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Through a break in the plywood barrier he spotted no workers. Though it was Saturday, some should be here. Mathews had told him to head for this particular corner of the site. To his right, traffic raced by on a busy avenue that headed south across the Thames. He still carried the knapsack with explosives inside, the only weapon he possessed, and he had no intention of entering this trap unarmed.

A maze of heavy equipment littered the scarred earth. Deep gouges in the ground, yards wide and extra deep, stretched toward the riverbank. Train tracks lay at the bottom, straight lines disappearing inside the new bridge station, heading toward the far south bank. He recalled this place from his youth. A busy station. Lots of people in and out every day. But not today. The site was deserted.

Which was exactly what Thomas Mathews would want.

So far he’d followed directions.

Time for some improvising.

* * *

Malone rode in the underground, taking a train from Belgravia east to a station near the Inns of Court, close to Blackfriars. Kathleen Richards sat beside him. He could still hear what Stephanie Nelle had told him on the phone half an hour ago.

“It’s the CIA attempting to save the day,” she said. “Forty years ago a group of Irish lawyers actually tried to prove that Elizabeth I was a fraud. It’s called the Bisley Boy legend—”

“Just like Bram Stoker said in his book.”

“To their credit, they were trying to find a legal, nonviolent way to force the British to leave Northern Ireland. At that time the Troubles were in full swing. People were dying every day. No end seemed in sight. If they could prove in court that all British claims to their lands were false, legal precedent could be used to reunite Ireland.”

“Clever. And it might have been a good idea then, but not now.”

“I agree. The slightest provocation could restart the violence. But the CIA was desperate. They worked hard to find al-Megrahi, then bring him to trial. To see him just walk away galled them to no end. The White House wanted something. Anything to stop it. So Langley thought a little blackmail might work. Unfortunately, they forgot that this president isn’t the type to do that, especially to an ally.”

On that he agreed.

“The CIA director and myself just had a spirited discussion,” she said. “Currently, the White House is unaware of what they’ve been doing, and they’d like to keep it that way. Especially since the whole operation failed. But with SIS now involved, this could become a source of extreme embarrassment for everyone.”

“And they want me to clean up the mess.”

“Something like that. Unfortunately, that prisoner transfer is going to happen. The goal now is not to allow an international PR disaster to amplify the situation. It seems the British know everything about King’s Deception. The only thing going for us is they don’t want the world to know.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

“I realize that Gary is your only concern. But, as you say, he’s with Antrim. And Langley has no idea where that might be.”

Which was why he’d called Mathews.

And was walking into a trap.

“What do you want me to do?” Richards asked him.

He faced her. “Why are you on suspension?”