“The question is,” Malone said, “how far is he willing to go to clean up this mess? Especially now that a lot more people know about it. He has more than one loose end. So I’ll take care of that, too.”
Malone looked at Richards.
“We have to go.”
“Sir Thomas never mentioned me coming.”
“I need your help.”
“I’m going, too,” Ian said.
“Like hell. Mathews never mentioned you on the phone. That means one of two things. He doesn’t know where you are, or he’s waiting for us to leave to make a move. I’d say the former. Too much happened too fast for him to know anything. If he did, he’d have acted already. Also, I need you out of the way so I can bargain for your safety. If he has you I have no bargaining power.”
Malone faced the twin sisters.
“Stay put here, with Ian, until you hear from me.”
“And what happens if we never hear from you?” Miss Mary asked.
“You will.”
Fifty-seven
ANTRIM APPROACHED THE CONSTRUCTION SITE, GARY WALKING with him. The old Blackfriars tube station had been demolished, replaced by a shiny, glass-fronted building that seemed about half complete. A plywood wall separated the work site from the sidewalk, the Thames within sight less than a hundred yards away. A newly reconstructed Victorian rail bridge now spanned the river, upon which was being built a modern railway station. He’d read somewhere that this was London’s first transportation center ever built over water.
Through a break in the plywood barrier he spotted no workers. Though it was Saturday, some should be here. Mathews had told him to head for this particular corner of the site. To his right, traffic raced by on a busy avenue that headed south across the Thames. He still carried the knapsack with explosives inside, the only weapon he possessed, and he had no intention of entering this trap unarmed.
A maze of heavy equipment littered the scarred earth. Deep gouges in the ground, yards wide and extra deep, stretched toward the riverbank. Train tracks lay at the bottom, straight lines disappearing inside the new bridge station, heading toward the far south bank. He recalled this place from his youth. A busy station. Lots of people in and out every day. But not today. The site was deserted.
Which was exactly what Thomas Mathews would want.
So far he’d followed directions.
Time for some improvising.
MALONE RODE IN THE UNDERGROUND, TAKING A TRAIN FROM Belgravia east to a station near the Inns of Court, close to Blackfriars. Kathleen Richards sat beside him. He could still hear what Stephanie Nelle had told him on the phone half an hour ago.
“It’s the CIA attempting to save the day,” she said. “Forty years ago a group of Irish lawyers actually tried to prove that Elizabeth I was a fraud. It’s called the Bisley Boy legend—”
“Just like Bram Stoker said in his book.”
“To their credit, they were trying to find a legal, nonviolent way to force the British to leave Northern Ireland. At that time the Troubles were in full swing. People were dying every day. No end seemed in sight. If they could prove in court that all British claims to their lands were false, legal precedent could be used to reunite Ireland.”
“Clever. And it might have been a good idea then, but not now.”
“I agree. The slightest provocation could restart the violence. But the CIA was desperate. They worked hard to find al-Megrahi, then bring him to trial. To see him just walk away galled them to no end. The White House wanted something. Anything to stop it. So Langley thought a little blackmail might work. Unfortunately, they forgot that this president isn’t the type to do that, especially to an ally.”
On that he agreed.
“The CIA director and myself just had a spirited discussion,” she said. “Currently, the White House is unaware of what they’ve been doing, and they’d like to keep it that way. Especially since the whole operation failed. But with SIS now involved, this could become a source of extreme embarrassment for everyone.”
“And they want me to clean up the mess.”
“Something like that. Unfortunately, that prisoner transfer is going to happen. The goal now is not to allow an international PR disaster to amplify the situation. It seems the British know everything about King’s Deception. The only thing going for us is they don’t want the world to know.”
“I don’t give a damn.”
“I realize that Gary is your only concern. But, as you say, he’s with Antrim. And Langley has no idea where that might be.”
Which was why he’d called Mathews.
And was walking into a trap.
“What do you want me to do?” Richards asked him.
He faced her. “Why are you on suspension?”
He saw that she was surprised he knew that.
“I caused a lot of bother trying to arrest some people. But that’s nothing new for me.”
“Good. ’Cause I need some bother. Lots of it, in fact.”
IAN HAD NOT LIKED MALONE’S REFUSAL TO ALLOW HIM TO GO along. He was not accustomed to people telling him what to do. He made his own decisions. Not even Miss Mary gave him orders.
“This is all so unbelievable,” Tanya said. “So incredible. Imagine the historical implications.”
But he didn’t care about that.
He wanted to be where things were happening.
And that was Blackfriars station.
He sat on one of the chairs inside the hotel room.
“Are you hungry?” Miss Mary asked him.
He nodded.
“I can order you something.”
She stepped across the room to the phone. Her sister sat at the desk with the laptop. He bolted for the door and fled into the hall. The stairs seemed the best route down, so he headed for the lighted sign.
He heard the room door open and turned back.
Miss Mary stared at him with a look of concern.
He stopped and faced her.
She didn’t have to say a word. The watery gloss in her eyes told him what she was thinking.
That he should not go.
But her eyes also made clear that she was powerless to stop him.
“Be careful,” she said. “Be ever so careful.”