The King's Deception

Malone looked up at Miss Mary. “I’ve never heard this story before.”

“It’s a tale that stayed close to the village of Bisley, until Bram Stoker discovered it. Maybe it is just a tale. But for centuries after Elizabeth I died, the annual May Day celebration in Bisley always included a young boy dressed in Elizabethan costume. Odd, wouldn’t you say, unless there was some truth there?”

He really did not know what to say.

“Don’t seem so shocked,” she said to him. “Imagine if it were true.”

He was doing just that, trying to see how that fact would be meaningful enough — four hundred years later — that the CIA had mounted an operation directed specifically toward it.

“When you think about it,” she said, “in the context of what is known about the first Elizabeth, it begins to make sense.”

He was already recalling everything he knew about the last Tudor monarch.

“She lived to be an old woman,” Miss Mary said, “yet never gave herself to a man. She knew her duty. To produce a male heir. She knew what her father went through to have a son. In her case, even a daughter would have sufficed. Yet she consciously chose not to have a child, and expressed that intent many times in public.”

One particularly noteworthy statement came to mind, where the queen said she would not marry, even were they to give her the King of Spain’s son or find any other great prince.

“We should talk about this more.”

She reached into one of her pockets and handed him a folded scrap of paper. “My sister is the expert on all things Elizabethan. She could be far more help to you. I spoke with her earlier and she was fascinated by what I told her. She said she would welcome your call in the morning.”

He accepted the offering.

“She lives in East Molesey.”

He’d pass the information on to Antrim. “Right now, I need Ian and that flash drive.”

“He’s upstairs. He told me you would most likely be along before the day was through.” She motioned. “Around the shelves, to the right.”

Some patrons left through the front door and a few more entered.

He grabbed Stoker’s book. “May I?” He noted the price on a slip of paper inserted within the pages. “Two hundred pounds. Pricey.”

“A bargain, actually. I’ve seen it for more.”

“You take American Express?”

She shook her head. “My gift from one bookseller to another. I’ll hold it for you behind the counter.”

He thanked her and headed upstairs.

His building in Copenhagen was also multistory. The ground floor housed the shop, the first and second were for storage of his overflow books, the top floor an apartment that, for the past year he’d called home. This place was similar except there were only three floors. He climbed to the top and found Ian inside a roomy flat.

“Why’d you run?” he asked.

The boy stood at a window, glancing out. “You have to see this.”

He stepped over and glanced down.

Two men stood across the street.

“They came a minute ago, dropped off by car.”

People hustled back and forth on the sidewalk, yet the duo never moved.

“They don’t look right,” Ian said.

He agreed.

The two men crossed the street, heading straight below.

Twenty-eight

Antrim had been waiting for an opening. Sure, this should be handled slowly and carefully, but he had to maximize the short amount of time he’d managed to snare. His only hope was that Gary Malone would demand more time. Thanks to the Georgia surveillance and wiretaps he had some idea what had happened between mother and son. But apparently, more significant face-to-face conversations had occurred for Gary to specifically ask about his mother’s sordid past.

“Who was my mother seeing?” Gary asked him. “She won’t tell me much.”

“Why is it so important?” He was hoping the boy would realize that he had to give in order to receive.

“It involves my dad.” Gary paused. “Actually it involves another dad. Or birth father. Whatever you call him. My mother had an affair and I was born.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know what to think. But she lied to me and my dad for a long time.”

He’d imagined this moment since that day in the mall when he first saw Gary. He’d been involved with a lot of women. But none had ever, to his knowledge, become pregnant. He’d actually thought the time for him to be a father had passed, but Pam Malone’s admission had changed his thinking. Now here he was with an opportunity — one Pam never would have provided him. Her bitter denials alone had been enough to spur him forward. Who the hell did she think she was? He almost smiled. No failure had occurred in this operation. Everything had played out perfectly.

“Come with me,” he said to Gary.