“He’s your son all right,” she said. “Never once has he ever let on he knew anything about his birth father.”
He smiled. “He’d make a great agent one day. Let’s just hope that line of work doesn’t interest him.”
“Part of me hates that Gary saw Blake as he truly was. I don’t want him wondering all of his life if that’s what he’ll become.”
“He and I discussed that afterward, back in Copenhagen. I don’t think he has that worry. Like you said, he’s a Malone. In every way that matters.”
“Is Blake still there, in that underground chamber?”
He nodded. “His grave.”
Stephanie had told him that no gold star would be added to the wall at Langley. That honor was only for heroes.
“And the truth of Elizabeth I stays secret?”
“As it should. The world is not ready for that piece of history.”
He watched as she considered the enormity of all that had happened. He’d learned more of the story from talking to Gary, then to Stephanie a few weeks later. A confidential, cooperative investigation between the Justice Department and the British Home Department had revealed all of the details of Antrim’s and Mathews’ activities.
Quite an adventure from a simple favor.
“My flight to Denmark leaves in three hours.”
He’d come to the States on book-buying business and stopped off in Atlanta for a few days to visit with Gary. He’d never anticipated having the discussion they’d just had, but was glad everything was out in the open.
No more secrets lay between them.
“You can stop beating yourself up,” he said to her. “All of this is done, and has been for a long time.”
She started to cry.
Which was unusual.
Pam was tough. That was her problem — too tough. Combine that with his own inability to deal with emotions and they’d made for a challenging pair. Their marriage, which included much happiness, in the end failed. Finally now, after so many years, they both seemed to realize that placing blame mattered little. All that mattered was Gary.
They both stood from the table.
She stepped to the counter and tore off a couple of paper towels to deal with her tears. “I’m so sorry, Cotton. So sorry for all of this. I should have been honest with you a long time ago.”
True. But that was past, too.
“I almost got you killed. Hell, I almost got Gary killed.”
He shouldered his travel bag and stepped to the door. “How about we call it even.”
She threw him a perplexed look. “How is that even possible?”
Asked that question three years ago he would have had no answer. But a lot had happened since he left Georgia and moved to Denmark. His life was so different, his priorities changed. Hating an ex-wife was not only meaningless but counterproductive. And, besides, he’d come to realize that he was half to blame for all the hurt anyway.
Better to let it go and move on.
So he threw her a smile and answered with the truth.
“Actually, we’re more than even. You gave me Gary.”
Writer’s Note
For this novel two trips were made to England, one of them quite memorable as we were there when the Icelandic volcano grounded all air travel. Good use was made of those three extra days, though, as my wife, Elizabeth, and I scouted more locales that eventually made their way into the novel. For an interesting addition to the novel, check out my short story, “The Tudor Plot,” which takes place seven years before
Now it’s time to separate fact from fiction.
The death scene of Henry VIII (prologue) happened, and most of the comments made by Henry are taken from historical accounts. The king died without his children present, but whether Katherine Parr visited him during his final days is unknown. Of course, Henry’s passing on of a great Tudor secret to his last queen was my invention. The death of Henry VII at Richmond Palace (chapter 10) is likewise faithfully recounted, except I added a visit from the heir. Sir Thomas Wriothesly’s description of what happened that day was most helpful.
Many refer to London’s Metropolitan Police as Scotland Yard, but I decided to utilize its proper label, “the Met.” That was likewise true with the Secret Intelligence Service, which is popularly known as MI6 (responsible for international threats). The Serious Organized Crime Agency (SOCA) (chapter 3) is a domestic law enforcement agency, Great Britain’s version of the FBI.
Windsor Castle and St. George’s Chapel are both magnificent. Henry VIII is buried there, beneath the marble slab as detailed in chapter 3. The epitaph quoted is accurate, as is the fact that Henry’s grave was opened in 1813.