The Tudor Plot: A Cotton Malone Novella (15 page)

He kept his gun trained on Mathews’ head, assuming under the tweed suit there might be a Kevlar vest. “It was you, making everything happen. You were Yourstone’s information source.”

Mathews stood rigid. “You are an interesting man, Cotton. A bit lucky, too. Never underestimate the value of luck.”

“We were supposed to die out there in Iceland?”

“That was the idea. I had the camp burned and the tunnel sealed. It seemed a good way to end the problem. You and Goulding both succumbing to natural causes. Few questions would have been asked.”

“Let the gun fall from your hand. Don’t raise your arm.”

Mathews’ fingers released their grip, and the Glock thudded on the carpet.

He said, “I should kill you.”

“But you are a naval officer. That means you are a man of honor. Taught to respect life. Play fair. Would your father have shot an unarmed man?”

“What do you know about my father?”

“Quite a lot, actually. He was a naval officer, too. Lost at sea. Doing his duty. Another man of honor. Would you disgrace him by shooting a defenseless man?”

“I wouldn’t characterize you as defenseless.”

“Lord Yourstone was a traitor. Now he is dead. Prince Albert is safe. This matter is at an end.”

“The palace must have suspected you, or someone else in intelligence, because they refused to involve you or MI5.”

“I assumed the same thing. Which explains why they turned to you.”

“And you set me up at the Tower.”

“Really? I thought you performed brilliantly. Saving the day, and all that.”

“What if I hadn’t found that second homer?”

“I had every confidence you would.”

“And along the way you allowed Peter Lyon to escape.”

“We actually never had him. But luckily, we discovered the details of his plan and the launch point.”

“What if Albert had been killed?”

Mathews shrugged. “Now, that would have been MI5’s problem.”

“This was about a turf war?”

“It’s about the security of this nation. Which I take seriously. But others do not. MI5 was not even aware Lyon was in the country. And that was after the incident of the dead policemen and the C-83, which even Stephanie Nelle uncovered. MI5 does not do its job. A point I’ve tried to make clear to the Home Secretary. Yet she fails to listen.”

He could not believe what he was hearing. He’d heard of Mathews’ determination, how his enemies feared him.

But this was arrogance and stupidity.

“Every operation,” Mathews said, “should have at least two objectives, each running parallel to the other. If the primary goal fails, then the secondary becomes paramount. Here, the primary was achieved. You stopped the missile and exposed the conspiracy. I will now finish what Yourstone started, and Richard will abdicate in favor of Albert. All will be right.”

“And if I had not lived up to your expectations?”

“Then the secondary objective, of exposing how poor our domestic security measures truly are, would have been realized by a missile striking the Tower of London. I’m sure there was little threat to Albert. You had him away form the impact point, never in any real danger.”

“But a lot of other people could have died to prove your point.”

“Every cause has its martyrs.”

“Like Yourstone’s son, who’s lying dead in the kitchen?”

“I’m afraid the young Yourstone knew a bit too much. He was one of those loose ends that have a terrible habit of reasserting themselves.”

“The three men in Iceland fall into that category, too?”

Mathews nodded. “A pity there. They were actually quite good at what they did.”

He was tired of the banter, ready to end this.

“I was troubled to learn that your marriage is ending,” Mathews said. “That’s too bad. There’s a son there, correct?”

Gary was nine years old and dealing with his parents’ separation as best he could. They lived on one side of Atlanta and he on the other.

“Leave my son out of this.”

“A measure of a man is the character of his child. I’m told your son is a fine young man.”

Mathews was sending a message.
I can hurt you. Where it counts
.

“I’m leaving,” the spymaster said. “We’re going to assume that this conversation never happened.”

“I’m one of those loose ends.”

“That you are. And if you had died in Iceland, as planned, there would have been no problem. Killing you and Dr. Goulding now, though, presents issues that I’m not prepared to deal with. Surely Stephanie Nelle is aware you’re here. I haven’t heard from her officially, as yet, since you were supposedly dead. In any event, I don’t want a war with the Americans. Killing you will mean one of my own will be targeted. So we’ll call it a day.”

Mathews turned and started to walk away.

Malone fired into the floor just ahead of the Brit. “The next bullet will be to your head.”

“No, it won’t. You have the same dilemma as I. Neither one of us can kill the other.” Mathews had stopped but was still facing away. “No matter how much we each would like to.”

The bastard was right.

Stalemate.

Mathews started walking again. Ten feet remained until the hallway right-angled. His adversary kept moving, the cane leading the way.

Finally, Mathews stopped, turned, and faced the gun.

“Only you and I know the truth. And that is the way it will stay.”

He lowered the gun. “One day, Sir Thomas, you’re going to push someone too far.”

The older man smiled.

“I doubt that.”

Malone finished packing his bag. His flight left Heathrow in a little over three hours. The trial was finished and the terrorists convicted, each sentenced to life in prison. His two months in England were over. A light rap on his hotel room door disturbed the silence, and Stephanie Nelle entered. His boss had flown over a few days ago for the verdict.

“Ready to leave?” she asked.

“Been ready.”

“This was a tough one, wasn’t it?”

“You could say that. My faith in the good guys is beginning to wane.”

Everything he’d learned from and about Thomas Mathews still bothered him.

He folded the last of his shirts into the bag and zipped the lid shut.

In the weeks after the missile attack the press had been told precious little. The two Yourstones’ deaths were blamed on a robbery gone bad. Eleanor was saying nothing, playing the part of the grieving widow. And none of the royals would ever talk. The queen privately extracted a written declaration from her daughter renouncing all claims to the throne. There would be no repeats of regicide, or at least the effort would do her no good. Eleanor was allowed to keep her title, but no more royal duties. The official line was her desire to withdraw from public life and mourn her husband.

He laid his travel bag on the floor.

And not a word from the Secret Intelligence Service.

But he hadn’t expected any.

“William called,” Stephanie said. “The queen has asked us to come for a quick visit. She wants to say goodbye.”

He glanced at his watch.

“Let’s do it fast.”

He followed Stephanie through Buckingham Palace and into the audience hall. Victoria sat at the far side of the long chamber in her wheelchair, Albert standing beside her. William and Prince James stood off to the side. An array of ancient armor and weapons adorned the chamber, the finely carved, cream-colored walls resembling lace.

“Come in, Mr. Malone,” Victoria said.

Her pale voice resonated through the vast space, and she sounded upbeat.

He stepped toward her. “You’re looking well, Your Majesty.”

“I feel much better. My strength is returning. It is like a new day here.”

He was glad for her.

“I was wondering,” Victoria said, “if you might kneel.”

An odd request, but he could not refuse her.

“For service to this Crown, which included placing your life in jeopardy, I want to bestow upon you the title, knight of the realm.”

Albert stepped forward, holding a glistening silver sword, the scabbard afire with rubies and diamonds. He raised the blade and gently touched the tops of Malone’s shoulders.

“From this day forward,” the queen said, “you shall be known as Sir Harold Earl Malone, Protector of the Realm. This honor is granted by the Crown only to its loyal servants. And you sir, are my most loyal. You saved my grandson’s life. For that I, and this nation, owe you more than a mere knighthood.”

He was a bit overwhelmed. He hadn’t expected this. He stood. “I’m honored. Thank you.”

The queen smiled. “Ms. Nelle told me of your displeasure with commendations. She says you’ve refused quite a few. I decided to bestow one upon you that you could not refuse.”

“As I said yesterday, it would be hard to refuse so gracious a lady.”

Victoria chuckled. “Still the charmer.”

“I see you also learned my full given name. I’m not often called Harold Earl.”

“Ms. Nelle was kind enough to tell us. But I do wonder, where did the name Cotton come from?”

He smiled. “It’s a really long story.”

“Let’s agree then that, one day, you will return and tell me.”

“Absolutely. Might I ask, Your Majesty, what about Richard? What will happen to the succession?”

“My son has already signed his abdication. He will forfeit his right to the throne in favor of his son. That announcement will be made next week.”

Which further explained Mathews’ silence. The spymaster surely knew. And this was precisely what he wanted to happen.

“My advisers say the move will be greeted with much favor,” the queen said. “It will also diffuse the rumors of attempted regicide that the press, for some reason, cannot seem to abandon.” She reached up and grabbed her grandson’s hand. “Albert will marry within the year. His chosen one is a fine lady. She will make an excellent queen. The nation is in good hands.”

Malone studied the new heir apparent. The English monarchy did seem in good hands. He glanced over at Stephanie. He’d wanted to tell the queen about Mathews, revealing everything, but his boss had vetoed the idea.

Not our fight
, she’d said.

“The grave site in Iceland has been fully mapped and the artifacts removed,” the queen said. “The manuscript you found is indeed a Gildas original, a lost volume that proves Arthur was real. We plan an announcement of the find next week to coincide with Richard’s abdication to Albert.”

He smiled at the irony. Victoria now planned to do what Yourstone and all of the other monarchs before her had tried and failed. Use Arthur to revitalize the throne. But she just might succeed. The timing was right. The people would greet the news of Arthur’s return, and Albert’s succession, with great joy.

Once a myth, now proven real.

Arthur.

The Celtic warrior.

Not a king. Just a leader of men, fighting for what he believed. A few lines from Tennyson came to mind. Applicable to a king lamenting about his death or a queen worried about the future of her realm.

If thou shouldst never see my face again, pray for my soul
.

Which made him again think of Thomas Mathews. Whose soul he would not pray for. Stephanie had officially let MI6 know that what had happened would not be forgotten. But Mathews’ continued silence signaled no remorse. And Malone understood. This was the spy business. Not for the faint of heart.

But still—

One day, Sir Thomas, you’re going to push someone too far
.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d be there to see it.

This story postulates an alternate history. The current British royal family is called Windsor, but their true name is Saxe-Coburg, a name born in 1840 at the marriage between Victoria I and Albert Saxe-Coburg. The family label was changed (as detailed in
chapter 4
) during World War I to eliminate its German character. For the purposes of this story I omitted that modification. I did the same with the 1936 abdication of Edward VIII (
chapter 6
), instead implying a long reign and making him the father of my invented Victoria II. I chose to use a fictional royal family just as I’ve used a fictional American president in many of my thrillers.

The locales of St. Margaret’s Church (
chapter 2
), Buckingham Palace (
chapters 2
,
19
), St. James Palace (
chapter 6
), the Tower of London (
chapters 12
,
13
), and the Wellington Barracks (
chapter 12
) are accurately described. The silver vessel in
chapters 3
and
7
is real, though slightly modified. This story takes place seven years in Cotton Malone’s past, so the Act of Succession quoted in
chapter 4
is the one that existed prior to the recent change that now allows both male and female firstborns to inherit the throne.

The exploits of Arthur described in
chapter 4
are from the legend, but the information about him being a Saxon warrior leader (
chapters 7
and
9
) is probably more accurate. The account of a dying Henry II (
chapter 4
) is based on a historical incident. Henry was the first English king to attempt to use Arthur as a way to revitalize the throne. Eliminating the monarchy is something constantly discussed throughout British history (
chapters 2
and
8
). It was actually accomplished in the 17th century when Cromwell briefly ruled. As detailed in
chapters 2
,
9
, and
11
, various kings have wanted to name their potential heirs Arthur, but death seemed always to interfere. The connection between Arthur’s grave and Glastonbury abbey exists (
chapters 7
and
9
), and currently a marker stands at Glastonbury noting its supposed location.

History of the Kings of Britain
by Geoffrey of Monmouth (
chapter 9
),
Navigatio Sancti Brendani Abbatis
by St. Brendan (
chapter 9
), the
Landanámabók
(
chapter 9
), and
On the Ruin and Conquest of Britain
by Gildas (
chapter 16
) are actual manuscripts. The addition of specific references to Arthur in the Gildas work was my invention, though those accounts were based on historical references.