The King's Deception

Ian glanced up from the computer screen.

He and Miss Mary had found The Goring Hotel in Belgravia, a posh, expensive neighborhood just beyond Buckingham Palace in the heart of the city. He was surprised at Miss Mary’s sister, Tanya. Identical twins in not only looks, but also manner and voice, though Tanya seemed more excitable and a bit less patient. Tanya had let a room on the hotel’s third floor, a spacious suite that came with deep sofas and soft chairs and a wall of windows that faced a quiet street. The hotel had provided her a laptop computer, which they’d used to access Miss Mary’s email account, so they could read more of what Robert Cecil wrote four hundred years ago.

“This is quite amazing,” Tanya said. “What a life that imposter led.”

“How could no one know?” he asked.

“Because Elizabethan England wasn’t like today. There was no television or newspapers to invade one’s privacy. If you breached royal etiquette you could lose your life, and many did. The journal makes clear that those closest to the queen — Lady Ashley, Thomas Parry, and the two Cecils — were aware. Which certainly helped.”

He wanted to know, “Why would they do that?”

Tanya smiled. “For the most basic of reasons. They would all, forever, be closest to power, and to be close to the Crown was the goal of all courtiers. The imposter clearly knew he required assistance and he chose wisely in his accomplices. Quite remarkable. The Bisley Boy legend is true.”

“I still can’t see how it was possible to fool people all those years,” Ian said.

Tanya smiled. “We truly have little idea what Elizabeth actually looked like. All of the surviving portraits are suspect. And she was definitely a person of strange habits. As Robert Cecil noted, she wore wigs, heavy makeup, and unflattering clothing. By all accounts she was not a pretty woman, her language coarse, her manner brusque. She controlled her life, and her world, totally. No one could, or would, question her decisions. So it is entirely possible that the ruse could have worked.”

He noticed that Miss Mary had stayed quiet.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I worry about Gary. Perhaps we should not have left the warehouse.”

Fifty-three

Antrim, with Gary, approached the warehouse. Outside seemed quiet, the district crammed with storage facilities, which was one reason he’d chosen the locale. Even so, he approached the main door with caution and eased it open. Inside was still lit, the tables with artifacts unaffected, but the bookstore owner and Ian Dunne were nowhere to be seen.

“Where are they?” Gary asked.

He heard the concern. “I told them to stay here. Check the bathroom.”

Gary ran around the walls that formed the interior office, and Antrim heard the metal door open.

The boy reappeared and shook his head. “Not there.”

The other exit door, on the far side, remained closed, secured by a digital lock. Where had they gone? Had someone taken them? No matter. Their being gone saved him the trouble of ditching them. He entered the office and spotted his cell phone on the metal desk.

How did it get there?

Then he realized.

When Ian Dunne bumped into him. The little delinquent picked his pocket.

It was the only explanation that made sense.

He snatched up the unit and saw only one email. From the man who was hacking into Farrow Curry’s hard drive. He read the short message, which offered success and the password-protected file, deciphered, attached.

He quickly opened it and scanned the text.

“What is it?” Gary asked.

He kept reading, then said, “Something I was waiting for.”

He made another decision. What had, at first, seemed a good idea was now becoming a problem. There were things he needed to do himself. Screw the Daedalus Society. He already possessed half of what they owed him and that would be enough. From the little he’d just read from Robert Cecil’s journal, there may be more to this than he’d ever believed. Those Irish lawyers from forty years ago were onto something that could be worth a hundred times more than five million pounds. He recalled how excited Farrow Curry was that day, and the source of that anticipation might lie within Cecil’s journal, which he needed to carefully read.

None of which could be done with Gary Malone underfoot.

He’d been childless all of his adult life. Maybe he should keep it that way. He was going to have to disappear, escape both Daedalus and the CIA. That could prove next to impossible with a young boy around. Especially one whose mother hated him and whose father was an ex-agent with an attitude.

Malone had escaped Daedalus.

It was unlikely that there would be other opportunities to take him out.

Time to get the hell out of here.

But what was he to do with Gary?

First, secure the email. It had been sent to the account he’d provided the analyst. His more secure locations he kept to himself. So he forwarded the message and attachment to an address where it would be safe behind multiple firewalls, then deleted it from the phone.

“We need to find Miss Mary and Ian,” Gary said.