The King's Deception (Cotton Malone 8)

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.”

“Oh, my, this hasn’t been used for waste in centuries. Can’t go dumping in the river anymore. It’s mainly for rainwater. There are staff that keep it cleaned out. The entrance we used was the way servants would come here in Henry’s time to keep the flow from clogging.”

She seemed at ease with all this intrigue, as if it happened every day. But he had to say, “I’m sorry for involving you in this.”

“Goodness, no. Most excitement I’ve had in a long while. Mary said there might be an adventure, and she was so right. I once worked for SIS. Did Mary tell you that?”

“She left that detail out.”

“I was an analyst in my younger days. Quite good, too, if I do say so.” She kept plowing ahead. “Not as exciting as things you once did, but I learned to keep a cool head on things.”

“I wasn’t aware you knew what I did.”

“Mary said you were an American agent.”

He was forced to stoop as they walked. Tanya had no such problem. Their lights revealed only about twenty feet ahead of them.

More eels splashed beside his feet.

He heard a sound from behind.

Voices.

“Oh, dear,” Tanya said, stopping. “I’m afraid the palace staff must be involved. They are the only ones who could open that door.”

KATHLEEN DROPPED TO A GRAVELED PATH. THE PRIVY GARDEN stretched out before her, the space full of pyramid yews, round-headed holly trees, fall bulbs, statues, and annuals edged with box hedges. Graveled paths and wide avenues routed traffic through the natural décor.

She decided to head away from the river, to the rear side of the palace. From there she could double back to the train station and catch a ride somewhere. Anywhere but here. She needed to think. Make some decisions. Smart ones this time. The problem was she had only one place to turn. She was through at SOCA. Her employer would do nothing to protect her. The police were likewise useless. Only Thomas Mathews could help.

Or could he?

And if so, would he?

She followed the path to the palace rear and turned left.

Fifty meters away stood Eva Pazan and the same man from inside.

Both spotted her.

She turned and raced away, shielded by the corner of the building.

Ahead was nothing but more buildings with more cameras.

So she decided to go left, toward the river, into the riot of color and order that was the Privy Garden.

MALONE REALIZED THEY HAD A HEAD START BUT WONDERED where Tanya was taking them. The concern for what lay behind them was helping with his unease at being underground. He thought about just stopping and confronting their pursuers. If it was MI6, why would there be a problem? If the police, same thing? What was the worst that could happen? Arrest? Stephanie Nelle could get him out of that.

“It’s just ahead,” Tanya said.

He assumed the men behind them carried flashlights, but he could not spot their beams. In absolute darkness weak pencils of light carried only so far. But that meant their flashlights were not visible, either. Ahead he saw a ladder that led into an opening in the ceiling.

“Mr. Malone,” a voice said from the blackness behind them, with an echo, which signaled distance.

“One chance. Stop and wait for us.”

Tanya grabbed the ladder.

He motioned for her to climb and fast.

“This is not your fight,” the voice called out. “No need to die for it.”

Die?

He grabbed hold of the metal ladder. Aluminum. Sturdy.

“Who are you?” he called out.

“That’s not your concern.”

He stared back into the darkness to his left. A pale glow, far off, to his right, revealed the emerging end at the Thames. Light appeared above him as Tanya opened a hatch in the short tunnel that led through the brick ceiling.

He climbed up, free of the tunnel below.

A bang.

W

hich startled him.

Then another.

More.

Gunfire raged through the passage beneath him.

Bullets ricocheted off the brick. He was above it, near the exit, but was concerned about a stray. He quickly emerged at ground level, slamming down a metal hatch.

“Thank goodness this portal is never locked,” Tanya said. “It was added years ago as a safety measure.”

He grabbed his bearings.

They were south of the palace, west of the great Privy Garden, a brick wall and tall hedges in between. The compact Banqueting House, which fronted the river, nearby. No people here, but he could hear voices beyond the hedges in what he knew were the Pond Gardens. He’d strolled through them before, where the fish served in the palace were once kept alive before heading to the kitchens.

“Was that gunfire I heard below?” Tanya asked.

“Afraid so. We need to disappear. Fast.”

Things had just changed.

Those men came to kill him.

He studied the hatch and saw a lever that allowed it to be opened from the top side, which moved in conjunction with the one below. He looked around for something, anything, and found what he needed near a pond in the center of the garden. A walk leading to and from, bisecting the grass and the flowers, was paved with flat stones. He darted over and managed to dislodge one, about a foot square, from the moist earth. He carried it back and rested it beside the lever on the hatch.