The Plantagenet Vendetta (27 page)

Ratcliffe made the short walk through the grounds of his house and crossed the threshold into the Catesby estate.

Catesby was in the lab as usual. He was dressed in grey overalls and wore goggles to shield his eyes. He held a pipette in one hand, protected by rubber gloves, while steadying a Petri dish with the other.

He looked over at Ratcliffe. “It isn’t time yet, is it?”

The Rat shook his head. “No, it’s nothing to do with that.” He gestured with his fingers, and Catesby dropped what he was doing.

“I were just having a chat with the lovely Miss Farrelly.”

39

The King was in his study at 6pm. Through the window behind his desk, he watched in silence as the newest batch of guards marched smartly across the forecourt. Though he had witnessed the Changing of the Guard countless times, it never failed to make the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

“Tell me, George. Is Britain at war?”

Standing behind him was his brother, the Duke of Clarence. Like most of the family of that generation, he was in his late fifties and had previously served in the armed forces before concentrating on his business ventures.

He was a dead ringer for his brother, apart from his beard.

“Aren’t we always?”

The King smiled – he knew in his heart of hearts, it was the first genuine one he had managed all day.

His pondering was disturbed by a knock at the door. He answered, “Come in,” and in walked the Home Secretary, followed by West.

“George, you are familiar with Mr Heston, and the new Secretary of State for Justice, Mr West?”

“How do you do?” Clarence said, shaking hands. “Congratulations on your new appointment.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” West replied.

“Nice to see you again, sir,” the Home Secretary added.

The King checked his watch; it was now approaching a quarter past seven.

“I have spoken to Thomas,” Clarence said. “He and Stephen will be arriving shortly.”

The King nodded. “I had hoped Fred might have joined us as well, but understandably his place is with his father.”

“Quite understandable, Majesty,” West said.

The Home Secretary held his tongue.

A few minutes later the doors opened for a second time. “The Duke of Cornwall and Prince Thomas,” the two men were announced. Thomas didn’t recognise the man with Heston, but the sight of his father warmed him.

“Father,” he said, embracing him.

“I’m quite all right, Tom. There’s no need to fuss.”

“Ahem.”

West was standing with his fist covering his mouth.

“I do hope it’s not contagious, West,” Stephen said as he entered.

Although he had never met the man, Thomas could sense a dislike between the two.

“Nothing to worry about, sir, I assure you.”

Stephen removed a cigar from the box on the desk, unwrapped it, and put it to his lips. “I hear you got promoted. Medical expenses gone up, I assume?”

Awkward laughter followed.

Stephen addressed the King for the first time. “Father.”

“You’re not going to light that, are you?”

Stephen removed the cigar from his mouth.

The King turned his attention to the politicians. “You know my son, the Duke of Cornwall, and my nephew Thomas.”

Thomas acknowledged both men in turn. “How do you do?”

“An overdue honour, sir,” West said, shaking hands with Thomas.

Standing behind West, Stephen made a gesture with his mouth.

The King was unimpressed, but quickly moved on. “Well, now that we are all here, let’s not waste any more time. Tim, perhaps we might start by telling me what the bloody hell happened today?”

In truth, the Home Secretary had no answers. “Sir, I have spoken personally with the owner of the Marigold, Scotland Yard, and the head of Special Branch. All have reassured me that the matter is fully in hand.”

“What the bloody hell does that mean: the matter is fully in hand?” Stephen asked.

“How is he?” the King asked before Heston had a chance to respond.

“Good, already barking out orders,” Thomas said, avoiding a stutter.

“Yes, good old Uncle Bill, already up to his old tricks. Giving poor Cookie one hell of a run-around,” Stephen said.

The King laughed. “Well, that’s certainly a relief all-round.”

He returned his attention to Heston. “Do we have a suspect yet?”

Heston replied, “Special Branch has already been given footage; I understand the hotel staff are also presently examining CCTV. We should have a far better idea over the next few hours.”

“During which time our man could have got halfway across Europe – if not further,” Stephen said.

“Unfortunately there is still no news on the exact source of the duke’s illness,” West interjected. “Even with the footage, it remains unclear what we are looking for.”

Stephen removed the unlit cigar from his mouth.

“My son is quite correct,” the King said, his point not questioned. “We need to nail this bastard now, while the iron is still hot.” He brought his fist down on the desk with a thump.

“Have you seen the footage?” the King asked Heston.

“No, sir, but thanks to the owner of the Marigold, I am now in possession of a copy on a data stick,” the Home Secretary responded.

“I should very much like to see that myself, Minister,” Thomas said. “After all, protection of my family is my field.”

“What a wizard idea,” Stephen added. “There’s a good chap, Minister, hand it over.”

“Your co-operation would be much appreciated, Minister,” Clarence added, he had been quiet so far. “I would also like to view it myself at some stage. As I’m sure would my brother, the Duke of York.”

“Your assistance will be most valued, Your Grace,” West added. “With a bit of luck, you might even turn out to be an eyewitness.”

“The thought had occurred to me, Minister,” Clarence replied. “Now then, Home Secretary, do you have that little stick with you?”

The request made Heston uncomfortable. “Why, yes.”

“Would you be so kind as to hand it over?”

The Home Secretary hesitated. “I’m still to see it myself. Perhaps West can email…”

“I have a better idea,” Stephen interrupted. “Hand over the stick. And my uncle can email it to you.”

Clarence didn’t object. “Minister.”

Reluctantly the Home Secretary removed the memory stick from his pocket and handed it to Clarence, who placed it in an inside pocket of his jacket.

“We should have a much better idea of what we’re dealing with when we’ve established the exact cause of the poison,” West said. “Perhaps they used a different substance this time.”

“Different to what time?” Stephen asked.

“And who exactly are you referring to when you say ‘they’?” Thomas added.

“Why, the people who dictated the actions of the friar,” the new Secretary of State for Justice said. “I can only assume that there is a connection.”

All eyes fell on West.

“Okay, West–” Heston began.

“Don’t you think you’re being a tad presumptuous?” Stephen asked.

“Perhaps so, sir, but surely the possibility cannot be disregarded. After all, within the last three weeks two of my colleagues have been found murdered…that, for all we know the King himself…”

“You mind your tongue,” Stephen said.

Thomas placed himself in front of him. “Calm.”

Stephen looked briefly at his cousin, then once again at the minister, their eyes at constant deadlock.

“Gentlemen, time is of the essence,” the King said. “Home Secretary, Justice Secretary, thank you very much for coming. Do, of course, keep us informed of any developments.”

“Of course, sir,” Heston replied.

West nodded at the King and slowly started to leave the room.

He saved the last eye contact for Stephen.

“The insolent bastard,” Stephen exclaimed once the two ministers had left the room.

“Pipe down,” the King reacted. “Like it or not, the boy had a point.”

“I was so busy vomiting from all the arse licking, I’m afraid I must have missed it.”

“I said pipe down.”

The King moved toward his son, looking him in the eye. “One day you will be king. Now grow up and start to act like one.”

The King took a breath and exhaled loudly.

“What news?”

“Talbot is dead; so is the butler. So is the m-man who sh-shot at me at Middleham,” Thomas said.

“Any progress with the phone numbers?” the King asked.

“Yes,” Thomas replied. “Uncle Bill brought us up to speed.”

“I can’t deny, the topic of conversation came up earlier at luncheon,” Clarence said.

“So, who is responsible?” the King asked.

“One of the numbers was registered to the account of one Burghart Stanley,” Clarence confirmed. “The others were all pay-as-you-go.”

The King was confused. “Why did he need an account if they were all pay-as-you-go?”

“Stanley’s must have been a contract,” Thomas answered.

The King accepted the answer. “Very well. Who is this Stanley?”

“Son of Rowland,” Stephen replied.

“The Democrat leader?” the King asked, his eyes narrowing.

“The very same.”

“You know, I actually had the pleasure of meeting him recently,” Clarence said.

“Really?” the King replied. “I’m sure he took kindly to you.”

“No worse than I to him.”

The King laughed softly. “What of his son?”

“Ex Royal Marine, now posing as a politician,” Thomas replied, “at least according to Uncle Bill.”

“You think him unreliable?”

Thomas smiled. “N-not at all. In truth, I had never even h-heard of him until about an hour ago.”

Clarence nodded. “Actually, that pretty much covers him. He’s twenty-nine, six foot one – at least according to his former profile in the marines. Unmarried, no kids as far as we know. Praised by his former commander for his sharpshooting.”

“How about now?” the King asked.

“Failed to become the 31st Democrat to enter Strasbourg last year. Rumour has it he plans to stand for parliament at the next election.”

“What are his chances?”

“Too early to tell, at present – things should be a lot clearer by early next year.”

The King looked at Clarence, not in the slightest reassured. “So what’s his involvement in all this?”

“His recent activities have not been widely catalogued,” Clarence replied. “Nevertheless, I have passed on his details to GCHQ. From what I can gather, he’s been in Greenwich most of the day.”

“Thomas and I thought we might pay him a visit,” Stephen suggested. “Sometime in the region of now.”

The King shot his son a piercing stare. “Out of the question. Cause a scene, the press will be over you in a flash.”

“Father, I wasn’t planning on causing a scene; I merely thought we might, you know, pay him a visit.”

The King remained sceptical.

“Father, come on. After all, I’m a surgeon, not an assassin.”

For now Thomas remained silent. It was obvious that the King was not buying it.

“Then I must go alone.”

The King looked at his nephew. “It sounds dangerous. Very well, go with him if you must. Just be sensible.”

“I’m not planning on getting killed if that’s what you mean,” Stephen replied.

The King turned to Clarence. “I want someone else tracking his father.”

Thomas and Stephen left the palace through a back entrance to await the arrival of the car that had been assigned for them.

“That slimy weasel talks too much,” Stephen said, finally lighting the cigar. “Who told him about the politicians’ murders?”

“He’s a member of the Cabinet – word gets around. Of course s-some things might be p-public knowledge. Freedom of information and all that.”

“Hopefully not too much.”

Their car appeared in the southeast part of the grounds. They got in through the rear right door, and the driver emerged on the A3214, south of the palace.

“What I can’t understand is why the bastard was even there,” Stephen continued.

“It’s his department; technically it’s his job.”

Stephen wound down the window to exhale smoke and flick away ash. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him…what’s the address?”

“742 Drake Gardens, an apartment block in Greenwich.”

“Did you get that?”

The black visor came down, and the driver’s face appeared.

“Caroline?”

“I told the driver he deserved a night off. I’m coming with you.”