by Steve Berry
His mother was to blame.
But he didn’t want him questioning her just yet.
That would come later.
Pam would be furious once she discovered what had happened here and, if he knew her at all, there was no telling what she’d say to Gary about him. But if this were played right, it wouldn’t matter. By then the boy would be far more suspect of her than of him. After all, she was the one who’d lied all of his life. Why should Gary believe her now?
But there was still the matter of Cotton Malone, who was nearby and could reassert himself before Gary had time to digest everything.
He could not allow that to happen.
Hopefully, the chat they’d just had would begin to raise questions in Gary’s mind. He needed him to recognize that his dad bore some responsibility for this, too. Worked right, the boy might just begin to blame Cotton Malone. Which would make what he’d decided to do that much easier for Gary to accept.
“I need to make a call,” he said. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
* * *
Gary watched as Antrim left the office, leaving him alone inside. Through the window he saw the tables with the books and computers. He had no idea what all of this was about, only that it seemed important. He wondered what his dad was doing.
And he hoped Ian wasn’t in too much trouble.
His mother had made clear that she never wanted his birth father to be part of their life. No reasons had been offered and he’d not understood why.
Now he was even more confused.
Blake Antrim seemed like an okay guy. And just like everyone else, he hadn’t known the truth until recently.
And when he did find out, he’d immediately acted.
That said something.
What was he to do?
He’d been presented with an unexpected opportunity. He had a ton of questions for both Antrim and his dad. Tops on the list? Would his mother have ever been with another man if not for what his dad had done with other women? Antrim had been there. He saw things firsthand. And he’d made clear that his mother was really hurt.
He needed to talk about this with someone.
But who?
He couldn’t call his mother. Big mistake.
And his dad was seeing about Ian.
There was no one who’d even possibly understand his anger and confusion.
Other than Blake Antrim.
Thirty-one
Malone watched as Kathleen Richards kept her gun lowered but her gaze locked on him. He, too, still held his weapon. He turned to Miss Mary and asked, “What happened?”
“The man who fell from the steps tried to leave, but this officer was outside and shot through the glass.”
“He had a gun strapped to his leg,” Richards added. “I decided not to wait around and see what happened.”
“The bloke started firing,” Ian said. “People were scattering everywhere. She”—Ian pointed at Richards—“hit the pavement. Then he darted away.”
“I couldn’t get a clean shot at him,” Richards said, “because of the crowd.”
“And no one was hit?”
Richards shook her head. “Everyone is okay.”
Sirens could be heard, growing louder.
“The Met,” Richards said to him. “Let me handle them.”
“Gladly. We’re leaving.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that, Mr. Malone. I must speak with you. Can you hang around a bit, just until I’ve dealt with the police? A few minutes is all I need.”
He considered her request. Why not?
Besides, he had a few questions of his own.
“Upstairs,” Miss Mary said. “In the apartment. Wait there until they’re gone. I’ll help this young lady. I can say it was a robbery attempt gone wrong. She interrupted the thieves and scared them off.”
Worked for him.
“Okay. Ian and I will be upstairs.”
* * *
Kathleen had made a fast summation of Cotton Malone. Intense. Focused. And gutsy. He’d challenged her without a hint of concern.
She’d had no choice but to fire at the man in the store. He’d returned fire and she’d been concerned about people on the sidewalk. But either the man was the worst shot she’d ever seen, or he’d aimed high, intentionally not placing anyone in danger. Because of what she’d learned during the past few hours she gravitated to the latter conclusion, which only added to her mounting confusion.
The sirens grew loud and two Metropolitan Police cars stopped on the street, their lights flashing. Four uniformed officers emerged and rushed to the store. She already held her SOCA identification, which the lead officer seemed not to care about.
“Hand over your weapon.”
Had she heard him right? “Why do I have to do that?”
“Someone tried to rob my store,” the older lady said. “He had a gun. This woman stopped that.”
Two officers guarded the front door. The other two seemed unconcerned about the possibility that any crime had occurred.
“The weapon,” the officer said again.
She handed him the gun.
“Take her.”
The other officer grabbed her arms and twisted both behind her back.
She whirled, reversed his grip, and slammed her knee into his stomach. He doubled forward and she kicked him hard, turning to deal with the other policeman.
“Down on the floor,” the officer ordered, the gun now aimed at her.
She held her ground. “Why are you doing this?”
“Now.”
The two other officers fled their position at the front door and appeared to her right. She debated challenging them, then decided three-to-one odds were not good.
“Hands in the air,” the first officer said. “And down to the floor.”
She complied and they secured her wrists behind her back with a plastic binding that dug into her flesh.
Then they wrestled her up and led her from the store.
* * *
Malone faced Ian and asked, “Where’s the flash drive?”
The boy smiled. “I didn’t think you were fooled by what Miss Mary did.”
She’d been far too eager to direct him to that metal box — and the color of the drive was not the same from earlier.
Ian stuffed a hand into his pant pocket and removed a drive, which he tossed over.
“Miss Mary is pretty smart, isn’t she?” Ian asked.
That she was. And bold, too. With a gun to her head she’d managed to play out the bluff. “I imagine those men might be a little agitated when they realize they were fooled.”
“That could be a bother. Can you look after Miss Mary?”
“You can count on it.”
He studied the drive, recalling all that he’d read. And the password-protected file — that had to be the prize.
“Why did you run at the café?” he asked Ian, not having received an answer when he inquired earlier.
“I don’t like strangers. Especially those who look like police.”
“I’m a stranger.”
“You’re different.”
“What spooked you in the car that night, after you stole this drive?”
Ian’s face froze as he considered the question. “Who said I was scared?”
“You were.”
“Those two men would have killed me. I could see it on the old guy’s face before I pepper-sprayed him. He wanted the drive, then he was going to kill me. I never faced that before.” The boy paused. “You’re right. It scared me.”
He realized how hard that admission must have been, especially for someone who trusted no one and nothing.
“It’s why I ran from you at the café. I saw men in coats with a look in their eye. I don’t like that look. I never had anyone wanting me dead before.”
“Is that why you left for the United States?”
Ian nodded. “I stumbled onto the bloke one day. He offered me a trip to the States and I thought
it the best place to go. I could see he was trouble. But it was better than here. I just wanted to get away.”
Downstairs was silent.
Malone found his phone and punched in the number provided to him earlier.
“I have Ian and the drive,” he told Antrim. “But there’s a problem.” And he reported what had happened, including the appearance of a SOCA agent, name unknown.
“I don’t like that the authorities are there,” Antrim said. “Can you get out?”
“That’s the plan. How’s Gary?”
“Doing great. All quiet here.”
“And where’s here?”
“Not on this open phone. When you’re ready to leave, call me back and I’ll provide a meet point. And, Malone, the sooner the better.”
“You got that right.”
He clicked off the phone and wondered what was happening below.
So he stepped over to the window for a look.
* * *
Kathleen was led outside, her wrists bound behind her back. People on the sidewalk were stopped by the officers so she could pass and she hated the looks on their faces, wondering who she was and what she may have done. What was the purpose of taking her into custody? Of humiliating her? She was a veteran SOCA officer who’d done nothing wrong.
They crossed the street and the rear door to one of the police cars was opened. She was helped inside, the door slammed closed. She sat in muted silence, people hustling back and forth outside. Through the tinted window she could see inside the bookstore and the older woman. None of the four officers had made any effort to speak to the proprietor, which only made her more suspicious.
What was this about?
* * *
Malone watched as Richards, hands behind her back, was led across the street and stuffed into the back of a police car.
“Why did they take her?” Ian asked.
“Maybe she wasn’t SOCA at all.”
“She was real,” Ian said.
He agreed. Everything about her had rung true.
Traffic on the narrow street had returned, cars edging along in both directions, the two police cars parked against the far curb, their lights still flashing. What should he do now? Obviously, there’d be no talk between them. Should he just hand over the flash drive to Antrim and go home?
Something was wrong.
How had the two men known to come here to this bookstore? How had a SOCA agent known to be here, one who knew his name?
And Ian’s safety.
That was still in question.
A black sedan stopped in the street and a man stepped out. Older. Silver haired, dressed in a three-piece suit. He walked with the aid of a cane, crossing the opposite lane of traffic, rounding the police car that held the bound agent, then opening its rear door and easing inside.
* * *
Ian could not believe his eyes as he watched the older man with the cane.
A face he would never forget.
“In the car that night, outside Oxford Circus,” he said. “The man who wanted the flash drive. The man who told the other bloke to kill me. That’s him.”
Thirty-two
Kathleen should have known.
Sir Thomas Mathews.
Who sat beside her in the car.
“Will you never learn?” he asked. “Shooting up that store. People could have been killed.”
“But they weren’t. Odd, wouldn’t you say?”
“Is there some implication in that observation?”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“I can see now why your supervisors warned me against involving you in this matter. Not worth the bother, I believe, was the phrase they used.”
“The man had a gun. There was a woman and child inside. I did what was necessary.”
“And where are Mr. Malone and Ian Dunne?”
“The Metropolitan Police didn’t find them?”
Mathews smiled, a wiry grin that signaled more agitation than amusement. “You would think that, at some point, you might actually learn from your mistakes.”
Actually, she had. “Where’s Eva Pazan?”
“Dead, I presume. As you reported.”
“You and I both know that is not the case. She doesn’t exist. At least not at Oxford.”
Mathews sat with both hands resting atop the ivory globe at the end of the walking stick. He kept his gaze out the car’s windscreen.
“I underestimated you,” he finally said.
“Does that mean I’m not as daft as you thought I would be?”
He turned his head and faced her. “It means I underestimated you.”
“What are you doing?”
“I am protecting this nation. At the moment it faces a serious threat, one with potentially dire consequences. It’s all quite remarkable, actually. Something that occurred five hundred years ago, and yet could still cause so much trouble today.”
“I don’t suppose you would share what that is?”
“Hardly. But let me make something clear. It is a real threat, one that cannot be ignored, one that your Blake Antrim has forced us, after many centuries, to finally face.”
* * *
Malone stared at Ian. “Are you sure that’s the man?”
“He had that same cane. A white ball on the end with markings on it, like a globe. Wore a suit just like that one he has on now. It’s him.”
The boy’s revelation was even more incredible considering the man.
Thomas Mathews.
Longtime head of the Secret Intelligence Service.
While with the Justice Department he’d several times worked with MI6, twice dealing with Mathews. The man was shrewd, clever, and careful. Always careful. So his presence outside Oxford Circus a month ago, when Farrow Curry was killed, raised a ton of questions.
But one rose to the top.
“You told me that the man who forced you into the car was the same guy who pushed Curry into the train. That still true?”
Ian nodded. “Same bloke.”
He realized that killing was part of the intelligence business.
But outright murder? Here, on British soil, by British agents? The victim an employee of a close ally? And the head man himself personally involved? That raised the stakes to unimaginable levels.
Antrim was into something massive.
“He’s been in that car with her awhile,” Ian said.
He caught the concern and agreed.
“You think she’s in trouble?” Ian asked.
Oh, yeah.
* * *
Kathleen realized her situation was strained. She was at Mathews’ mercy.
“Miss Richards, this is a vital matter the prime minister himself is aware of. As you noted at Queen’s College, laws have been bent, if not outright broken. National interests are at stake.”
She caught what had not been uttered. So why are you so much trouble?
“You came to me,” she said.
“That I did. A mistake, as I now realize.”
“You never gave me a chance to do anything.”
“That’s where you are wrong. I gave you every chance. Instead, you ventured out on your own.” He hesitated. “I am aware of your questions at Oxford to the security personnel and your visit to the master at the Inns of Court. You should have listened to me at Queen’s College and did as told.”
“You should have been honest with me.”
He chuckled. “Unfortunately, that luxury is not available here.”
She did not agree. “What now?”
“Rogues, such as yourself, eventually reach the end of the road.”
“So I’m unemployed?”
“I wish it were that easy. Those national interests I mentioned, the ones we are protecting, require extraordinary measures to safeguard. Not ones I normally resort to within our borders, but here, I have no choice.”
She did not like the sound of that.
“The last thing we can allow is for an uncontrollable soul, like
you, to speak of this.”
He reached for the door latch.
“You’re going to have me killed?” she asked.
He opened the door and slipped out, quickly slamming it behind him.
A panic gripped her.
Two men immediately climbed into the front.
She wiggled her body across the backseat and kicked one of the doors. Then she realized the better play was the window and slammed her foot into it. One of the men curled over the front seat and a gun barrel was pressed into her stomach.
Her eyes found his.
“Stay still,” he said, “or I’ll shoot you right here.”
* * *
Malone watched as Thomas Mathews exited the car and two men immediately entered. He saw Richards’ head disappear then the soles of her shoes pound the rear window.
“She’s in trouble,” Ian said.
The street had again congealed with traffic.
The car wasn’t going anywhere fast.
“Let’s help her,” Ian said.
“You have an idea?”
“I think so. At least it’s always worked for me before.”
* * *
Kathleen had never experienced this level of fear. She’d found herself in tight situations, her life endangered, but she’d always managed to dodge the worst consequences. Sure, there’d been repercussions with her bosses for the risks she took, but those came later, after the fact, when the danger had long passed.
This was different.
These men intended to kill her.
Inside a police car? She doubted it. But if she continued to resist, they just might shoot her here. So she gave the gun jammed into her gut the respect it deserved and stopped kicking.
“Sit up,” the man ordered.
He dropped back into the front passenger seat but kept a watchful eye and the gun aimed at her. The car eased from the curb and merged with the two-laned traffic, vehicles in both directions stopping and starting on the narrow lane.
Be patient, she told herself.
Stay calm.
Wait for an opportunity.
