The King's Deception

Any Old Books occupied a space not unlike his own shop, a turn-of-the-century structure squeezed between a pub on one side and a haberdashery on the other. Its front door was stained oak and half glass with a worn brass knob. Inside was also similar to his shop. Rows of wooden shelves from floor to ceiling packed with used books. Even the smell, that combination of dust, old paper, and aged wood, reminded him of Copenhagen. He immediately noted an order to the madness, placards jutting from the shelves announcing the various subjects. Organization seemed an affliction common to all successful bookstore owners.

The woman who stood behind the counter was small and thin with short, silver hair. Only a few noticeable lines had settled over her dainty features, like a faint net of age. She spoke in a gentle voice that he noticed was never raised, a smile accompanying every word.

And not a phony one.

She seemed to genuinely care, ringing up a purchase, dispensing change, thanking customers for their business.

“Are you Miss Mary?” he asked her when she finished with a purchase.

“That’s what they call me.”

“Is this your store?”

She nodded. “I’ve owned it a long time.”

He noticed the stacks of books dominating the counter, surely ones she’d just acquired. He did the same, every day, “buying for pennies, selling for euros.” He hoped his two employees were taking care of things back in Denmark. He was supposed to work there tomorrow.

“You’re open late.”

“Friday and Saturday nights are busy for me. The stage shows are just ending, everyone off for a late dinner or a drink. I learned long ago that they also enjoy buying books.”

“I own a bookshop. In Copenhagen.”

“Then you must be Cotton Malone.”

* * *

Gary watched Blake Antrim as he directed his two agents and made things happen. He’d never met anybody who actually worked for the CIA. Sure, you saw them on television and in movies, or read about them in books. But to deal with one in person? That had to be rare. His father had been an agent for the Justice Department, but never, until recently, had he understood what that meant.

“We appreciate your dad helping us out,” Antrim said to him. “We can use the assist.”

He was curious. “What’s happening here?”

“We’re after some extremely special things, and have been for the past year.”

They’d driven to a warehouse located near the Thames River, which Antrim described as their command station. They were inside a small, sparsely furnished office near the warehouse entrance, a tight rectangle with a window that opened into the cavernous space.

“What’s out there?” he asked.

Antrim stepped close. “Things we’ve collected. Pieces of a large puzzle.”

“Sounds cool.”

“Would you like to take a look?”

* * *

Malone smiled. “I see Ian has already arrived.”

“He told me you might be coming, and he described you perfectly.”

“I need to find him, and fast.”

“There are a lot of people looking for Ian, and have been ever since that man died in the Underground.”

“He told you about that?”

She nodded. “He and I have always been close, ever since he wandered in here one day.”

“And could read.”

She smiled. “Exactly. He was fascinated by all of the books, so I indulged his interest.”

But he wasn’t fooled. “As a way to get him to sleep here at night, instead of on the streets?”

“If Ian ever knew my real motives he never said a word. I told him he was my night guard, here to keep an eye on things.”

He immediately liked Miss Mary, an entirely practical woman with a seemingly good heart.

“I never was blessed with children,” she said, “and I am way past the time where I could have one. Ian seemed a gift. So he and I spend a lot of time together.”

“He’s in trouble.”

“That much I know. But he’s lucky.”

He was curious what she meant. “How so?”

“For the second time”—she tossed him a hard gaze—“he’s taken to someone he can trust.”

“I didn’t know that we were buddies. In fact, our relationship has been a bit rocky.”

“Surely you realize that he took that flash drive hoping you would come after it. His way of asking for your friendship. I can see that he made a good choice. You look like a man to be trusted.”

“I’m just a guy who can’t quit doing favors.”

“He told me you were once a secret agent.”

He grinned. “Just a humble servant of the U.S. government. Now I’m a bookseller, like you.”

Which he liked the sound of.

“He told me that, too. Like I say, you are a man to be trusted.”

“Have others really been looking for Ian?”

“A month ago men came around to the shops. Some of the owners know Ian and they pointed them my way. But I lied and told them I had not seen him. Unfortunately, Ian disappeared a week after that and did not return. Until today. I prayed he’d be okay.”

“Like I said, he’s in trouble. He has something those other men want.”

“The flash drive.”

He caught the meaning in her words. “You’ve read it?”

“I read the same two files you viewed.”

Then he saw something in her eyes. “What is it?”

* * *