He handed her one of the guns he’d snatched.
“I have to make a call to Antrim and check on my son,” he said. “Then I’m going to get a few hours’ sleep.”
“I’d offer my flat,” Richards said. “But I’m afraid that’s the first place they’re going to look for me.”
He agreed. “A hotel is better.”
Thirty-five
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 22
8:00 AM
MALONE FINISHED OFF SOME CEREAL AND FRUIT FOR BREAKFAST. He and Kathleen Richards had spent a few hours at the Churchill, he on the pullout sofa bed, she in the bedroom. They’d arrived after midnight and a suite was all the hotel had to offer. Jet lag from the flight over had finally caught up to him and he’d fallen asleep almost immediately after lying down. But not before calling Antrim and making sure Ian and Miss Mary had arrived and that Gary was okay. Richards had told him that they still needed to have a chat, and asked him to keep her identity between themselves until after they talked. So he’d honored that request and not mentioned her to Antrim.
“I was sent by Mathews because of Blake Antrim,” Richards said to him from across the table.
The Churchill’s restaurant opened off the main lobby with a wall of windows that overlooked busy Portman Square.
“He and I were once involved. Ten years ago,” she said. “Mathews wanted me to use that relationship and make contact.”
“Is Antrim a problem?”
He needed to know, since Gary was in his custody.
She shook her head. “Not that way. Not at all. Your son is fine with him. Now, if he were a girlfriend breaking up with Antrim.” She paused. “Different story.”
He thought he understood. “Doesn’t let go gracefully?”
“Something like that. Let’s just say our parting was memorable.”
“And you agreed to reconnect with him?”
“Antrim is apparently into something that threatens our national security.”
That grabbed his attention.
“Unfortunately, Mathews did not say how.”
“So he sent you to the bookstore last night to connect with me and Ian. Let me guess. He wants the flash drive?”
She nodded. “Exactly. I don’t suppose you would share what’s on it?”
Why not? What did he care? This wasn’t his fight. Besides, it wasn’t all that much. “As amazing as it sounds, Antrim is trying to prove that Elizabeth I was actually a man.”
He caught the surprise on her face.
“You must be daft. Mathews was willing to kill me over that?”
He shrugged. “It gets worse. Mathews was there when Farrow Curry was pushed into an Underground train. One of his men did the pushing. Ian saw that, firsthand.”
“Which explains why he wants Ian Dunne.”
“He’s a witness to a murder, on British soil, which runs straight to MI6. Good thing Ian is in the safest place he can be, at the moment, with Antrim, whose interests are clearly opposed to Mathews’.”
“Does Antrim know all of this?”
He nodded. “I told him last night on the phone. He said he’d keep a close eye on Ian.”
Which also explained why Malone was still here. If not for the fact that Ian was clearly in trouble, he and Gary would leave today. But he could not simply walk away. He wanted to play this out a little longer and see if he could help the boy into the clear.
“Mathews provided me information,” she said, “that points to some sanctuary the Tudors concealed that held their personal wealth.”
“A point you omitted last night.”
She nodded. “I’m sure you held back a few things, too.”
He listened as she told him about what happened when Henry VII and Henry VIII died.
“I got the impression,” she said, “that the flash drive might lead to this location.”
But he could recall nothing from what he’d read that pointed the way.
“Go ahead and finish your breakfast,” he said. “I have to print out some stuff.”
“From the flash drive?”
He nodded. “A hard copy would be a good thing to have.”
“We going somewhere?”
“To Hampton Court. There’s somebody there we have to talk with.”
KATHLEEN SURVEYED THE RESTAURANT. NOTHING AND NO one seemed out of the ordinary. Both she and Malone had switched off their cell phones, since Malone had said Antrim had tracked him through his. She was familiar with the technology and knew that a dead phone was a safe phone.
She wondered why they were going to Hampton Court. Who were they seeing? And what did it matter to her anymore? She’d lost two jobs in the past twelve hours. Not much left for her in this fight. Perhaps she should simply cut her losses and leave. But would that stop Thomas Mathews? Hardly. She still had to make things right with him. Had he seriously intended on killing her? Still difficult to say, but that Met officer would have shot her if she’d not quit resisting.
She finished her breakfast and waited for Malone, half listening to the murmur of other conversations. The waiter came and cleared the dishes, refilling her coffee cup. She didn’t smoke, drink much, gamble, or do drugs. Coffee was her vice. She liked it hot, cold, sweet, straight—didn’t matter, as long as it was full of caffeine.
“This is for you.”
She glanced up.
The waiter had returned and held an envelope, which she accepted.
“The front desk brought it over. A woman left it for you.”