The majesty of the moment had not been lost on Morgan, and he nodded, but the movement was cursory. A punctuation at the end of one conversation, and the beginning of the next. He had come to the Tower for a reason that was not one of ceremony.
“Something’s been troubling me,” Morgan admitted to the Colonel. He didn’t need to say that it was something other than the death of Jane, which burned through his soul with more torturous intent than any of the contraptions that had been used to bring misery to the Tower’s former occupants, and traitors.
“What is it?” De Villiers asked.
“The shooters knew my hotel in Brecon. They knew where to find us at the waterfall. It’s fair to say by now that those gunmen were Flex and an associate. Maybe more than one.”
“Are you saying you think Flex had inside help?”
“I know he did.”
“And do you know from whom?”
“At first I thought it was Lewis, but I know now that’s not possible.”
“Then who?”
“The Princess told me you have SAS troopers on the security detail?”
De Villiers nodded. “Of course. They’re the best of the best.”
“They’re also people who are loyal to Flex, he being one of their own.”
“I don’t like where you’re going with this, Morgan.”
“But hear me out anyway. I’d like you to look into the service records of the SAS men on the Princess’s detail, to see if any served alongside Flex.”
“They’re all younger men on this detail, much younger than Flex. He has been out of the regiment for a while now. I doubt it’s possible.”
“But we need to consider it.”
His business at an end, Morgan gave De Villiers the number that he could now be reached on.
“But we’re not done yet,” the Colonel said suddenly, surprising him.
“We’re not?”
“No, Morgan. There’s a reason I wanted you to come to the Tower, and I’m afraid you can’t leave without knowing it. Follow me.”
Morgan allowed himself to be led by De Villiers into the heart of the Tower, emerging in a courtyard that was lined with small terraced houses older than the American’s home nation.
“Who lives here?” Morgan asked.
“The Beefeaters,” the Colonel answered.
“They’re trusted to live inside the Tower?”
“More than trusted. They’re the soul of the place, every one of them a former warrant officer with twenty-two years’ service or more. They come from the army, air force and navy, each of them as dedicated and patriotic a person as you’ll find.”
Morgan listened, interested to find out where De Villiers’ speech was heading.
“Many of them joined the military at sixteen,” De Villiers added. “And they’ll serve until they retire. Duty to their country is all, to them.”
“And duty to the Crown?”
“You’ll not find a Beefeater who doesn’t see them as one and the same. After you, Morgan.” The Colonel unlocked a door and stepped aside so that the American could walk in first.
He did, and came face to face with a man holding a gun.
The armed man made no move as Morgan entered, a Heckler & Koch MP5 machine gun held downward across his chest. After a moment, Morgan recognized him as one of the men who had talked to Lewis at the gate of the royal residence in Wales, what felt like a lifetime ago. The man acknowledged Morgan with a jut of his chin.
“Up here.” De Villiers pointed over Morgan’s shoulder. Morgan brushed by the armed man as he made his way through the cramped corridor and up the narrow staircase. Behind him, De Villiers stooped so that his head avoided the ceiling.
When Morgan reached the top of the short flight he turned and found himself in what amounted to a studio apartment, the walls thick with books, the antique wooden desk piled high with papers.
There was a woman sitting at it.
“Your Highness,” Morgan greeted Princess Caroline, his outward appearance giving away nothing of his surprise. He had expected De Villiers to be taking him to some intelligence briefing — or to detain him, had he developed cold feet. Instead, Morgan now found himself in the top-secret hiding place of Princess Caroline. Hearing footsteps behind him as De Villiers walked back down the steps, it became apparent that this reception was to be for Jack Morgan alone.
Princess Caroline turned to face the American at the top of her tiny staircase. Her initial expression was one of grief, mourning the loss of her beloved Sophie, but then he saw something else in her face, too — shock. Perhaps fear.
“Jack.” She rose to her feet and removed her reading glasses. “Jack, you look like a different man.”
Morgan said nothing and stood as still as the Tower’s bayonet-carrying soldiers while Princess Caroline crossed the small room. She stopped in front of him and embraced him. It was the embrace of someone who had experienced the deepest pain of loss, and who could see that same emptiness of grief in him.
“I’m so sorry,” the royal told him, her words muffled by Morgan’s windbreaker. “I’m so very sorry.” In her words, he could feel the Princess expressing her sadness and regret for her own loss as much as his. They had both had the woman they loved taken from them. Perhaps, that night, there were no two souls more alike than the British royal and the American investigator.
Morgan hugged her back.
There was no awkwardness in the moment. They were two people. Two people trapped in grief. Consumed by it. United by it.
“I’m reviewing grant applications,” Caroline said suddenly, breaking the embrace and moving back to her desk. “I need some good to come from today, Jack. When I close my eyes tonight, I want to know there’s good in the world, and not just evil.
“Here.” She picked up a sheaf of papers. “This one’s for a well in Africa.” She picked up a second proposal. “This one for a girls’ school in Pakistan. Do you think it will make a difference? I hope so. The thought of improving the lives of children struggling in such impoverished conditions is the only thing that could possibly help me sleep tonight.”
Morgan said nothing. They both knew that a good night’s sleep was impossible for either one of them.
“I didn’t even know about him,” said Princess Caroline, taking a seat on the room’s small bed and gesturing that Morgan sit beside her. “ Mayoor Patel. I’d never even heard that name before, and now it will be with me forever. What does he look like?”
Morgan told her.
“I picture this ogre in my head,” she said. “Is he the monster I picture him to be?”
Morgan shook his head. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But I don’t think he ever intended to kill Sophie. It was a crime of passion, a situation he lost control of. It wasn’t planned or calculated. Some people kill when they don’t mean to. Others do it because they’re sick.”
“You’ve met a lot of people like that,” Caroline guessed.
“Too many.”
“I suppose Sophie kept secrets from everyone. Even from me. I think she knew that, had I known she had a love for someone else, it would have broken my heart. I’m telling myself that she kept her relationship with him a secret so that I didn’t get hurt.”
“She loved you,” Morgan assured her, his eyes telling her that it was the truth. “Patel told me as much. He tried to make her blackmail you, but she wouldn’t do it. That’s when he realized it was love.”
“And that’s when he killed her.”
There was nothing Morgan could say to that.
“People will say that we were lucky to have loved, even if for a short time,” she tried, desperate to be stoic.
Morgan didn’t answer in words, but he couldn’t hide the answer on his face.
Читать дальше