“Why aren’t you two with Gary?” Malone immediately asked.
She caught the heightened level of concern in Malone’s voice.
“You were all supposed to be together.”
Tanya Carlton sat at a small desk, her twin sister standing behind her. A laptop computer was open before them.
“Gary left with Antrim,” Ian said. “We didn’t want him to go, but he went anyway.”
“So I decided we should leave,” Miss Mary said. “It was clear Antrim was through with us. I had a bad feeling about that place.”
“What place?” Malone asked.
Miss Mary told them about a warehouse near the river.
“Any idea where Antrim and Gary went?” Malone asked.
Miss Mary shook her head. “He didn’t say. Only that they would be back soon. But something told me that wasn’t going to happen, so we left. Prior to that, though, Ian managed to steal Mr. Antrim’s cell phone. Which turned out to be a good thing.”
“How is that?” Malone asked. “I’ve been trying to contact Antrim on that phone.”
“We left it in the warehouse,” Ian said.
Which meant either Antrim and Gary had not returned to find it, or something else had happened.
Tanya pointed to the laptop. “We have discovered what this is all about.”
Malone nodded.
“So have I.”
Fifty-five
WITHIN THESE PAGES I HAVE REVEALED A MOMENTOUS SECRET, one that would have deep repercussions if ever revealed. My hope is that by the time these words are deciphered the fact that her majesty, Elizabeth I, was not as she appeared would be nothing more than a historical curiosity. My father taught me that truth is fleeting, its meaning fluid, depending on time and circumstances. No greater example of that wisdom exists than what has transpired here. I am sure that the reader has not forgotten what the two King Henrys passed down and what Katherine Parr told the imposter. Your reward for deciphering this journal is the opportunity to see that which only royalty has been privy to visit. There I have left the wealth of the Tudors. Also, there rests the imposter, safe from all prying eyes, peaceful in his eternal sleep. England was lucky to have him, no matter the fact that he was illegitimate in every legal way. But no more remorse. The time for that is over. I go to my grave with no regrets, glad that I will not be here to witness the downfall of all that my family holds dear. I fear a grave mistake was made in empowering the Stuarts. Kingship is more than a crown. Once I thought of telling James what I know. That was before I realized he was wholly unfit to be king. He knows nothing, nor does any other living soul. I am the last. You, reader, are now the first. Do what you may with your knowledge. My only hope is that you show the wisdom that the good Queen Elizabeth demonstrated during his forty-five years on the throne.
What you seek can be found beneath the former Blackfriars Abbey. It was placed there long before the abbey existed and found by one of the friars during the reign of Richard III. Access is through what was once the wine cellar, an opening in its floor concealed by one of the casks. Upon the cask is carved an old monk’s prayer. “He who drinks wine sleeps well. He who sleeps well cannot sin. He who does not sin goes to heaven.”
Antrim finished Robert Cecil’s narrative.
He was inside an Internet café before one of the desktops, Gary standing beside him.
“Where is Blackfriars Abbey?” the boy asked.
A good question.
He knew the name. A locale near the Inns of Court, within the City, on the banks of the Thames, but there was no abbey there. Only an Underground station that bore the name. He typed BLACKFRIARS into Google search and read what he found on one of the sites.
IN 1276 DOMINICAN FRIARS MOVED THEIR ABBEY FROM HOLBORN TO A SPOT ON THE RIVER THAMES AND LUDGATE HILL. THERE THEY BUILT AN ABBEY, WHICH ACQUIRED THE NAME BLACKFRIARS, THANKS TO THE DARK ROBES WORN BY THE MONKS. THE ABBEY BECAME QUITE FAMOUS, REGULARLY HOSTING PARLIAMENT AND THE PRIVY COUNCIL. IN 1529 THE DIVORCE HEARING OF HENRY VIII AND KATHERINE OF ARAGON WAS HEARD THERE. HENRY VIII CLOSED THE PRIORY IN 1538, PART OF HIS DISSOLUTION OF MONASTARIES. SHAKESPEARE’S GLOBE THEATER SAT JUST ACROSS THE RIVER, SO A GROUP OF ACTORS ACQUIRED A LEASE TO SOME OF THE BUILDINGS AND STARTED A COMPETING THEATER. THE SOCIETY OF APOTHECARIES EVENTUALLY OCCUPIED ANOTHER OF THE BUILDINGS IN 1632. THAT STRUCTURE BURNED IN THE GREAT FIRE OF 1666, BUT THE APOTHECARIES HALL REMAINS TODAY. BLACKFRIARS RAILWAY STATION NOW STANDS AT THE LOCALE, ALONG WITH A STOP ON THE CIRCLE AND DISTRICT LINES FOR THE LONDON UNDERGROUND.
“It doesn’t exist anymore,” he said. “The abbey is gone.”
A sense of defeat filled him.
What to do now?
“Look,” Gary said. “On the screen.”
His gaze locked on the monitor. An email had appeared in his secured account. He read the FROM line. THOMAS MATHEWS. Then the subject. YOUR LIFE.
“Wait over there,” he said to Gary.
The boy’s gaze signaled defiance.
“This is CIA business. Wait over there.”
Gary retreated across to the other side of the room.
He opened the email and read the message.
Clever, your escape from the Daedalus Society. Three of their operatives are dead. They will not be pleased. I am aware of Operation King’s Deception, as I am sure you now realize. I am also aware that you have learned the location of the Tudor sanctuary from Farrow Curry’s translation. We must speak in person. Why would you do such a thing? Because, Mr. Antrim, if you do not, my next communication will be to the United States and you surely know what the substance of that conversation will be. I know about the money the Daedalus Society paid. Actually, you and I now desire the same thing. So our intentions are similar. If you would like to see that which you have sought, then follow the directions below. I want you there within the next half hour. If not, then I will leave you to your superiors, who will not be pleased to learn what you have done.
He glanced up from the screen.