Crown's Vengeance, The (12 page)

The light held steady as Parker’s lungs burned. For what felt like an eternity they both held rigidly still. When he could hold his breath no longer, the light clicked off.

“That dang kid. We need to make him clean this place up. You can hardly move in here.”

Parker exhaled as the door clicked shut to leave them in silence.

“Get off me.” Erika pushed his beleaguered chest with both hands, shoving him off her. She gasped in the dusty air. “If he would have even glanced at us, we were done. Your legs were completely uncovered.”

“Good thing Jim wasn’t too observant.”

With the utmost care, Parker cleared an area around the corner brick large enough for them to squat down. Her phone light flashing around, Erika peered among the junk he was moving.

“What is that?” She was pointing at a metal pipe in his hands.

“I don’t know, part of a table? I’m just moving this stuff so we can stand here.”

“Give it to me.” She grabbed the rod, which was a foot long and several inches in diameter. “Shine your light on the brick.” Erika held the pipe in both hands, angst covering her face. She whispered to no one, “Sorry about this.”

The pipe swung down, crashed into the brick with a heavy thud. Nothing moved but dust in the air.

“Damn. Stand back.” She smashed the brick two more times, and again failed to dislodge little more than a few mortar chunks.

“Give that thing to me and get out of the way.” Parker handed her the phones in exchange for the pipe. A glance to the door confirmed they were still alone. Two sharps cracks echoed through the room as the brick disintegrated into pieces. Before the dust settled, Erika was on her knees in front of the damage.

“Be careful, I may have just broken down the front door to a rat’s house.”

If so, Erika wasn’t afraid. Her arm disappeared into the hole. “Yuck, there are so many cobwebs in here.” She kept digging, her elbow going inside the wall, until her body froze. “I have something.”

Her hand emerged from the hole grasping what looked like a cigar box. She held it aloft where he could see it. His hands barely grazed the surface, swiping the accumulated grime onto Erika’s legs. She didn’t even notice when they saw what was underneath.

P.R. & Sns.

For several seconds, neither moved. Only when a group of voices passed by the door did Parker finally speak. “We need to go.”

Erika said nothing, merely tucked the box under one arm and headed to the door.

“We look like coal miners.”

She cast a glance up and down their dirty and disheveled clothes. “Follow me and don’t stop. If anyone yells, start running.”

Without waiting for an answer she twisted the doorknob and walked outside. Left with no choice, he dropped the pipe and hurried out, hoping the police weren’t waiting for them.

Chapter 19

Outside Washington, DC

The deep thump of helicopter blades reverberated through normally tranquil air. When the craft itself passed by, every driver on the roadways below looked skyward, entranced by the monstrous bird.

There was one exception. A lone motorcyclist cruised down the DC beltway, his eyes focused squarely on the road ahead. Moments ago a string of police vehicles had careened past him, lights flashing as they descended on Trump National. Eyes shielded behind the smoked glass of a metallic gray racing helmet, the biker hadn’t so much as glanced as the cavalry whizzed past.

Less than twenty minutes after Treasury Secretary Gordon Daniels had been shot with the electrified dart, Michael Brown was miles away, headed to Pennsylvania.

The winding route which Michael had laid out for his return trip to New York would take him through eastern Pennsylvania, past a series of remote lakes, one of which would soon be the watery grave of the motorcycle he was currently riding.

The clothes he wore, a racing jacket with camouflage sewn onto the reverse side and matching pair of pants, would be dumped as well, weighted with cement blocks. Afterward, once he returned to his apartment in the city, there would be no way to connect Michael Brown with the lone wolf terrorist who had murdered Gordon Daniels.

The sight of Daniels crumpling to the ground as his heart stopped beating had the same effect on him as watching a baseball game. It was entertaining, almost pleasing, as he’d completed his mission. The job was now stored away, an experience on which to draw from in the future.

Careful to stay just under the speed limit, Michael focused on the asphalt under his tires, and a feeling of contentment settled over him on this beautiful summer day.

Chapter 20

Their dirty clothes garnered a few stares, but otherwise Parker and Erika moved unmolested through the afternoon crowds. A taxi took them back to the hotel, and once he walked into the blissfully cold room, Parker flopped onto the bed, mentally exhausted.

“Get over here,” Erika ordered as she pulled him to his feet. “I need your help opening this box.”

Atop the same table on which they had studied Revere’s second letter sat the grimy wooden box, emanating a musty odor. It resembled a cigar box, with two rusted metal hinges connecting the lid and body.

“That doesn’t smell too nice. If there’s paper inside, would it have survived this long?”

The angst on Erika’s face belied her answer. “You have to remember that the paper Revere would have used was far more durable than what we have today. Also, many letters during this time period were protected by a leather cover. I’d hope he had the foresight to use one.”

Parker watched as Erika grasped the lid. Her mouth contorted into a grimace as she struggled with the rusted hinges. With a skin-crawling shriek, centuries of rust gave way and the lid opened several inches.

“This thing is really stuck. I don’t want to break the container if I can avoid it.”

“Let me try.” Without waiting for permission, Parker grabbed the box and ripped it open. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

She didn’t respond, her eyes fixed on the interior. A thin leather-bound book lay inside.

“Look at the cover.”

Burned into the cracked leather were two familiar letters.

P.R.

“Looks like we’re on the right track.”

Erika reached for the volume, which nearly filled the box’s interior, her white-gloved hands softly flipping the front cover open. The first page was blank.

“This paper appears to be the right age, as does the binding. If you look closely, you can see that there are a variety of colors in the paper, the result of using different colors of materials to make the page.”

She had again fallen into lecture mode.

“That’s wonderful, but I don’t care. Flip the page before I do.”

Erika took the hint. On the next page, he saw a familiar script.

“That’s Revere’s handwriting.”

For several minutes neither of them spoke as they read a message composed centuries ago.

Dear Alexander,

My time here is almost at an end, and I have terrible news to report. One of my informants has uncovered a treacherous plot to undermine our entire financial system. George Simpson, an American by all rights, is in league with His Majesty’s associates. My confidante personally observed Mr. Simpson directing a shipment of gold to be delivered to America, though to what destination I know not. Simpson was recruited by King George to establish a presence within our borders and wreak havoc on our burgeoning economy.

Several hundred pounds of gold have been shipped to America to fund this enterprise. I fear the worst, as immediately after learning of this plot, my informant disappeared. Whether his true allegiance was discovered or the conspirators sought to bury all traces of their activities, I cannot say.

As such, you must move forward assuming the English know their secrecy is lost. Beware the man who offers advice or funding, as that man may be an agent of King George, bent on destroying America. Before I depart from these shores, I will seek to gain the trust of a new court member from whom I may learn further details.

Should I fail, however, I beg of you to act with the utmost caution, preserving our liberty that was purchased as such a dear price. I trust you will proceed with all haste to uncover the methods behind Mr. Simpson’s traitorous plot.

Yr. Faithful Servant,

PR

Parker turned to face her. “If this message was never delivered, then no one had any idea this plot was in motion.”

Erika turned back to the first page. In its entirety, the book contained only four pages nestled between the leather cover.

“This could have destroyed the country before we ever had a chance.” Erika looked up, confusion clouding her features. “You’re the financial guy. What could they have been trying to do?”

Framed by the prism of history, several options presented themselves. “First of all, you have to realize how much money they’re talking about. Several hundred pounds of gold would have been an unimaginable fortune to most people, a literal king’s ransom. Assuming you didn’t want to start an armed insurrection, they could have used the money to purchase the allegiance of any number of politicians. If you control the politicians, you control who they appoint to office. Get enough sympathizers in high places, and you could run America into the ground in no time.”

Erika’s head tilted to one side. “Not bad, but if that’s what they wanted to do, why didn’t it happen?”

Parker shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe they tried and failed. Or maybe that money never made it here. You ever think of that? There could be a fortune in gold bricks sitting at the bottom of the Atlantic right now.”

“If we assume the shipment was delivered, and I know that’s a major assumption given how often ships were lost in those days, what else could it have been used for?”

Not wanting to completely abandon his idea, Parker offered a new take. “The money could have been used to buy votes or the people who governed elections. Democracy was a new experience, so if someone paid off enough of the people who monitored elections, they could stuff the ballot boxes and make sure certain candidates were elected. Now I realize you’ll say that didn’t happen, but who knows? Maybe some of those handpicked candidates actually were elected, but didn’t end up doing what their British supporters thought they would. Politicians aren’t the most reliable people.”

“You have a point. Maybe this whole plot never came to fruition.”

He looked at the problem with a more modern mindset. “You know as well as I do that people have been doing the same stupid things for hundreds of years. Maybe whoever had all that gold told the wrong person, someone they couldn’t trust, and was murdered. People get shot for cars, wallets, even shoes. It’s not hard to imagine a few people who saw the gold getting together and killing everyone else. For your average criminal, that would have been more money than they could spend in five lifetimes.”

An odd look of defeat settled over Erika’s face.

“You seem disappointed that maybe this idea never panned out,” Parker said. “I didn’t think you’d be rooting for England.”

“No, it’s not that. I don’t like the open-endedness of all this.” Erika tapped a finger on the desk. “You’d think someone somewhere along the line would have mentioned all that gold or this plot if they knew about it.”

“Keeping your mouth shut would be the best way to stay alive, if you ask me. You know what they say about two people keeping a secret.”

“It only works if one of them is dead. Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

The stress of the past few days was getting to them both. He wrapped his arms around her slender waist, pulling her close. “We’ve had an action-packed weekend so far. This is amazing, everything we found, but we didn’t come here for this. It’s supposed to be a vacation, remember?”

Her lithe frame rested on his chest as a great sigh escaped from between her lips. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I just get so caught up in this kind of stuff. It really is amazing.”

“I agree. However, it’s been sitting around for two hundred years. A few more days won’t matter.”

She shoved him away, a new bounce in her step. “You’re right. I’ll review everything we’ve found on Monday, back in my office where I have the proper equipment. No more Revere stuff the rest of the weekend.”

As she stepped into the bathroom and the shower turned on, Parker couldn’t help but think that regardless of her intentions, Erika had made a promise she couldn’t keep.

Chapter 21

Boston, Massachusetts

Nigel Stirling and Spencer Drake sat around a mahogany table, framed by the overstuffed leather club seats Spencer had imported from England. The room was designed like a nineteenth century men’s club, a respite from the intense world he inhabited every day. In front of both sat a crystal tumbler of single malt scotch. On the table were two video screens. One displayed the digital image of Chancellor of the Exchequer Colin Moore, and on the other was their groups fourth member. Cigar smoke curled to the ceiling twenty feet overhead.

“Thank you, Liz. That will be all.”

Drake’s secretary sauntered from the room, Nigel Stirling fixing her with a lecherous gaze.

“Quite a whelp you have there, Drake. Damn fine bit of scenery.”

“She serves a purpose.”

Seated at the head of the table, Nigel Stirling quickly lost all traces of levity.

“Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to discuss the next phase of our plan. As you are well aware, the operation in Washington was a smashing success.” Drake dipped his head in agreement. He hadn’t the foggiest clue how the assassin had managed to do it, but after killing the Treasury secretary, the man had vanished without a trace. “As one era ends, so a new one begins. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your imminent appointment, Mr. Secretary.”

Stirling’s comment was directed to the video screen on which was displayed the face of the fourth attendee. From his home in Washington, Deputy Secretary of the Treasury Gerard Webster addressed the room.