by Steve Berry
“He was there. But he’s fine.”
Not good. Time to play his trump card. “I have the flash drive, which contains a complete translation of Robert Cecil’s journal. I read it. Which means I’m not forgetting it.”
“I have that translation now myself.”
“I also know what this is all about.”
He paused.
“Ireland.”
Silence on the other end of the phone confirmed his suspicion.
“What do you want?” Mathews finally asked.
“My son, and to be gone from here.”
“And what of all that you know?”
“That’s my insurance to make sure you behave. I can email that drive to Stephanie Nelle with one click. In fact, I have it loaded up right now. Would you like me to send it along to her? The CIA would probably love to know that what they were after is real. They’d also love to know that you killed two of their men. Maybe they’ll pay you back by releasing it all to the world, just to spite Downing Street.”
Mathews chuckled. “We both know that once you do any of that I have nothing left to gain. You, on the other hand, still have something to lose. Your son.”
“That’s right, you son of a bitch. So cut the crap and let’s make a deal.”
“I know where Antrim is headed. He, too, has Cecil’s translation.”
“Blackfriars Abbey is gone.”
“I see you do know. And you’re right, it is gone. But the Tudor sanctuary is not. If I give you Antrim, will you give me the drive?”
“I can still tell Washington.”
“You could, but you won’t. This is personal, not business. Your son is at stake. For me, it’s the other way around.”
He knew better, but said what was expected. “Deal.”
“Then here is where you must go.”
IAN COULD HEAR THE ENTIRE CONVERSATION THROUGH THE phone, the hotel room dead quiet. The other three women were likewise listening. Malone was playing the old man, controlling his anger, keeping himself calm, using his brain. He could relate to that. He’d survived on the streets doing the exact same thing. But he was bothered by the fact that most of this seemed his fault. He stole the flash drive. Then pepper-sprayed the old man. He fled to America. And ran from that mews.
But he came back.
And stole Antrim’s phone. Which gave them the translation.
Without that, Malone would have nothing to bargain with.
So he’d also helped.
But he still felt responsible for Malone’s anguish.
And he wanted to help.
MALONE HUNG UP THE PHONE.
He turned to see Kathleen Richards staring at him, realizing they’d all heard what Mathews had said.
“He cannot be trusted,” Richards said.
“Like I don’t know that.”
His mind raced.
One more phone call.
He lifted the receiver and dialed overseas for Stephanie Nelle.
“I’m about to engage Thomas Mathews,” he said.
Then he told her what had happened.
“I need a straight answer,” he said to her. “No bullshit. Did the CIA explain to you Operation King’s Deception?”
“Your asking that question means you already know the answer.”
That he did. “It’s Ireland. Right?”
And she explained.
THE MODERN TROUBLES BEGAN IN 1966 AND LASTED UNTIL 2003, the violence claiming 3,703 lives. Nearly 40,000 people were injured. A shocking amount of mayhem considering only about 900,000 Protestants and 600,000 Catholics lived in Northern Ireland during that time. For three long decades violence, distrust, fear, and hatred marred that country, eventually exported to England and Europe.
The seeds of that conflict, though, stretched way back.
Some experts point to the Anglo-Norman invasion of Ireland by Henry II in 1169 as the beginning. More realistically, it all began with the Tudors. Henry VIII was the first to take an interest in Ireland, invading and controlling the area in and around Dublin, slowly extending his hold outward, conciliation and innovation the weapons he used to subdue the local lords. Henry was so successful that an act of the Irish Parliament in 1541 proclaimed him king of Ireland. But rebellion was a constant threat. Troops were occasionally dispatched and skirmishes fought. Complicating matters was the fact that Ireland was overwhelmingly loyal to Rome and the pope, while Henry required allegiance to his new Protestant religion.
So a spiritual divide emerged. Local Irish Catholics versus the newly arrived English Protestants.
Ireland remained relatively unimportant during the short reigns of the next two Tudors, Edward VI and Mary.
Under Elizabeth I everything changed.
Personally, Elizabeth viewed the island as a wilderness and preferred to ignore it. But a series of rebellions, which called into question her entire foreign policy, forced her into action. A great army was sent, the rebellions crushed, and, as a consequence for defiance, Irish land was seized. The influence of Gaelic clans and Anglo-Norman dynasties, which had existed there for centuries, ended. Title to all land shifted to the Crown. Elizabeth then granted ownership, leases, and licenses to English colonists who formed plantations. This confiscation had first started during the time of Henry VIII, and continued in small doses through Edward and Mary, but it accelerated during Elizabeth’s reign, then reached its peak with her successor, James I. To work the newly acquired land, large numbers of Englishmen, Scots, and Welsh immigrated to Ireland. The idea of encouraging both colonists and plantations was to conquer Ireland from within, settling the country with loyal Englishmen beholden to the Crown. The English language would also be imported, as would English customs and beliefs. Irish culture would be eradicated.
This sowed the seeds of a bitter cultural and religious conflict, one that would endure for centuries. Catholic Irish Nationalists versus Protestant English Unionists.
Cromwell came in the 1640s and massacred thousands. The United Irish Rebellion, during the 1790s, was also brutally suppressed. The famine years of the 1840s nearly crushed everyone. Home rule was tried in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, where the Dublin Parliament governed Ireland, but remaining answerable to London. A farce, which only widened the division. Irish society progressively grew more militant and radical. A war of independence, fought in 1919 between the Irish Republican Army and the British, ended with a solution neither side wanted. Ireland was partitioned, reduced from 32 to 26 counties, all in the south, where Catholic Nationalists dominated. The remaining six counties, all in the north, where Protestant Unionists were a majority, became the separate country of Northern Ireland.
Violence started immediately.
One factional group after another arose with its own radical agenda. Riots became commonplace. Minority Catholics in Northern Ireland began to feel threatened and lashed out, then Unionists retaliated, establishing a vicious cycle of strike and counterstrike. Coalition governments were tried. All failed. The Irish to the south and the Nationalists in the north wanted the English Protestants gone. The Protestant Unionists wanted their rights and lands protected by London, since it was the British Crown that had granted them in the first place. The six counties of Northern Ireland were initially chartered by Elizabeth I from seized Irish land, and every incoming owner there traced their title to a royal grant. At a minimum, the Unionists argued, London must protect their legal rights.
And London did.
Sending troops to suppress Nationalists.
Eventually, at the height of the Troubles, Nationalists brought the conflict to London and Europe and bombings became commonplace across the continent. An uneasy peace came in 1998, which has held ever since. But both sides remain deeply suspicious of the other, only tentatively willing to work together to avoid further bloodshed.
None of the root causes of the conflict has ever been resolved.
The same debate that started long ago continues.
Bitter feelings
remain.
Nationalists want a united Ireland ruled by Irish.
Unionists want Northern Ireland to continue as part of Great Britain.
IAN LISTENED AS THE FOUR ADULTS TALKED. MALONE HAD FINISHED his call and told them that his former boss, a woman named Stephanie Nelle, had confirmed that Antrim was focused on Northern Ireland—he’d listened to the history—and on some Arab terrorist who was about to be released from a Scottish jail. The Americans wanted the British to stop the release, and to get them to do that they intended on finding evidence that Elizabeth I was not what she appeared, calling into question her entire reign, throwing into doubt the legitimacy of Northern Ireland itself.
“What a reckless scheme,” Malone said.
“And a dangerous one,” Richards said. “I can see why Mathews is concerned. It would not take much to reignite massive amounts of violence within Northern Ireland. Periodically, there are attacks here and there from both sides. The fight is definitely not over. It’s just simmering, each waiting for a good reason to start killing the other.”
“The peace was made,” Tanya said, “because at the time it was the only course. The British are there, in Northern Ireland. They aren’t leaving. And killing people wasn’t accomplishing anything.”
“Think what would happen if the truth were known,” Miss Mary quietly said. “If Elizabeth I was indeed a fraud. That means everything done during that reign was fraudulent. Void. Illegal.”
“Including every acre of land seized and every land grant made in Northern Ireland,” Malone said. “Not one would have any legal effect. The six counties that form the country were all seized by Elizabeth.”
“Would it matter?” Tanya asked. “After five hundred years?”
“Definitely,” Malone said. “It’s like if I sold you my house and you live there for decades. Then one day someone shows up with proof that the deed I gave you is a fraud. I didn’t have the power to actually convey title to you in the first place. It’s elementary real property law that the deed would be void. Of no legal effect. Any court here, or in America, would have to respect the true title to that land, not the fraudulent act of my transfer.”
“A battle that would be fought in court,” Richards said.
“But one the Irish would win,” Malone added.
“Worse, though,” Richards said. “The truth alone would be more than enough for Unionists and Nationalists to restart the Troubles. Only this time they’d actually have a legal reason to fight. You can almost hear the Irish Nationalists. They’ve been trying to get the British to leave for 500 years. Now they’d scream, Your fake queen invaded our country and stole our land. The least you can do is give it back and leave. But that wouldn’t happen. London would resist. It would have to. They’ve never abandoned the Unionists in Northern Ireland, and they won’t start now. There are billions of pounds invested there. London would have to stand and fight. Whether that’s in court or in the streets. It would be an all-out war. Neither side would bend.”
“Of course,” Malone said to her, “if your government would simply stop Edinburgh from handing a murderer back to Libya, there wouldn’t be a problem.”
“I don’t like that any more than you do. But that doesn’t excuse this foolhardy tactic. Do you know how many thousands of people could die from this?”
“Which is why I’m going to give the flash drive to Mathews,” Malone said.
“And what about Ian?” Richards asked.
“Good question. What about me?”
Malone faced him. “You know that Mathews wants you dead.”
He nodded.
“The question is,” Malone said, “how far is he willing to go to clean up this mess? Especially now that a lot more people know about it. He has more than one loose end. So I’ll take care of that, too.”
Malone looked at Richards.
“We have to go.”
“Sir Thomas never mentioned me coming.”
“I need your help.”
“I’m going, too,” Ian said.
“Like hell. Mathews never mentioned you on the phone. That means one of two things. He doesn’t know where you are, or he’s waiting for us to leave to make a move. I’d say the former. Too much happened too fast for him to know anything. If he did, he’d have acted already. Also, I need you out of the way so I can bargain for your safety. If he has you I have no bargaining power.”
Malone faced the twin sisters.
“Stay put here, with Ian, until you hear from me.”
“And what happens if we never hear from you?” Miss Mary asked.
“You will.”
Fifty-seven
ANTRIM APPROACHED THE CONSTRUCTION SITE, GARY WALKING with him. The old Blackfriars tube station had been demolished, replaced by a shiny, glass-fronted building that seemed about half complete. A plywood wall separated the work site from the sidewalk, the Thames within sight less than a hundred yards away. A newly reconstructed Victorian rail bridge now spanned the river, upon which was being built a modern railway station. He’d read somewhere that this was London’s first transportation center ever built over water.
Through a break in the plywood barrier he spotted no workers. Though it was Saturday, some should be here. Mathews had told him to head for this particular corner of the site. To his right, traffic raced by on a busy avenue that headed south across the Thames. He still carried the knapsack with explosives inside, the only weapon he possessed, and he had no intention of entering this trap unarmed.
A maze of heavy equipment littered the scarred earth. Deep gouges in the ground, yards wide and extra deep, stretched toward the riverbank. Train tracks lay at the bottom, straight lines disappearing inside the new bridge station, heading toward the far south bank. He recalled this place from his youth. A busy station. Lots of people in and out every day. But not today. The site was deserted.
Which was exactly what Thomas Mathews would want.
So far he’d followed directions.
Time for some improvising.
MALONE RODE IN THE UNDERGROUND, TAKING A TRAIN FROM Belgravia east to a station near the Inns of Court, close to Blackfriars. Kathleen Richards sat beside him. He could still hear what Stephanie Nelle had told him on the phone half an hour ago.
“It’s the CIA attempting to save the day,” she said. “Forty years ago a group of Irish lawyers actually tried to prove that Elizabeth I was a fraud. It’s called the Bisley Boy legend—”
“Just like Bram Stoker said in his book.”
“To their credit, they were trying to find a legal, nonviolent way to force the British to leave Northern Ireland. At that time the Troubles were in full swing. People were dying every day. No end seemed in sight. If they could prove in court that all British claims to their lands were false, legal precedent could be used to reunite Ireland.”
“Clever. And it might have been a good idea then, but not now.”
“I agree. The slightest provocation could restart the violence. But the CIA was desperate. They worked hard to find al-Megrahi, then bring him to trial. To see him just walk away galled them to no end. The White House wanted something. Anything to stop it. So Langley thought a little blackmail might work. Unfortunately, they forgot that this president isn’t the type to do that, especially to an ally.”
On that he agreed.
“The CIA director and myself just had a spirited discussion,” she said. “Currently, the White House is unaware of what they’ve been doing, and they’d like to keep it that way. Especially since the whole operation failed. But with SIS now involved, this could become a source of extreme embarrassment for everyone.”
“And they want me to clean up the mess.”
“Something like that. Unfortunately, that prisoner transfer is going to happen. The goal now is not to allow an international PR disaster to amplify the situation. It seems the British know everything about King’s Deception. The only thing going for us is they don’t want the world to know.”
“I don’
t give a damn.”
“I realize that Gary is your only concern. But, as you say, he’s with Antrim. And Langley has no idea where that might be.”
Which was why he’d called Mathews.
And was walking into a trap.
“What do you want me to do?” Richards asked him.
He faced her. “Why are you on suspension?”
He saw that she was surprised he knew that.
“I caused a lot of bother trying to arrest some people. But that’s nothing new for me.”
“Good. ’Cause I need some bother. Lots of it, in fact.”
IAN HAD NOT LIKED MALONE’S REFUSAL TO ALLOW HIM TO GO along. He was not accustomed to people telling him what to do. He made his own decisions. Not even Miss Mary gave him orders.
“This is all so unbelievable,” Tanya said. “So incredible. Imagine the historical implications.”
But he didn’t care about that.
He wanted to be where things were happening.
And that was Blackfriars station.
He sat on one of the chairs inside the hotel room.
“Are you hungry?” Miss Mary asked him.
He nodded.
“I can order you something.”
She stepped across the room to the phone. Her sister sat at the desk with the laptop. He bolted for the door and fled into the hall. The stairs seemed the best route down, so he headed for the lighted sign.
He heard the room door open and turned back.
Miss Mary stared at him with a look of concern.
He stopped and faced her.
She didn’t have to say a word. The watery gloss in her eyes told him what she was thinking.
That he should not go.
But her eyes also made clear that she was powerless to stop him.
“Be careful,” she said. “Be ever so careful.”
GARY FOLLOWED ANTRIM ONTO THE CONSTRUCTION SITE. They wove a path through heavy equipment across the damp soil, dodging puddles from yesterday’s rain. A massive concrete shell lay inside one of the open trenches, twenty feet down, its damp walls being dried by the afternoon sun. Eventually, the entire structure would be covered with dirt. For now, though, its sides, roof, pipes, and cables were exposed, the rectangle stretching fifty yards toward the river, where it disappeared into the ground, beneath a section of closed-off street.
