Birthright: Pray your past stays hidden (Alex Turner Book 1)

by Richard Blade

  Eddie saw his opportunity ahead and pulled into a small cul-de-sac and stopped.

  “Hot car,” said Eddie as he admired the precision German vehicle.

  “Right.” Alex didn’t care what they were driving in, he was looking for solutions, “What do you think happened back there, Cate? How did they find us?”

  “I don’t know. Is there a way we could have been followed?”

  “While you guys are working things out, check out the dude’s stuff. But I claim dibs on any money.” He tossed Colin’s wallet to Alex who was next to him in the front passenger seat.

  Alex flipped through it, “About four hundred pounds in here, a driving license, and some business cards, including his. Not much to go on.”

  Cate leaned forward from the back seat, “Anything in the glove compartment?”

  Alex tried to open it but failed, “It’s locked.”

  Eddie grabbed the keys and handed them to Alex, “Try one of the smaller ones.”

  The glove box opened on his second attempt. Alex reached inside and snatched his hand back almost as quickly, “He’s got a gun in there!”

  “And you’re surprised after what we’ve been through?” Cate rolled her eyes.

  “This is England, not Texas. Nobody has handguns here,” answered Alex.

  “Any other cool things?” wondered Eddie.

  “If you consider a gun cool,” said Alex. “Let me see.”

  He pulled out some paperwork and a manual for the vehicle, along with a manila envelope. “So what is in here?” Alex unclipped the envelope’s flap and shook the contents onto his lap. Six passports tumbled out, and a tightly wrapped, bank-labelled set of one-hundred-pound notes.

  “Is that-” asked Eddie.

  “Yes,” confirmed Alex. He read the amount printed on the label, “Ten thousand pounds.”

  “Wow, Colin Brown is nothing but money,” said Cate. “How about the passports?”

  “That’s what I’m checking now.” Alex opened them, one after another. They all featured Colin Brown’s photograph, but only two used that name. The other four not only had different names, but also different birth dates and countries of origin.

  “Our man is very intriguing. He has six passports. Two are from the UK, but they’re not the same, only one has him as Colin Brown, and the other four are from all over the world, Australia, Canada, South Africa, and even the US.”

  “I’ve made a bunch of fake IDs. I used them to buy beer,” offered Eddie.

  “I think Mr. Brown’s motives may vary considerably from yours. And it’s worth noting all the countries the passports are from are English speaking.”

  “Is that a big deal?” asked Eddie.

  “It would be if you wanted people to believe you are from there. If he had a Swedish passport but didn’t speak the language fluently, it could arouse suspicions,” explained Alex.

  “But why would anyone have six passports, and how would he get them?” Cate was not following Alex’s train of thought.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t know why a businessman would want so many aliases unless it was for tax fraud. He might have them for setting up multiple bank accounts in different countries which could be used for transferring and laundering money. That would explain all his cash.” He looked again at the wallet, “He has a blank business card with just his name and a central London address, 85 Vauxhall Cross, Albert Embankment. Let’s find out where that is and see what company he really works for.”

  “The car’s got navigation. If it’s his workplace, it’s probably in there already.” Eddie pressed the ignition button and fired up the car. He reached out to the touchscreen and opened the navigation, “There you go, under previous destinations, 85 Vauxhall Cross. We’ll do a drive by.”

  “On the left side,” reminded Cate.

  Eddie pulled the car carefully out of the alleyway and turned so he was finally heading with the flow of traffic along the one-way street.

  He glanced at the screen, “It says we’ll be there in eleven minutes. We follow the river and turn left on the third bridge.”

  The blue BMW cruised down Victoria Embankment, paralleling the water, past the gigantic London Eye on the far side of the Thames then inland as they passed The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben.

  They stayed silent as they drove, each lost in their own thoughts about the crazy world they had been thrust into, and it wasn’t until they crossed Vauxhall Bridge that Eddie spoke, “There it is. The white and green building. It’s the first new thing I’ve seen today. I thought all of London was ancient and rundown.”

  Alex had a thousand things he wanted to explain to the young boy to contradict his ancient and rundown statement, starting with the words, living history, but knew it would take too long, and they were almost at their destination.

  Eddie stopped the car on Albert Embankment, across from the enormous complex, “That’s it, whatever it is,’ said Eddie.

  “I’m not sure what to make of it. I don’t know if I like it or not.” pondered Cate. “It’s kind of a cross between a Mayan Temple and an art deco hotel in Miami.”

  “It’s weird,” said Eddie. “But it looks sort of familiar, like I saw it online or in a movie.”

  “There are no signs anywhere on the building. Certainly nothing saying Global Pharmaceuticals, and there are people outside taking pictures, as if it’s a tourist attraction,” Alex was stumped. “Can you pull up, Eddie? There’s a bus stop ahead. Let’s see if someone there knows.”

  Eddie put the car into gear and rolled forward to the Vauxhall Cross stop. Alex leaned out of the window and called to a waiting passenger, “Excuse me. Do you know what the big building across the street is?”

  The man shrugged as if it were a stupid question, “Of course I do. That’s Legoland.”

  “Legoland? It’s an amusement park?”

  “Hardly. It’s what we call it ’round here on account of the way it looks. You know, like they built it out of blocks of Lego. It’s the MI6 headquarters.”

  Eddie heard the comment and butted in, “MI6? What’s MI6?”

  “Are all you Americans daft or something? MI6 is the British Secret Service. It’s where James Bond works.”

  “Thank you,” said Alex. He rolled his window back up, and Eddie saw the professor’s face had changed. Concern was written across it, “I think we had better go right now.”

  “Where to?”

  “Anywhere but here. Go!”

  “Done.” Eddie slipped the car into drive and squealed away.

  “Slow down!” Alex yelled. “We can’t attract attention.”

  Surprised by his aggressive tone, Eddie reluctantly eased his heavy foot off the accelerator and dropped the car to the speed limit.

  As they headed along Albert Embankment, Alex saw a sign and continued his orders to Eddie, “Take a left up ahead, and go down toward Covent Garden.”

  Eddie did as asked, and after a few hundred yards Alex barked out another set of instructions, “Right, at the next corner. Where it says Miles Street. Turn and park.”

  The blue Beemer pulled off the busy street and stopped on the quiet road.

  “What’s here?” asked Cate.

  “I don’t know,” replied Alex. “But we’re away from the main streets and there doesn’t seem to be anyone around. We need to dump the car and this seems to be a good place.”

  “Dump the car?” Eddie was shocked, “Why? She’s beautiful. Can’t we take her to a freeway so I can open her up?”

  “Eddie, everything has changed. We’re not being sought by a pharmaceutical company; we are being hunted by MI6. Do you understand we have stolen a British secret agent’s car and are driving around in it less than a mile from his headquarters?” He paused to let that sink in, “Don’t you think he could have a tracking device in here?”

  “Like a LoJack from Hell? Fuck. He might even have a self-destruct and blow us up!” His teenage fantasies took over and in seconds Eddie was out of the car, and right
behind him, Alex and Cate followed suit.

  Alex hesitated before closing the car’s door and reached in for the money and passports, and stuffed them back into the envelope. “We should bring them with us,” he said, and handed them to Cate.

  She was unsure about taking them, “Isn’t this theft?”

  “No, it’s evidence. We can show the fake passports and all the cash as proof of our story when we go to the American Embassy, otherwise they’ll never believe us and it will be our word against theirs.”

  “Should we bring his gun, too?” asked Eddie.

  “No. It stays in the car. The last thing we need is to be caught with a firearm in a country that has strict gun control like Britain. They would lock us up and throw away the key.”

  As they hurried down Miles Street, Eddie shot a glance over his shoulder, “Still there. It hasn’t blown up yet. Nicest car I’ve ever-”

  "Stolen?" Cate offered.

  "I was going to say driven,' grinned Eddie. "But whatever." He stopped for a second and gazed wistfully at the Beemer.

  “Don’t even think about going back, Eddie. We’ll keep walking, put some distance between us and Mr. Brown’s vehicle, and see if there is anywhere around here where we can eat. We have to make plans and get our story straight for the embassy.”

  Cate checked out the buildings on the big street they were crossing, “There are hotels there. Could we…?”

  Alex shook his head in denial and pointed across the road to a sign reading Victoria Park, “No hotels, we can’t risk it. They’ll want to see our passports and run a credit card. We’ll come back and find a place to sleep in there tonight. Hopefully, we can put all this behind us tomorrow when we have figured things out, but until then...” It was Alex’s turn to let his words fade away.

  Grease dripped from the walls of the little back street fish’n’chip shop, but it was out of the way and the beer-battered cod was hot, and that’s all Alex cared about.

  Eddie paused between bites and became wistful, “I would have loved to have cranked the car just once.”

  “And how far do you think we would have gotten?” Alex burst his bubble.

  “Yeah, it probably would have turned into me leading the secret service on a high-speed chase down the freeway and ended with a shootout and a couple of cars flipping over and blowing up like in the Fast and Furious.” Eddie stuffed a handful of chips into his mouth and sprayed some of them on the table as a thought hit him, “I wonder if it had a passenger ejector seat?”

  “Screw the movies. Will you promise this is our last night of sleeping rough? Can we please go to the American Embassy tomorrow?” complained Cate.

  “We will, first thing in the morning. We’ll take our chances. We’ve done nothing really wrong. We’ll show them what we found in the car and explain-”

  Eddie cut them both off, “Hey guys, we’re on TV!”

  Cate and Alex swiveled in their seats to see the little television above the counter where the six o’clock news had started and was running their big story of the day.

  The concerned newsreader continued, “...an unprecedented attack on the British Museum was foiled today by the Metropolitan Police and MI5 before the trio of bombers could detonate their explosives.”

  The presenter was replaced by security camera footage showing the three of them entering through the museum’s main doors together.

  The announcer continued to talk beneath the video, “More than eight thousand people were evacuated and six pounds of military grade C4 explosives were removed from the heritage building which the female suspect is believed to have carried into the museum in her backpack.”

  A close-up zoomed onto the screen of Cate and her bag.

  “The suspects are three Americans.”

  Individual photographs and names flashed on the television to match the commentary, “Alex Turner, 45. Caitlin Shannon, 25. Eddie York, 17. York was previously wanted on firearms and drug charges. He has been joined by two other Americans who have a record of radical political activism back in the United States. The bombers are heavily armed and considered extremely dangerous. If seen, do not approach them. Call 999 and give the police your location. Do not attempt to approach…”

  The three fugitives didn’t hear the rest of the broadcast. They had disappeared from the chippie into the fading light, their remaining food left uneaten on the table.

  Cate couldn’t remember the last time she had been this cold, miserable, and uncomfortable. “I don’t know if I can make it through the night.”

  “It’s only a few more hours. Tomorrow we’ll find out why all this is happening.”

  “That’s what you said yesterday, Alex. We’re no closer and it’s gotten worse.”

  “And I feel responsible. At least we have shelter tonight.”

  Eddie chimed in, “What is this crazy thing? It looks Japanese.”

  “It’s a Chinese pagoda given to Queen Victoria in the eighteen-hundreds. The London council thought it was appropriate to put it in the park named after her.”

  “Is there any shit you don’t know?” asked Eddie.

  “He doesn’t know why they are after us,” grumbled Cate.

  “You’re right. Let’s go over the facts we are sure of,” Alex was dead serious. “Someone wanted to find Eddie and was willing to pay handsomely for him. And that someone is linked with the British Secret Service and somehow Jack the Ripper’s murders are connected to it. All we have to do is put the pieces together.”

  “All?” Cate shook her head, “I love doing research but not if it means we are hunted by spies, chased by helicopters, accused of being bombers, and left to freeze our asses off out here in some damn pagoda!” She spat out the last word.

  Eddie moved cautiously to the side, “What is this? A lovers’ spat?”

  “NO!” Alex and Cate both yelled the answer at the same time.

  The pagoda fell quiet and Alex felt compelled to speak, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but after what we saw reported on the television, we must find out why they’re after us before we go to the embassy. If we turn ourselves in, they’ll arrest us on the spot and put us away. They have already trumped up enough charges for three life sentences. We have no other choice.”

  “Are you sure they won’t listen to us?”

  “Cate, you saw the news story. They are claiming we are radicals and terrorists. They’ll say we stole the car, and even though we’ll return the passports and money, with the video footage of us at the museum, it wouldn’t take a Perry Mason to convict us. If they detain us as armed fugitives, we wouldn’t even be allowed to post bail. We have to keep going.”

  “I know what it’s like to have people after you,” Eddie understood what Alex was saying. “You both know I was locked up inside and it’s definitely not cool. But we’re stuck and we have no options. We can’t clear our names sitting here, and we can’t go anywhere without being recognized. Not after they had our pictures on the TV. Now it’s not just me out there but you guys too. They would find us in minutes.”

  “Then there’s no other way; tomorrow we must change the way we look before we can be seen together again,” stated Alex.

  “You’re right. I guess we have to. I can cut my hair and color it.” Cate put her hand on Eddie’s head and ruffled his long hair, “You too, Dave Grohl.”

  It was a little before eight when Alex returned to the pagoda with three hot coffees and a pair of scissors. Eddie was happy to take the drink but leery of the scissors.

  “Why can’t I go to a hairdresser’s?” he asked.

  “Because a certain long-haired American teen’s picture is all over London,” answered Cate. “If I cut it short first, then a barber can clean it up and might not know it’s you.” She grinned, “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

  “You better be. Took me seventeen years to grow it.” Eddie turned around as Cate advanced toward him with the scissors.

  The men’s barbershop on Golborne Road was hardly high fashi
on but it was exactly the mom and pop operation they had been looking for, a small business pleased to take cash from an early customer. Eddie emerged, obviously unsure about his new buzz cut. Alex stood waiting for him; his hair slicked back with a pomade he’d picked up when he had bought the scissors that morning.

  “Where’s Cate?” asked Eddie.

  “Getting her hair done, same as you did.”

  “I didn’t see her in there,” wondered Eddie.

  “She’s not. We couldn’t all use the same place. They’re looking for the three of us. She found a little salon two streets over. We’re going to meet her back at the park when she’s done.”

  “Then what?”

  It was Alex’s turn to be unenthusiastic, “Clothes shopping.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously.”

  Portobello Road’s famed flea market was in full swing with a dozen streets closed down to traffic and packed with people looking for a bargain.

  A thousand stalls crammed each street, alleyway, and mews, selling food, fruit, antiques, bric-a-brac, signs, fake Rolexes, classic vinyl, books, furniture, and clothes, new and used, of every type and decade.

  Noise filled the air, not only from the stands’ proprietors yelling to lure in customers, but from the street performers on every corner playing original songs and cover tunes in the hope their busking would earn them money.

  The hordes of eager shoppers concentrated on finding bargains, and paid no attention to the three people sifting through the vintage clothes on display. Perhaps one or two heard the excited laughter from the cute girl who held up a psychedelic sixties kaftan and giggled “How about this? It’s hippie chic and it’ll match my do,” but if they did, they probably didn’t realize her red hair and short bob was less than an hour old, and still new to her.

  Alex discouraged the bright paisley outfit Cate liked, “The idea is to blend in, not draw attention to yourself.”

  Reluctantly, Cate returned the flower-power flashback to its hanger.

  Eddie saw something and grabbed it for Cate. It was a matching pink T-shirt and hoodie, “This’ll look good on you, and everyone will think you’re a local.”