“I do have a question,” Mathews said. “You maneuvered Cotton Malone to London, with his son, for a specific purpose. I managed to learn that purpose. The boy is your natural son. What do you plan to do with that situation?”
“How could you possibly know any of that?”
“Fifty years in the intelligence business.”
He decided to be honest. “I’ve decided having a son is a pain in the ass.”
“Children can be difficult. Still, he is your boy.”
“But the several million dollars Daedalus paid me is more than enough compensation for the loss of that.”
Mathews gestured with the journal. “You realize that what you planned to do with all of this was utter foolishness.”
“Really? It seemed to get your attention.”
“You clearly have no understanding of Northern Ireland. I knew men and women who died there during the Troubles. I lost agents there. Thousands of civilians died, too. There are hundreds of obsessed fringe groups simply waiting for a good reason to start killing one another again. Some want the English gone. Others want us to stay. Both are willing to slaughter thousands to prove their point. To reveal this secret would have cost many people their lives.”
“All you had to do was tell the Scots to not release the Libyan.”
“Such an interesting way to treat one of your allies.”
“We say the same about you.”
“This is none of America’s concern. The bombing of that plane occurred in Scottish territory. Scottish judges tried and convicted al-Megrahi. The decision as to what to do with their prisoner was the Scots’ alone.”
“I don’t know what you, or they, were promised by Libya, but it had to be substantial.”
“Is that moralizing?” Mathews asked. “From a man who sold out his country, his career, and his son for a few million dollars?”
He said nothing. No need to explain himself.
Not anymore.
“You manipulated Cotton Malone,” Mathews said. “His son, his ex-wife, the CIA, Daedalus. You tried to manipulate my government, but then decided you were more important than any of that. How does it feel, Mr. Antrim, to be a traitor?”
He’d heard enough.
He slid the backpack from his shoulders and dropped it at the base of one of the center pillars.
The detonators were in place, armed, ready to go.
“What now?” he asked.
Mathews smiled. “A little justice, Mr. Antrim.”
Sixty
MALONE LISTENED TO THE CONVERSATION BETWEEN ANTRIM and Mathews, growing angrier by the second. Antrim cared for nothing save himself. Gary was meaningless. But where was Gary? He was supposed to be with Antrim. He gripped the gun, finger on the trigger, then stepped from the shadows into the harsh wash of light.
Mathews stood facing away. Antrim had a clear view and shock filled the American’s face.
“What the hell is he doing here?”
Mathews slowly turned. “I invited him. I assume you have been listening?”
“To every word.”
“I thought you two needed a private place to resolve your differences. So I led both of you here.” Mathews moved toward the steps and the other doorway out. “I’ll leave you two to work through your dispute.”
“Where’s Gary?” he asked.
Mathews stopped and faced him. “I have him. He’s safe. Now deal with Mr. Antrim.”
GARY HEARD WHAT MATHEWS HAD SAID.
A lie.
He started forward to reveal himself.
His father needed to know he was there.
Ian grabbed his shoulder and whispered, “You can’t. That man’s a bloody schemer. He wants to kill me, and probably you, too.”
He stared into Ian’s eyes and saw truth.
“Sit tight,” Ian breathed. “Wait a bit. Let your dad handle it.”
MALONE STARED AT BOTH MATHEWS AND ANTRIM, KEEPING his gun aimed and ready.
Mathews smiled. “Come now, Cotton. You and I both know that you cannot—or, better yet, you will not—shoot me. This entire fiasco was started by Washington. I have done nothing more than defend the security of my country. You understand the gravity of what was at stake. Can you blame me, now? I did exactly what you would have done, if the roles were reversed. The prime minister himself is aware of what is happening here. You can kill me, but that prisoner transfer is going to occur and my death would only make a bad situation for Washington horrendous.”
He knew the old man was right.
“Actually, this problem is his creation.” Mathews pointed at Antrim. “And, frankly, I hope you make him suffer. He killed three of my agents.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Antrim said. “I didn’t kill anybody who works for you.”
Mathews shook his head in disgust. “You ass. I created Daedalus. The people you encountered with them were my agents. The money paid to you came from me. It was all a show. You are not the only one who can manipulate.”
Antrim stood silent, seemingly absorbing reality, then said, “You killed two of my people. And your three agents came to kill me. I only defended myself.”
“Which, frankly, shocked me. You are an incompetent fool. How you were able to solve this puzzle is a mystery. It has remained concealed for a long time. But, incredibly, you somehow stumbled into the solution. So I had no choice. You gave me no choice.”
“I did my job.”
“Really, now? And at the first opportunity offered you sold out your country. For a few million dollars you were willing to forget it all, including those two dead American agents.”
Antrim said nothing.
“Your name. I always thought it ironic. There are six counties in Northern Ireland. Armagh, Down, Fermanagh, Londonderry, Tyrone—” Mathews paused. “—and Antrim. It’s an ancient place. Perhaps somewhere in your lineage there is Irish blood.”
“What does it matter?” Antrim asked.
“That’s the point. Nothing really does matter, except you. Now I will leave you two to settle your differences.”
And Mathews started up the stone risers.
GARY HAD TAKEN IAN’S ADVICE AND STAYED PUT. EVER SINCE his mother had told him about his birth father, he’d imagined what that man would be like. Now he knew. A liar, traitor, and murderer. Someone vastly different than he’d hoped.
He heard the soles of shoes scrape across gritty stone.