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

by Richard Blade

  Cate held it up and took one look at the two crossed hammers and the red lettering and grimaced in disgust, “I am not walking around wearing an ad for meat!”

  “West Ham is a soccer team.”

  “Really?” Cate took a second look, “I like soccer players. It is kind of cute.”

  They paid the vendor at the stall and turned back to the crowded streets.

  “Next up, some clothes for you boys.”

  “I’ll be easy, as long as it’s not another I heart London T-shirt,” said Eddie. “What about him?” He pointed at Alex.

  Cate grinned, “I’ll find him something less…professorly.”

  Costa Coffee was always busy at lunchtime, and with their transient in and out crowd, it was the perfect place for the three fugitives to disappear in plain sight. And had anyone been looking for the long-haired teen, the pretty blond and the wavy-haired professor whose picture had been splashed on every television news channel and in the papers the night before, they wouldn’t have recognized them as the hip-hop kid in the baseball cap, Clash T-shirt, baggy jeans and Nike knock-offs, or the hot red head in her tight soccer top, yoga pants and matching hoodie.

  Alex came back from the counter carrying a tray of drinks and sandwiches. As he slid the refreshments on the table, Eddie laughed, “At least we look good.”

  Alex was taken aback for a moment and reassessed the leather jacket he wore over his plain white T-shirt and dark pants. “I thought you said I looked cool?”

  “You do,” reassured Cate, “and when all this is over you should keep your hair like that. Slicked back looks good on you.”

  “I don’t know about that,” said Alex. “And this leather jacket might be a bit too Village People for me.”

  Cate and Eddie stared back at him with blank looks.

  “Come on. You know the Village People.”

  Their faces said the opposite.

  “YMCA?”

  Still nothing.

  “Okay, so disco is dead. Down to business. Are the new cell phones working?”

  This was more Cate’s speed, “Yes, all three are up and running. They have twenty hours of pre-paid calling in them, so if we get separated, we can let each other know where we are. But they’re really basic; cheap camera, no maps, limited internet search capability, and a small flashlight.”

  “Spotify?” asked Eddie.

  Cate shook her head.

  “Let’s assume the pay-as-you-go phones are good enough and we know for certain they are not linked to us, so right now we can’t be tracked. It’s why they are tracking us we need to find out,” said Alex.

  “There’s so many questions,” said Cate. “Like why did the British Secret Service come to the States to kidnap Eddie? What has Mary Kelly got to do with MI6? And whose DNA did they test Eddie’s against?”

  “Could it have been Jack the Ripper’s?” asked Eddie.

  “Definitely not. We can be certain of that,” stated Alex. “He was never caught so they had no DNA from him, and we already proved you are descended from Mary so that DNA test would be pointless even if they somehow had a sample from her. The only person who makes sense would be the father of Mary’s child, to cement both sides of the bloodline. If only I hadn’t left the letter in the hotel when we ran.”

  “I have a copy. I scanned everything in, remember?” She flipped open her laptop and logged in. Alex stared at the screen as the image faded up.

  “That isn’t the same letter I had. There’s something different about it.”

  “You are good! This is a file of it I copied and pasted into Word. I’ll pull up the original.” Cate found it in a desktop folder.

  “Can you bring up both? Side by side? I’d like to see the difference,” asked Alex.

  Cate opened a second window and slid the two letters, the original scan and the Word version, next to each other.

  “There, that’s where they vary.” Alex pointed to the screen.

  “Oh yeah,” Cate saw it too, “Spell check picked up a mistake. Mary didn’t capitalize a name. Vic. Word red lined the error for her, or at least, for us.”

  “Hold on.” Alex studied both letters then looked away from the screen, “How did your computer know it was a mistake?”

  “Because it happens all the time, you screw up a word or forget to capitalize something. That’s why spellcheck is so useful. It catches your mistakes and points out your errors. Helped me with my term papers," admitted Cate.

  “Yes, but back then, people were more careful. There were no phones and no internet, and using the mail was the only way of keeping in touch. Letter writing was an art and considered very important. That’s why families saved and treasured correspondence, and Mary didn’t make any other mistakes and her handwriting is clear, it doesn’t look rushed.”

  “If it wasn’t a mistake, what was it?” Eddie hadn’t seen the letter before and was puzzled.

  “Maybe it was part of her message and she knew Sarah would understand. The letter says ‘vic Donovan told us, perhaps God has other plans for my son and me’ and everyone has always assumed Mary was talking about a Victor Donovan. But if she meant to write vic Donovan, and it wasn’t an error, it would be entirely different.”

  “But aren’t Vic and Victor the same? Like my name, Eddie and Edward, or Cate and Caitlin?”

  “If it was a name. But it’s not capitalized and all the other names are. What if it’s an abbreviation?” Alex’s mind was racing.

  “What kind of abbreviation?” Cate picked up on his train of thought, feeling his excitement.

  “Like doc for doctor, or cop for copper, as the British call them. If it is, then in this case, vic could be short for vicar. That changes the letter’s meaning and it becomes vicar Donovan, a man of the church, who tells Mary that God has other plans for them.”

  “If you’re correct, it would be huge for us. We couldn’t locate a Victor Donovan back then, but there couldn’t have been many vicar Donovans in 1892.” Cate was getting excited too.

  “But even if that’s right, how would we find him when it’s so long ago?” Eddie was confused.

  “We track down vicar Donovan’s parish from the late eighteen-hundreds and see if there is evidence remaining of any interaction he had with Mary Kelly.”

  “How would you do that?”

  Alex finally smiled, this was his area of expertise, “Fortunately the Church is very precise at keeping records over the years. And here in London, there’s one place where we can certainly find them.”

  Throngs of tourists packed the outside of the massive former cathedral, photographing the building that had been the site of every monarch’s coronation since 1066 and then immortalized across the globe when it held the funeral of Princess Diana in 1997. Situated close to Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey remained a towering example of classic architecture and British history.

  Two people waited impatiently on Sanctuary Road for their companion to appear from the legendary church. When he did, his walk was brisk and confident, reflecting he had found what he had been looking for inside. He quickly reached Cate and Eddie.

  “Well?” asked Cate.

  “Sorry if I kept you waiting, it took me awhile, but I have the location of his parish.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. We have to make our way across town and get to Liverpool Street Station. We’re leaving London.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Thaxted

  The trio sat huddled in a first-class compartment of the Stansted Express as it hurtled northwards to meet the connecting bus which would take them on to their final destination. With the reserved cabin to themselves, Alex went over his discoveries with them.

  “Vicar Donovan’s parish was St. John The Baptist’s church in Thaxted. It’s ninety minutes by train and bus for us, so it would have taken Mary many hours, even a full day, to get there by carriage.”

  “Why would she go so far to a church? My Sunday school was ten minutes away
and I used to bitch about that,” wondered Cate.

  “I don’t know. None of her friends would have been there, we can be certain of that,” answered Alex.

  “Perhaps that’s why. Maybe she didn’t want anyone she knew to see her,” suggested Eddie.

  “You could be right,” Alex hadn’t considered that. “But why didn’t she want to be recognized? And what was she doing at a church, of all places, that she needed to keep a secret so badly?”

  His friends had no answer, and Alex fell deep into thought as the speeding train left the sprawling metropolis of London behind and the crowded buildings were replaced by green fields and lush countryside.

  Colin Brown riffled through the notes piling up on his desk. How could there be no leads on these three, he kept asking himself. If only his agency were in charge of domestic surveillance, things would be different. It was at that moment his cell rang.

  He knew the number as he grabbed the phone, “What?”

  Simon heard the anger and anxiety in his counterpart’s voice, “Hopefully, good news. The Met picked them up on CCTV at Liverpool Street Station. They’ve changed their look and their clothes, but we have confirmed facial recognition.”

  “About time those bloody cameras found something. How long ago?”

  “The video is a little more than two hours old. An agent was monitoring the platforms for pickpockets and came across them. They left by train for Thaxted.”

  “Thaxted?” This was not a town Colin knew, “Where the hell is Thaxted?”

  “It’s in Essex. About ninety minutes from here by train.”

  “Shit.” Colin did the math in his head, “That means they’re there by now. Contact the local constabulary. Send pictures and tell them who to look for but if they are located, they are only to follow them. We’ll take two of your teams with us. How big is the Thaxted police department?”

  “Four officers. Two part-time.”

  “Christ!”

  Thaxted Parish Church soared skyward from a hill overlooking the small town. It seemed out of place, its one-hundred-and-eighty-one-foot tower dwarfing the tiny village it served. The building, dating back to the fourteenth century, appeared ageless as it sat surrounded by a sea of gravestones, a cemetery documenting the history of Thaxted.

  The three Americans walked inside the classic church, between the arched stone walls and the ancient wooden ceiling forty feet above them, with the current minister, vicar Williams.

  The pastor thanked them once again, “Your donation was very generous.”

  “As it says in Matthew 22, verse 21, ‘Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s’.”

  “You are well read, my son. Although my role here is hardly as imperial as the emperor’s was.” The vicar smiled in recognition at Alex’s knowledge of the scriptures. “Some of our records you may be looking for are in the crypt but the majority of the BMD books are up here.”

  “BMD?” Eddie was not familiar with the term, “Is that a shorthand for texting, like OMG or YOLO?”

  The vicar laughed, “No, my child. BMD is short for Births, Marriages and Deaths. They tend to be the most important records held at a Church. Our volumes from the late eighteen-hundreds are surprisingly complete.”

  “Why surprising?” asked Alex.

  “Our vicar Donovan was a complex character. He spent far too much time with, let me say, ladies of loose morals. Plus, he liked his drink. It certainly made for…” he paused as he sought the correct words, “…an interesting combination. But he kept good records. Check these books. If you can’t find what you’re looking for here, then come and get me, and I’ll open the crypt and you can go through the ones down there.”

  The vicar bowed and walked off, leaving them alone.

  Eddie raised his eyebrows and looked to Alex for answers, “Vicar Donovan liked ladies with loose morals and drinking? I thought priests couldn’t do that shit.”

  “It’s Church of England. Vicars are allowed to drink in moderation and have girlfriends,” explained Alex.

  “My kind of religion,” grinned Eddie.

  “Boys,” Cate brought them back to earth. “Time to get started.” She picked up the first volume labeled Births, Marriages and Deaths.

  It was forty minutes before Alex suddenly surfaced from one of the massive leather-bound books, “I have it right here! August 4th, 1888. Albert Christian Wettin and Mary Jane Kelly, both of London, were joined together, in holy matrimony, by vicar Donovan. We’ve found Mary’s husband!”

  The trio stood waiting patiently outside the carved wooden door leading to the rectory at the rear of the church. Vicar Williams reappeared lugging the big book with a sheet of paper balanced on top of it.

  “It’s not a great copy, but it’s as good as my little machine can do. It hasn’t been updated for at least a decade,” he apologized.

  Alex took the Xerox and glanced at it, “This is perfect. It’s exactly what we need. Thank you.”

  “I’m happy you are pleased with it. When you’re in the crypt, let me know if I can be of any help finding the records for you down there.”

  “We will.” Alex led Cate and Eddie back down the long, narrow aisle and through the heavy wooden door to the ancient, well-worn curving stairs leading down into the church’s crypt.

  Had the stone walls not been so thick, and the crypt so deep, they might have heard the screech of tires as three para-military vehicles squealed to a halt on the gravel-covered driveway outside of the old church.

  Colin and Simon, in black assault gear, were out of the armored cars almost before they came to a complete stop.

  Simon was the first to spot the person they were looking for, “That must be him over there.”

  “You deal with him. You’re MI5.”

  Simon shook his head at Colin’s request, “No, you put this thing together. Plus, he heard it’s a joint op and wants to talk with MI6. Says he’s never met a spy before.”

  Colin saw a uniformed British Bobby pedaling toward them on a bicycle. The older police officer pulled up next to the two men, dismounted and took his time as he balanced his bike on its kickstand.

  Colin couldn’t wait any longer, “Constable Darby?”

  “That’s me, sir. I’m in charge while the sarge is on holiday in Benidorm. He’ll be sad he missed a chance to work with MI6. It’s quite something for us, having you here. Do you have a section card for our files?”

  Annoyed, Colin reached inside his Kevlar vest and pulled out a card. Constable Darby studied it, and happy with what he saw, slipped it into his pocket.

  “Are you’re sure they’re in there?” Colin’s tone held nothing but haste.

  “Hang on one second. Let me slip these off.” Constable Darby bent down and carefully removed the bicycle clips from his pants’ legs. “Better now. Have to wear them so my trousers don’t get caught up with the pedals and gears. Makes an oily mess, and gives the wife some awful laundry to do.”

  “Right.” Colin couldn’t care less, he wanted his question answered, “So?”

  “Sorry, sir, what was it you were asking again?”

  It was all the MI6 officer could do not to scream, “Are they in there?”

  “Yes, sir. I peeked inside and saw them myself after I got the call. And there’s only two ways out. The front door and the vestibule. I’ve kept my eye on them ever since, and from where I was watching, they couldn’t leave from either way without me seeing them.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Yes, sir. This has been my church since I was a choirboy here forty-three years ago. I was a budding young soprano with a strong middle C,” he said proudly.

  Colin was done with him and his small-town pleasantries, and switched to Simon, “Seal both doors. Set a tight perimeter around the church. This time they are not getting away.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Constable Darby.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” Colin snapped. “You can stand down.” He gestured to Simon, “His men from Five will ha
ndle it from here on out.”

  “Then what would you like the Thaxted constabulary to do?”

  “You go...cycle over there and keep back the crowds.” Colin pointed randomly into the distance across the cemetery. Anything to lose this fool.

  “We don’t have crowds in Thaxted. It’s a small village, you know.”

  “Just do it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Constable Darby bent down to replace his bicycle clips before pedaling off.

  Colin ignored him as he conferred with Simon, “We don’t have much daylight left; once the perimeter’s set, I’m going in.”

  “How many do you want in your team?”

  Colin pulled his Glock 17 and carried out a press check to confirm the chamber was loaded as he replied, “None. You maintain the perimeter. This time I go in alone.”

  Colin’s reinforced boots sounded out of place as his footfalls echoed through the ancient church, dampened only by the seven-hundred-year-old stained glass, the intricate hanging wool tapestries, and the worn but beautifully carved wooden paneling running the length of the nave along the rafters. Hearing the unusual noise, the vicar left his rectory to find the source of the strange reverberations shaking his house of worship.

  Despite the intruder’s aggressive appearance, the minister greeted Colin with a welcoming smile, “We normally only see men in uniform for our veteran’s day services.”

  “Every day is veteran’s day for me, father. Three Americans are here, correct?” Colin was not wasting time.

  “Yes, they are in the crypt.”

  “What are they doing there?”

  “I think they’re tracing their roots as many foreigners like to do. They were looking through our records. I gave them access to our books,” he pointed to the five huge volumes he had not yet put away.

  “Show me.” Colin’s tone indicated it was not a request.

  “Certainly. Our church records are available to all.” He pulled open one of the books and turned to the appropriate page, “This is the entry they were concerned with.”

  Colin read through it and stiffened in shock at what he saw, “Are you sure it was this?”