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A workable lock.
When anyone tried to turn it from below the stone would block its path.
“Where to?” he asked Tanya, since she’d obviously brought them here for a reason.
She pointed beyond the Banqueting House to the river.
“That way.”
KATHLEEN KEPT MOVING THROUGH THE PRIVY GARDEN toward the Thames. The manicured hedges were all low, offering no place to hide and no cover. A wide graveled path lined with knee-high box hedges led to a center fountain. Not many people here, but enough. Behind her Eva and her companion found the garden and headed her way.
She still carried her gun and was deciding how best to use it. She’d shoot her way out, if need be, but the lack of effective cover cautioned, for the moment, against that route. Statues dotted the grass to her left and right, large enough to offer some protection, but getting to and from them required crossing open territory.
So she kept hustling ahead.
MALONE AND TANYA PASSED AROUND THE BANQUETING House. Tanya seemed to know exactly where she was going. They crossed a small lawn beneath bare trees and found an eight-foot-high brick wall that separated the palace grounds from a concrete walk bordering the Thames.
“I live just there, on the other side of the river, up a tributary,” she said. “I motor to work every day in my boat.”
He nearly smiled. This was a smart woman. He’d wondered how they were going to make their way off the hundreds of acres that surrounded Hampton Court. The simplest route? On the water. Which Tanya Carlton had known all along.
An iron-barred gate opened in the wall, it too with an electronic lock. Tanya punched in the code and they passed through.
“I come through here every day, so the groundskeeper has provided me access. Years ago, I was given a key. I daresay things have progressed since then.”
They turned and hurried down the pavement, a white, wooden rail guarding the riverside, heading away from the gardens. He spotted the railway station where he’d arrived across the river. He kept a watch out toward the brick wall, ready to find his gun. A handful of others were also strolling the path.
His mind was in full alert.
Somebody had wanted him dead.
And that underground passage, with its privacy, had offered them a perfect opportunity.
He needed to speak with Antrim.
As soon as they were away from here.
KATHLEEN SPOTTED A DECORATIVE IRON FENCE, THE WORK OF some talented blacksmiths, which allowed glimpses of the Thames through its gilded foliage. The fence on either side was over two meters high and spiked on top. Eva and her pal were closing fast. She spied left, then right, and noticed where the fence ended and a high brick wall that further guarded the perimeter began. What caught her attention was a set of steps that led up to another level of the garden, higher, nearly even with the top of the brick wall. It would be easy from there to hop onto the wall and jump down to the other side, where pavement bordered the Thames. She could either run like hell or make a swim for it.
She darted right and ran down the graveled path, then up the steps.
Behind her, she spotted Pazan now running her way.
She came to the top of the stairs and onto more gravel. She’d been right. The iron fence with its spikes ended and the brick wall began, lower here thanks to the new height. A simple matter to hop up and jump down the two meters to the other side. But before she could pivot onto the wall, two men appeared from ahead, guns in hand. Eva was now at the base of the stairs behind her, armed too.
“You will not make it,” Pazan said. “Even if you do, look down. There’s nothing but open ground. We will shoot you dead before you get anywhere.”
She glanced left. Where were all of the people? The gardens should be crowded on a beautiful Saturday morning. The few who’d been there before were now gone. And where was Mathews? Two large boats were tied to a concrete dock below her, but no one was in sight there, either.
Pazan climbed the stairs and approached. “I need your gun. Slow and careful. Toss it down.”
She found the weapon and did as told. “Who are you?”
“Not who you think I am.”
MALONE HOPPED INTO TANYA’S SMALL BOAT. A TEN-FOOTER with a respectable outboard at the stern. Two life jackets and a paddle lay inside.
“Never had to use any of those,” she said. “Thank heaven.”
“You want me to start the engine?” he asked.
“Goodness, Mr. Malone, I’ve been yanking the cord of that old bully for years. I’m quite capable.”
He watched as she pulled the starter twice and the engine groaned to life. He untied the mooring line and she motored them away, turning back toward the palace grounds, heading downstream on the Thames.
“Stick to the far side,” he said. “Just in case.”
She maneuvered across the brown water, away from the palace. They were approaching another concrete dock, where two large boats were tied. He spotted a woman, standing atop the same brick wall that wound its way around to the Banqueting House. She stood where the iron fence that separated the gardens from the water ended and the high wall began.
Kathleen Richards.
Another woman, along with two men, stood to her right.
All held guns.
Richards was yanked down.
Tanya saw it, too.
“It seems Miss Richards has found some bother.”
No question.
And, considering what just happened in that tunnel, he may have been totally wrong about her.
Forty-three
ANTRIM WAS BECOMING MORE AGITATED THE LONGER THE conversation progressed. The same gravelly voice from Daedalus had answered his call and seemed to be enjoying the situation.
“Did you hear me?” he said into the phone. “The friggin’ head of MI6 is involved in this. He killed Farrow Curry, not you.”
“I heard you, Mr. Antrim. I simply choose not to believe what a street brat has told you. I know what occurred. We ordered it done.”
“Kathleen Richards is SOCA. I know her. What the hell is she doing involved? Did you know about that, too?”
“That is new information. But I hardly see a problem. Everything is about to end. You will have your money and be gone before dawn.”
You got that right. Sooner the better.
“If Thomas Mathews is involved here,” the voice said, “he could have been deceiving his listener with misinformation.”
True. But there was still the matter of Cotton Malone.
“What happened at Hampton Court?”
“I am awaiting word on that right now. The last I was told, Mr. Malone was being herded to a favorable spot where he would be eliminated. All was progressing without a problem.”
“I need to know when that happens.”
“What’s your interest in Malone?”
“I don’t have one. You do. He read the drive. He knows things. He’s your problem, not mine.”
“I truly doubt that. You are not an honest man.”
“Like I care about your opinion of me. You murder people. You can believe it or not, but MI6 is in this. That means containment is going to be a big problem. Your problem.”
“Yours, too. Once known, I imagine your superiors will be wondering what you are truly up to.”
“Which means this whole thing will blow up and you can kiss your little secret goodbye.”
Silence on the other end signaled that he was right.
“Do you have Ian Dunne in your custody?” the voice asked.
“Safe and sound.”
“Keep him there. In the meantime we need to speak, in person.”
Like he was going to do that. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d already realized that the safest course for Daedalus now would be to simply kill him, too.
“Not going to happen.”
The voice on the end chuckled. “I thought that request would concern you.”
He remained silent.
“All right, Mr. Antrim, to soothe your fears we’ll meet in a public place. One with security, so you might feel more at ease.”
“Why do we need to meet?”
“Because there is something you must see. And, look at it this way, you have Ian Dunne. He’s your security. I’m sure you’re about to hide him away in a spot only you know. He will be your insurance.”
“Why do you want the boy? It’s the flash drive you want.”
“He’s a witness to a death, and we detest loose ends.”
