The King's Deception

As sure as he could be. At least Blake Antrim had not lied to him. Unlike his mother. And Antrim had not hurt his mother. Unlike his father. He still needed to speak with his mother. She wouldn’t like what was happening, but she’d have to accept it. If not, he would follow through on his threat and move to Denmark. Maybe his dad would be more understanding.

“Henry FitzRoy,” Miss Mary said, “and Mary Howard had a child. A boy. He was thirteen when his grandfather, Henry VIII, died in 1547. This boy was thin and pale, with red hair, like the Tudors. But strong and determined, like the Howards.”

“Is this what my dad is looking into?” Gary asked.

“I don’t know. I truly don’t.”

Gary had seen that Antrim was bothered by something. He’d quickly excused himself and hustled back to the office. A few minutes ago the two other agents left the building. Antrim was still inside the office. He needed to talk to him. Movement across the interior caught his attention.

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.”