MALONE GATHERED UP HIS AND GARY’S CLOTHES, REPLACING everything in their travel bags. He noticed how Gary had packed light, like he’d taught him. His head still hurt from the pounding to the pavement, his field of vision fuzzy. Ian helped him, and made no attempt to leave. To be safe, though, Malone kept Ian between himself and the mews’ rear wall.
He sat back down on the pavement and allowed his mind to clear. The rain outside had slackened to a mist. The air was chilly, which helped, but he was glad for his leather jacket.
“You okay?” Ian asked.
“Not really. My head took a banging.”
He rubbed his scalp, careful of the sore knot. All he could think about was Gary, but he needed information and its main source was right here.
“I didn’t mean to leave your son,” Ian said. “I told Gary to jump.”
“He’s not you.”
“He told me on the plane that you’re not his real dad.”
Hearing that jarred him. “I’m not his birth dad, but I am his real dad.”
“He wants to know who that is.”
“He told you that?”
Ian nodded.
Now was not the time to delve into this. “How much trouble are you in?”
“No bother. I’ll be fine.”
“I didn’t ask you that. How much trouble?”
Ian said nothing.
He needed answers. Pieces were missing. And where before it had not mattered, now, with Gary gone, he had to know.
“How did you get from London to Georgia?”
“After I ran from the car with that flash drive, men started looking for me. Some came to visit Miss Mary, but she told them nothing.”
“Who is that?”
“She owns a bookshop in Piccadilly. The men came there, and to other places I go, asking questions. I finally met a guy who offered me a trip to the States, so I took it.”
Stephanie had told him that Ian had been detained by Customs in Miami, trying to enter the country on a false passport. His traveling companion, an Irish national wanted on several outstanding warrants, had also been arrested. No telling what plans that man ultimately had for Ian. Free trips were never free.
“You know that guy was bad.”
Ian nodded. “I was planning on getting away from him as soon as we left the airport. I can handle myself.”
But he questioned that observation. Obviously the boy had been scared enough to run. Stephanie told him that the CIA had been searching for Ian since mid-October. When caught in Miami—the name flagged—they’d immediately assumed custody, and he was flown to Atlanta.
All they needed was an escort back to England.
Which he became.
“Why’d you run away from me in the Atlanta airport?”
“I didn’t want to come back here.”
“You have no family?”
“Don’t need any.”
“Did you ever go to school?” he asked.
“I’m not thick and wet. I can read. Wouldn’t be any wiser if I went to school every day.”
He’d apparently struck a nerve. “How many times have you been in jail?”
“A few, after a spot of trouble.”
But he wondered how far the tough act went. He’d caught the flicker of fear back in Georgia when Ian first realized they were headed for London.
He’d also spotted the confusion in his own son’s face.
Two weeks ago Gary’s life was certain. He had a mother and father, a family, though scattered on two continents. Now he’d been told that he had a birth father, too. Gary wanted to know who that man was. Pam was wrong withholding the name. Surely it frightened Gary that he was no longer a Malone, at least not by blood. So wanting to know where he’d come from was natural.
“Gary said you were once a secret agent for the government. Like James Bond.”
“Kind of. But for real. Did you ever know your father?”
Ian shook his head. “Never saw him.”
“You ever wonder about him?”
“Don’t care much one way or the other. He was never around. My mum, too. Never had any need for parents. Had the wit early on to know that I had to count on me.”
But that can’t be good. Kids needed moms and dads. Or at least that’s what he’d always thought. “Is it hard living on the streets, with no home?”
“I got a home. I got friends.”
“Like who?”
Ian gestured at the plastic bag. “The book lady. Miss Mary. She gave me those stories. She lets me stay in the store sometimes at night, when it’s cold. That’s when I read whatever I want.”
“I like reading, too. I own a bookshop.”
“Gary told me.”
“You two seemed to have had quite a chat.”
“It was a long flight and neither of us slept much.”
But he wasn’t surprised they’d talked. Who else would Gary have to talk to? Not his mother. She’d offered little to nothing. Or his father, who hadn’t learned the truth till recently, either.
“What did you tell Gary about his birth father?”
“To not be a wee ’un. All’s fine until we come a cropper.”
He scrunched up his face in puzzlement.
“Wee ’un. Children. That’s me and him. And we get into trouble. Come a cropper. All’s good until that happens. Then we get told what to do.”
Silence passed between them for a few moments.
“I told him to do something about it,” Ian said. “Get you to help.”
He assumed that was the boy’s best attempt at a compliment.
“Why didn’t you want to come back here?”
No reply.
Thoughts of Norse and Devene filled his clouded brain. “Is something bad going to happen to you here?”
Ian just glanced out to the night.
Which was the answer he feared.
Twelve
ANTRIM OPENED HIS EYES.
He lay on the stone floor within the Round, beside the Templar effigies. His muscles ached and he knew what had happened. Two projectiles had pierced his chest and 50,000 volts had sent him into unconsciousness. He’d been stunned by a Taser. Better than being shot, but still an experience.
The Daedalus Society.