right now.

Right here.

He focused again on Antrim, who continued to hustle toward the exit. The two men still stood at the gate, and Gary watched as one of them reached beneath his jacket. He caught a glimpse of a shoulder holster, similar to one his dad owned, and knew what was there. No weapon was displayed, but the hand stayed beneath the jacket, tucked away, out of view.

Ready.

Antrim kept coming.

Gary was now fifty feet away, still among the crowds.

No one had noticed him.

Antrim stopped, his gaze now focused ahead at the two men.

Surprise and concern filled his face.

The woman and the other man were closing from behind.

Time to act.

* * *

Antrim saw there was nowhere to go. The only exit from the Tower grounds was blocked by two men. Any retreat would take him straight to Denise. He’d made a deal with the devil and now the Daedalus Society had decided he, too, was a liability. True, he had several million of their dollars in the bank, but none of that would do him any good dead. He was mad at himself for all of the mistakes he’d apparently made. This operation, which he’d hoped might be his salvation, had turned into a nightmare.

Even worse, it apparently had been one from the start.

The idea had been to find something that could be used to coax the British government into stopping the Scots from releasing a convicted terrorist. An internal CIA assessment on the potential for Operation King’s Deception had shown that, if successful, the information might be sufficient. The British prided themselves on an adherence to law. Common law was born here, then exported around the world. Their loyalty to legality had been used more than once to squelch a king, expand Parliament, or subdue a colony. King’s Deception had been designed to turn that loyalty against them. Had all gone to plan, Downing Street would have had no choice but to intervene with the Scots. All Washington wanted was a murderer kept in jail. In return, no one would ever know what happened 400 years ago.

But the Daedalus Society had interfered with all of that.

He wished he knew more about them, but there’d been no time to investigate, and any effort to do so would have drawn Langley’s attention.

His only thought now was how to get the hell out of here in one piece. Would they shoot him here? With all of these people around? Who knew. These people were fanatics, and fanatics were unpredictable.

The idea had been to kill Cotton Malone.

But things had changed.

Now he was the one in the crosshairs.

* * *

Gary crept ahead, using a group of Japanese tourists as cover. Twenty feet separated Antrim from the two men at the gate, the woman and the other man having stopped about thirty feet behind where Antrim stood, people moving back and forth between them.

His birth father needed him and he wasn’t going to turn away.

The two men at the gate still had no idea he was there, their attention totally on Antrim.

He was approaching from their right and unless they had eyes in the sides of their heads—

He burst from the crowd and leaped forward, propelling his body into the air, rolling sideways so his full length crashed into both men.

Down they all went to the pavement, their bodies cushioning his fall.

He heard a grunt, then a thump as heads slapped hard stone.

Both men were stunned and groggy.

Gary sprang to his feet.

* * *

Antrim realized what had happened.

As one of the men crumpled down, a hand slipped from beneath his jacket, holding a gun. The grip was released when the man’s head pounded the cobbles.

He rushed forward and snatched up the weapon, his eyes meeting Gary’s. “We have to leave.”

“I know. I saw that woman back there.”

He wondered how Gary would have any idea as to Denise’s identity, but now was not the time to inquire.

His finger curled onto the trigger.

He turned and aimed the weapon straight at Denise. Someone yelled, “Gun.” It took an instant for the scene to register with the people pouring in and out of the gate. Two Beefeaters flanked either side and both fled their posts, racing toward him.

Denise dove toward a patch of grass to her left, beyond the walk.

He followed her leap with the gun and ticked off one round.