“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.”
Her mouth dried. Her senses came alive. Who would know she was here? She opened the envelope and removed a single sheet of paper, upon which was written in black ink.
She could not believe what she’d read.
Thomas Mathews was watching.
She told herself to stay calm.
Doing what Mathews wanted entailed betraying Cotton Malone. But he was a stranger. Of no consequence. Sure, she’d shared a room with him last night and he seemed like a decent man. But national interests were involved. Her career was at stake. And not as a SOCA agent, but perhaps as a member of Secret Intelligence. People did not apply for jobs there. You were recruited, then proved yourself.
Like now.
