Log In
Or create an account ->
Imperial Library
Home
About
News
Upload
Forum
Help
Login/SignUp
Index
1 What, will you thus oppose me, luckless stars… That I may vanish o’er the earth in air, And leave no memory that e’er I was? No, I will live… —BARABAS, in Marlowe’sThe Jew of Malta SOUTHWARK, ENGLAND—DUSK, MAY1593 His rendezvous was set for nightfall and the sun was sinking quickly. The young man had no time to spare. But as he neared London Bridge, the familiar sounds along that particular stretch of the Thames were hard to resist. His pace slowed. His ears perked up. The clamor of the bear-baiting arena beckoned—a chained bear howling as canine jaws tore at its flesh, frenzied dogs shrieking with every swipe of the bear’s claws, groundlings hollering out bets and cheering wildly. Halting midstride, with one tall black boot hovering a few inches above the ground, he tested his resolve. It failed. He veered off the riverside path and headed toward the arena. En route, a swath of bold colors drew his attention—the canopy of an unfamiliar booth. Curious, he approached. Long scarlet tre
2 LONDON—8:20P.M., THE PRESENT DAY The silver Daimler pulled to a stop at Eaton Square in Belgravia, an exclusive residential enclave in central London. A young baron stepped out, buttoned his dinner jacket, and reached for the long-stemmed roses resting on the seat. Nodding to his chauffeur, he began strolling past the pillared white homes alongside the fragrant park. It was a cool evening for spring, and his hat, thin scarf, and gloves appeared entirely appropriate. No one would guess that he wasn’t wearing them for warmth. The accessories were intended to prevent anyone in the vicinity from being able to describe him later on, should they even remember seeing him, which was unlikely. An expensively dressed man in this neighborhood, with the right level of self-assurance in his stride, blended in better than camouflaged soldiers moving through a jungle. A few minutes later, he stood at the door of a five-story townhouse on Wilton Crescent, a street shaped like its name. The lantern-l
3 NEWYORKCITY—4:08P.M., THE FOLLOWING DAY Wrapped in a towel, Kate Morgan was standing in her bedroom eyeing the contents of her closet with a furrowed brow. She had a problem—a business meeting to get to in twenty minutes where she was supposed to look presentable—but it was a warm spring afternoon and there was an eye-grabbing mark on her neck that she needed to hide. Can you get away with wearing a scarf tied around your neck on a day like this without looking like a teenager covering up a hickey? she wondered. Probably not. Ah-ha! This should do the trick.She pulled a black sleeveless turtleneck from one of her shelves, laid it on her bed, and began to towel-dry her hair. The hot barrel of the freshly emptied pistol that had been slammed into her neck the night before had left an ugly welt—part bruise, part burn. Kate knew she was lucky. The guy had been aiming to crush her trachea. She’d twisted at the right moment and he missed by a couple of inches, giving her a window to throw
4 Alas, I am a scholar, how should I have gold? —RAMUS,in Marlowe’sThe Massacre at Paris SOUTHWARK—DUSK, MAY1593 Pushing his way through the noisy, bustling crowds on the south bank of the Thames, Marlowe paused at London Bridge. More than a dozen severed heads impaled on pikes crowned the archway. He recognized the faces, had been seeing them up there for months. Some for nearly a year. Parboiled in salt water, they’d been fairly well preserved. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said with a slight bow. “Anyone for a game of dice?” A young prostitute with exposed breasts tugged Marlowe’s sleeve. He started to shake her dirty fingers loose, then frowned, noticing a crimson droplet perched upon her bare shoulder. Checking for a wound, he lifted her hair from her neck, but she appeared to be uninjured. Mistaking his gesture for the scrutiny of a potential customer, she closed her eyes and puckered her lips awkwardly. Marlowe touched the drop and brought his finger to her nose. “Your lips smel
5 NEWYORKCITY—6:30P.M., THE PRESENT DAY The dove-gray townhouse in the East Seventies had a narrow stone façade and a charcoal gabled roof. It was a sedate, old-fashioned exterior. Most people would never guess that electronic jamming signals crisscrossed each of the windowpanes, preventing voice-stimulated vibrations from being picked up by directional microphones. Kate entered the lobby and walked toward the brass elevators in the far left corner. The shy, heavyset doorman looked up and nodded at her briefly, then continued reading his book. As always, his paperback was missing its cover. “Hearts Aflame? The Knight’s Embrace?Which one you got this time?” He blushed. “You just can’t give a harmless old guy his space, can you?” He’d managed to hide his addiction to romance novels from everyone but Kate. “Lemme see some cash, Jerry, or the whole building’s gonna know about the shirtless Fabios on those missing covers.” Twin gilt-framed portraits of a Victorian couple who once lived in t
6 Admir’d I am of those that hate me most. —MACHIAVEL,in Marlowe’sThe Jew of Malta LONDON—NIGHT, MAY1593 The twenty-foot canopied barge glided silently along the Thames. The river was quiet. Most of London was sleeping. Just ahead, the Tower. Thick, crenellated stone walls. Smooth but for the arrow slits hewn in. How many eyes, the master wondered, were peering out from those ominous black fissures? And could any of them see his face? He lowered his hat. Turning abruptly to the left, the barge slid into a narrow waterway in the middle of Tower Wharf, heading for a set of latticed wooden doors. The feared archway known far and wide as Traitors’ Gate. The stench was overwhelming. Garbage and sewage floating downriver tended to collect in the moat and remain to rot. Holding his ornately carved silver pomander to his nose, the master breathed in deeply, filling his nostrils with the rich scent of cloves. In the murky darkness beneath St. Thomas’s Tower, the barge pulled up to a paved road
7 NEWYORKCITY—8:33P.M., THE PRESENT DAY Kate was aiming for his head. He drew closer. She blocked his two quick jabs, pivoted on the ball of her left foot, and with her right knee up in the air, snapped her foot forward. Just before contact, Slade grabbed her ankle and, in spite of the sweaty slickness, held it firmly in the air. “Eyes, Kate. What do I always tell you?” “Peripheral vision, disguise my intent. I remember, boss, it’s just that I’m about to collapse.” “Excuses like that won’t save your life.” “Right. May I have my leg back please?” “Until next time.” Back on two feet, Kate threw off her gloves and smoothed back her hair, pulling it into a ponytail. “You know, if you weren’t my revered elder, the legend of the spook world, and, yes, my personal hero…” She took a step toward him. “Well, if all that weren’t the case, I’d tell you that one of these days, I’m gonna kick your ass.” Slade flashed a grin. “I’m waiting.” Turning and moving to the edge of the sparring ring, he slid
8 Your Machiavellian Merchant spoils the state, Your usury doth leave us all for dead, Your artifex & craftsman works our fate, And like the Jews you eat us up as bread. Since words nor threats nor any other thing Can make you to avoid this certain ill, We’ll cut your throats, in your temples praying, Not Paris massacre so much blood did spill. —signed “Tamburlaine,” author unknown LONDON—NIGHT, MAY1593 For a moment, the spy lingered in a shadow, scanning the street for passersby. No one. Good. He drew closer. His destination soon came into view—a small church attended by the neighborhood’s Dutch immigrants, the thieving dogs who stole jobs from good Englishmen. Leaning around the corner of the adjacent building, he squinted into the churchyard. It was empty. He moved in. From beneath his doublet, he withdrew a parchment scroll that felt as heavy as iron. If he were caught with it, his employer would look the other way and he’d find himself in shackles. Fingers trembling, he unfurled t
9 NEWYORKCITY—8:26A.M., THE PRESENT DAY Kate stood just inside the entrance of Doma in the West Village, scanning the café for a familiar face. A flamboyantly dressed silver-haired man in the far corner, seated alone with an espresso and a sugared brioche, was staring at the backside of a teenage boy on his way out the door. Noticing Kate, he smiled shamelessly. “How’d ya find me, darlin’?” “Slipped a tracking device in your briefcase last month,” Kate said, sliding into the chair across from him. She ordered a mochaccino, then added, “Well, not really. You’ve just gotten a little, uh…” “Predictable? Oh, howboring,” he lamented in a lazy Georgia drawl. “On the other hand, it did bring me anenchanting surprise.” Edward Cherry, a top executive at Sotheby’s and a self-proclaimed southern belle, was a charmer. Also sleazy and unethical, but Kate found him useful from time to time, so she had built a relationship with him. She’d gained his trust through flattery, friendliness, and the false
10 …I stand as Jove’s huge tree, And others are but shrubs compar’d to me. All tremble at my name, and I fear none… —MORTIMER,in Marlowe’sEdward II LONDON—AFTERNOON, MAY1593 While city constables ransacked Kit Marlowe’s lodgings, as well as those of his former chamber fellow, Robert Poley was walking briskly to Whitehall for a meeting with his employer, Sir Robert Cecil. The forty-year-old spy was tall and lithe, in spite of his dissolute lifestyle. Poley had thick, short black hair, harsh features, and snakelike eyes that missed nothing and mesmerized whomever he chose. It had been said that he could beguile a man of his wife or his life. The assessment was correct. Poley had just returned from Flushing, a Dutch seaport currently occupied by England. Spain had invaded the Netherlands eight years earlier, and English forces were helping their Protestant allies fight to drive the Spanish from Dutch soil. Poley had delivered the queen’s correspondence to government officials and military
11 NEWYORKCITY—5:32P.M., THE PRESENT DAY Kate reached for her dirty martini. Medina watched her hand with dismay. “Is something wrong? You’re shaking.” “Oh, I lifted too much weight at the gym earlier,” Kate lied. Plastering on a smile, she added, “Clearlyyou know how that is.” “I’m glad you noticed.” Good thing you’re so easy to distract.Kate surreptitiously tucked her shaking hand beneath her thigh. The chilling message she’d received hours earlier and the confused, fragmented thoughts spinning off from it were hurtling through her brain, bouncing off the edges like bumper cars. She and Medina were sitting on plush armchairs in the living room of his suite at the Pierre, having a brief meeting over cocktails before he left the city to catch his flight back to London. While Medina examined the hors d’oeuvres on the coffee table between them, Kate slipped her right hand from under her leg, flexed it a few times, then held it still. Good, she thought. The shaking had stopped. “How was y
12 As for myself, I walk abroad a-nights, And kill sick people groaning under walls. Sometimes I go about and poison wells… But tell me now, how hast thou spent thy time? —BARABAS,in Marlowe’sThe Jew of Malta …I have done a thousand dreadful things As willingly as one would kill a fly, And nothing grieves me heartily indeed But that I cannot do ten thousand more. —AARON,in Shakespeare’sTitus Andronicus CHISLEHURST, KENT—EARLY MORNING, MAY1593 Kit.” No response. Thomas Walsingham, the thirty-year-old cousin of the deceased spymaster Sir Francis, approached the four-poster oak bed in his guest room and pulled back the red curtain. “Kit.” The large shape under the linen sheet failed to stir. Tom leaned in to nudge what looked like a shoulder. The shoulder gave way, then slowly returned to its former position. “The queen is really a man in disguise.” Gripped tightly by two sets of fingers, the sheet flew down. Marlowe stared up at his old friend in shock, momentarily gullible as he sailed
13 WESTLONDON—9:37A.M., THE PRESENT DAY Stepping off a British Airways jetliner, Kate entered Heathrow airport, cleared passport control, and headed for the baggage claim area. The carousel was not yet moving. She checked her voice mail and listened to a message from Jack telling her to call him as soon as she landed. “How are you?” he asked. “Tired.” “Couldn’t sleep, huh?” “No.” “I’m worried about you.” “Actually, this case is exactly what I need. Absorbing. Light.” “Anything I can do?” “I’ll be fine. I’m working all day and seeing Adriana tonight.” “Well, if there’s anyone who can get your mind off your troubles, it’s her,” Jack said wryly. It was true. Adriana was very different from Kate—a superficial party girl, in Jack’s opinion—but he could not deny that her infectious energy and perpetual dramatics made for a fun evening. “I’ll let you get back to sleep,” Kate said, grabbing her suitcase. “But thanks for calling.” She passed through the international arrivals gate and scanned t
14 Birds of the air will tell of murders past? I am asham’d to hear such fooleries. Many will talk of title to a crown: What right had Caesar to the empire? Might first made kings, and laws were then most sure When like the Draco’s they were writ in blood. —MACHIAVEL,in Marlowe’sThe Jew of Malta LONDON—AFTERNOON, MAY1593 Does he deny Christ’s divinity?” No response. “Does he mean to incite rebellion?” No response. “You lived with him, did you not?” As before, only the distant clanking of fetters broke the silence. Richard Topcliffe turned to the men standing at either end of the rack. “Taut, then just beyond.” Very slowly, they pushed their oak levers toward the ground, a hair’s width at a time. The ropes tied round the prisoner’s wrists and ankles stretched him tighter, and the stones placed beneath his back dug deeper into his flesh. Wood squeaked steadily. Then there was another sound few would recognize—the faint ripping of skin. “Shall we chat?” Blood staining his bonds, the priso
15 BELGRAVIA, LONDON—5:16P.M., THE PRESENT DAY Any luck?” Kate asked Max. She was just stepping out of the Victoria tube station on her way to Medina’s. Having discovered the dead thief’s identity a half hour before, she had asked Max to trace any recent additions to his bank accounts, on the chance he’d been paid in advance. “No money’s come in during the past month, not to any of his offshore accounts,” Max said. “I checked his email, too. No messages from that Jade Dragon address.” “He might use some kind of agent. Can you send me the names of everyone who’s emailed or called him since the discovery of the manuscript?” “Sure thing.” Pausing in Belgrave Square, Kate took another look at the year-old photo she had found of Medina’s thief. Having assumed that he was the Cat, and that the Cat was a jet-setting society type—since every expert believed he’d already seen the interiors of the wealthy homes he’d robbed—Kate had gone to a public library and leafed through stacks of old societ
16 Tell me, where is the place that men call hell? —FAUSTUS,in Marlowe’sDr. Faustus LONDON—EVENING, MAY1593 Marlowe was in the rightmost section of the fourth pew, surreptitiously tucking a folded message into a crevice between the seat of the bench and its base. A hand settled upon his shoulder. He made an effort to appear calm. Turning slowly, he was startled to see the minister smiling at him sympathetically. “Whatever troubles you, my son, God will forgive you.” “Thank you,” Marlowe responded, realizing there were tears on his cheeks. He’d written with onion juice instead of ink minutes before and had forgotten to rinse his hands. Not exactly his most egregious sin, but a little grace, even if misdirected, might help him down the road. Hearing the guttural cries of a Thames ferryman echo within the dark chapel, he stepped out onto London Bridge and descended to the waiting riverboat. “You always bring all your earthly possessions with you?” he asked the boatman, looking at the heap
17 ST.JAMES’S, LONDON—9:40P.M., THE PRESENT DAY Surina. How is he?” de Tolomei asked. He was lying on a floral sofa in his suite at the Ritz, his cell phone to his ear. “Gaining a little weight, sir. His wounds are healing nicely, too. The doctor said he should wake up any day now, but…” “What is it?” “He’s been having these…spasms. I, well, I was holding his hand earlier and it…it twitched. Several times.” “He was in a terrible prison for years, Surina. Among other things, he was tortured with electric shock.” “May I ask, uh…” “He’s not a criminal, Surina. He was betrayed by his country.” “Oh.” “How areyou doing?” “Very well, sir. I’ve never lived by the sea…it’s so beautiful here. AndI…I like him, too. I pray for him every night.” “Good. I’ll be seeing you both very soon.” De Tolomei paused, not quite sure how to phrase his next thought. “By the way, Surina…” “Yes, sir?” “If it’s something you’d…like, I’ve made an appointment for you with a plastic surgeon in Paris. He’s one of the b
18 Why, was there ever seen such villainy, So neatly plotted, and so well perform’d? —ITHAMORE,in Marlowe’sThe Jew of Malta LONDON—MORNING, MAY1593 Two hundred meters north of London Bridge, on the fifth floor of a half-timbered house adjacent to Leadenhall Market, Thomas Phelippes was kneeling on the floor of his study opening a cedar chest. It was full of clothing and loose papers, but he wasn’t interested in any of them at the moment. He was after something else. Phelippes’s cedar chest didn’t have a false bottom; anyone ransacking your lodgings would check for one of those. What the chest did have was a type of false top, a hollow space within its heavy lid about two inches thick. Using a knife, he pried up the thin velvet-covered panel on the underside of the lid, revealing a space about nine by twelve inches that had been carved into the otherwise solid wood. Nestled inside, surrounded by tufts of wool, lay a pewter box. Phelippes carried it across the room to his desk. Fingers c
19 SOUTHBANK, LONDON—9:14A.M., THE PRESENT DAY Opening a bottle of water, Kate looked over at Adriana. “Mind if I make a quick call?” “Not at all,” Adriana said, stepping onto Westminster Bridge and leaning against the stone railing to stretch her calves. They had met in St. James’s Park an hour before and had jogged along the Queen’s Walk—a wooden pathway on the south bank of the Thames—to London Bridge. On their way back, they’d stopped to buy drinks at one of the many kiosks near Westminster Bridge. “Good morning,” Medina said. “I have news,” Kate told him, looking across the river at the fairy-tale spires atop Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament. “Tell me.” “Well, I took your advice to skip to the end, and I realized that Phelippes kept adding reports after Walsingham’s death, at least until 1593. I’m having trouble with the last page, but the second to last—it’s from May of that year and appears to have been written by Christopher Marlowe.” “What’s it about?” “It looks like Pheli
20 On Hellespont, guilty of true-love’s blood, In view and opposite, two cities stood, Sea-borderers, disjoin’d by Neptune’s might: The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight. —Marlowe’sHero and Leander CHISLEHURST,KENT—AFTERNOON,MAY1593 Marlowe stretched his arms over his head, then leaned back and reached for his clay pipe. A fresh sheet of paper lay on the table before him. Looking over at Tom Walsingham’s house, he saw a woman picking herbs from the kitchen garden and a butterfly flitting among the primroses. He exhaled a few rings of smoke then penned the opening lines of his new poem. The woods were thick. To Robert Poley’s right, distant hills rolled above the treetops. To his left, the wet rushing sound of a waterfall. One more mile to go. With a gentle kick, he brought his exhausted horse to a canter. Any moment now, a warrant would be issued for Marlowe’s arrest. In fact, it might have happened already. It was widely known that the playmaker had been at Scadbury House for the b
21 THETUNISIANCOAST—11:47P.M., THE PRESENT DAY It was a perfect night for an operation. With the thick cloud cover, there was no moon, and starlight was minimal. The wind was picking up, and the distant rumble of thunder had driven most people indoors. Revere was operating a sixteen-foot speedboat. From the marina, he’d cruised northwest, away from the Gulf of Tunis. As a result, a headland—the cliffs of Sidi Bou Said, jutting into the sea—stood between him and the men guarding the coastal villa. This was a good thing. Earlier that evening, he’d noticed that one of the guards was wearing a pair of binoculars he recognized, Rigel’s 2150 model, which not only amplified existing light but also contained an infrared illuminator. So in spite of the near total darkness, that guard would be able to spot any hot object in his field of vision. Half a kilometer out, he cut the motor. In silence, Connor Black and Jason Avera emerged from beneath a tarp. Reaching into their oversized cooler, they
22 Since thou hast all the cards within thy hands, To shuffle or cut, take this as surest thing, That, right or wrong, thou deal thyself a king. —GUISE,in Marlowe’sThe Massacre at Paris CHISLEHURST,KENT—AFTERNOON,MAY1593 Heavy gray clouds raced overhead, merging and darkening. Just a few determined rays beamed through, sparkling here and there on the wild flowers lining the road. Thunder cracked. Seconds later, the first raindrops fell. Screeching cats! Wrists shackled, Marlowe was astride his horse, following the dour constable back to London. Why the devil had he let that Tarot woman deal his cards? A wretched mistake it was. To be interrupted when the words were flowing like a torrent? Churning more fiercely than the Hellespont he depicted? He should never have visited her at all. Robert Poley galloped down the familiar tree-lined avenue. Rain streamed from the brim of his velvet hat and drenched his doublet. “Kit!” he called, tethering his horse to a fence. Crossing Scadbury’s dr
23 ROME—10:34P.M., THE PRESENT DAY Hurrying along the Borgo Santo Spirito, Kate dialed Slade. She’d been impatient to leave Vatican City from the moment de Tolomei had mentioned knowing her father, but she had waited. Wanting her departure to appear natural, she had opted to stay for a cocktail at the reception following the tour. Then, after a decent interval, she’d ducked out. When Slade didn’t answer, she tried her father, then Max. “Can’t talk right now,” Max said. “Slade’s got me tracking down theSabina. ” “The what?” “De Tolomei’s yacht. It left Sidi Bou Said earlier today.” “Oh. Okay, I’ll let you go. But tell Slade that I was just with de Tolomei, and he said, ‘Your father’s secret is safe with me.’ I’m guessing my dad will know what that means—apparently they once knew each other. I have a recording of his voice, and I’ll get it to you all in a few minutes. My dad’s in a conference, but pretty soon, Slade should know who he’s dealing with.” “Got it.” “Call me when you’re done?
24 I hold the Fates bound fast in iron chains And with my hand turn Fortune’s wheel about… —TAMBURLAINE,in Marlowe’sTamburlaine, Part 1 GREENWICH—EVENING,MAY1593 In a riverboat fast approaching the palace, Robert Poley caught a glimpse of his employer’s crooked silhouette in an upper-floor window. Pacing, Cecil appeared vexed. Poley was not surprised. Earlier in the day he’d sent Cecil a message regarding Marlowe’s attempt to ferret out smugglers from the Muscovy Company. At the time, of course, Poley hadn’t known that Cecil was the primary suspect. Poley had also written that Phelippes, their arch foe, was behind the scheme to cast Marlowe in a torture chamber for the sole purpose of uncovering yet more damaging information on Cecil. Up on the third floor, just down the hall from Cecil’s rooms, Poley heard the soft hum of a hushed conversation. Taking care to remain silent, he made his way to the door. “…likely I shall find Marlowe tonight,” a voice was saying. “If not?” Cecil inquire
25 LONDON—12:05P.M., THE PRESENT DAY The Dickens Inn was overflowing. Every seat on its three-tiered wood-beamed veranda was filled, and dense clusters of bright flowers spilled out of every window box. Cidro Medina was seated at one of the tables arranged out front near the water. He was within spitting distance of a gaudily painted black and yellow yacht lashed to the dock. Sipping a soda, he was looking out to the marina, a picnic basket at his feet. “Hey, sailor, buy a lonely girl a drink?” “I’m meeting someone any minute,” Medina said, eyes traveling from her face down to the steel toes of her boots. “But…” The snug hem of her black miniskirt now held his gaze. “But what?” Kate asked, laughing. “Good God!” he exclaimed, recognizing her. He reached over to touch her hair. “Is this real?” “No. A wig,” she said, of the bone-straight, jet-black long hair shot through with chunky crimson highlights. Dark brown lenses were covering Kate’s green eyes, her skin was several shades darker—c
26 Go on, my lord, and give your charge I say, Thy wit will make us conquerors today. —MYCETES,in Marlowe’sTamburlaine, Part 1 LONDON—EVENING,MAY1593 The two figures moved slowly along the Strand. One limping, relying on a stout walking stick, the other deliberately slowing his pace. The man with the limp wore a dark gown and a matching flat cap. He had thick gray hair and a long scraggly beard and carried a wooden cross, painted red, in his left hand. His younger companion wore a white apron over simple attire and carried a stoneware jar. Reaching the stoop of the brick and timber mansion owned by Robert Cecil’s father, Marlowe used his walking stick to thump upon the door. It cracked open, and a young maid peered out. “Who are you?” “Physician, mistress,” Marlowe replied. “I received a summons this morning.” “Why?” she asked, alarmed. “A report of plague.” Terrified, the maid gasped. “I bring a cross for the door,” Marlowe continued, “and an apothecary with remedies so that the rest
27 SOUTHBANK,LONDON—4:48P.M., THE PRESENT DAY After stepping from their tour boat onto Westminster Pier, Kate and Medina did not go far. Thirty minutes later, they were just across the river near the London Eye, the city’s giant ferris wheel. It was a highly congested area, particularly popular with tourists. “We might have found our decoys,” Kate was saying. The three young Russian women she’d just introduced herself to were in their early twenties, and not one spoke more than a few words of English. Speaking quietly to them in Russian once more, Kate explained the offer in greater detail. At first they appeared to be confused, but when she had finished, they were nodding enthusiastically. In a nearby café, the five of them hashed out the details. Before the girls left, Medina handed each of them an envelope. A fifth now, Kate said, the rest later that evening. Based on the money as well as the simple nature of the task, she and Medina did not doubt that the girls would come through f
28 What strong enchantments ’tice my yielding soul? —THERIDAMUS,in Marlowe’sTamburlaine, Part 1 DEPTFORD—NIGHT,MAY1593 Nick Skeres smacked his forehead. No good. He tried again. Head still foggy, eyelids even heavier. Sleep was creeping in. Perhaps Phelippes was wrong, Skeres thought to himself. Perhaps Marlowe wasn’t coming to Widow Bull’s that evening. And even if he did, surely he would sleep well beyond dawn? Yes, Skeres decided. Dawn would be the perfect time to seize whatever evidence Marlowe had on Cecil. To the left of the stump on which he’d been sitting, a thick patch of soft grass beckoned. Settling on it, Skeres shut his eyes, confident that the sun would awaken him. As he drifted off to sleep, Skeres had no idea that Marlowe and the evidence were in a boat less than twenty yards away, moving swiftly along the Thames toward Greenwich. When Marlowe arrived at Widow Bull’s, the plump middle-aged woman welcomed him in and showed him to a spartan yet comfortable chamber on th
29 RUISLIP,LONDON—12:53A.M., THE PRESENT DAY At RAF Northolt, a private military airstrip used by royalty, politicians, celebrities, and other VIPs, a Gulfstream G550 recently in from Naples was resting upon the tarmac. Four fit-looking men emerged. “We’re boarding the chopper now, sir,” one of them said into his mobile phone. “Has she reached Greenwich?” came de Tolomei’s reply. “Not yet. We’ll be there just after she arrives.” Sitting in their headquarters on the southern end of Greenwich Park, the two officers of the Royal Parks Constabulary looked at each other in confusion. What was that noise? Great squeals of young female laughter, by the sound of things. Were kids driving past with the top down? Piling out of a nearby party? They went back to their reading material. Having returned from a round ten minutes earlier in which they’d let the dogs run loose in three different spots in the park, they considered the idea of intruders unlikely. Then came a distant sound of splashing.
30 O that his heart were leaping in my hand! —a murderer, in Marlowe’sThe Massacre at Paris DEPTFORD—NIGHT,MAY1593 Dawn would soon break. Ingram Frizer was crossing the quiet town green on his way to Deptford Strand. As he neared the river, the pleasant fragrance of the local plum and cherry trees was losing out to the stench of butcher shops, fisheries, and sewage. He turned onto a narrow dirt lane and paused, appraising Eleanor Bull’s home. All was silent. The rear entrance was located within a walled garden. The gate was chained and padlocked. Frizer climbed over the wall, picked the back door’s simple lock, and soundlessly eased his way in. Standing just inside, he listened. Nothing. Carefully he began climbing the stairs. He entered the first bedchamber. It was empty. Moving farther down the hall, he tried the second one. Empty as well. In the third, he saw embers smoldering in the fireplace and a body on the bed. Squinting, Frizer thought he recognized the doublet Marlowe had bee
31 GREENWICH—1:04A.M., THE PRESENT DAY Cool, pale mint green with a hint of a shimmer. Flashing rubies set beneath angry brows. Small, embedded diamonds forming a pattern of scales. The wings and tail, curling upward, accented with delicate golden inlay. The jade dragon was exquisite. Sensing movement, Kate raised her eyes. Medina was in the process of standing up, with a gun pointed at her head. “Cid? What are…all this time, it’s beenyou?” He did not reply. “Jade Dragon—he was just an illusion,” she murmured, rising slowly as well. “To create a false sense of danger, of urgency…to get me to decipher the manuscript without making it public.” He disengaged the safety on his pistol. “You didn’t even find the manuscript, did you?” she asked, voice shaking. “It was Andrew Rutherford. That file I came across in his office…the one that made it look as if he’d been working on it himself for a while…hehad been. My God, you murdered him. A defenseless old man, poring over the discovery of a lif
32 Base Fortune, now I see, that in thy wheel There is a point, to which when men aspire, They tumble headlong down; that point I touch’d, And seeing there was no place to mount up higher, Why should I grieve at my declining fall? Farewell, fair Queen, weep not for Mortimer, That scorns the world, and as a traveler Goes to discover countries yet unknown. —MORTIMER,in Marlowe’sEdward II DEPTFORD—MIDDAY,MAY1593 Six pallbearers, draped in black, were carrying the coffin toward the church of St. Nicholas. Dozens of mourners followed behind. There was a fight, people were saying. He had tried to kill a man. A lovers’ quarrel, some thought. No, a dispute over a bill, another corrected. Robert Poley followed the procession from a distance. The inquest had gone smoothly, he thought. Ingram Frizer was able to locate the royal coroner easily enough, and Nick Skeres had returned promptly as well. The coroner had interviewed the three of them out in the garden, then had taken his measurements of t
33 NEWYORKCITY—11:01P.M., THE PRESENT DAY No movement, Senator,” Max said into his phone to Donovan Morgan. He’d tracked Kate from RAF Northolt to Naples International and from there, on to Capri. She had not moved since. “Which means he’s got her drugged…or physically restrained,” Morgan responded. “Right.” Max prayed that Morgan was correct, that de Tolomei had not killed her. “Slade will be there any minute, Senator. I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything.” “Thank you.” Hanging up, Max wondered what it was that Slade and Morgan were keeping from him. For some reason, neither man doubted that de Tolomei wanted Kate alive. Max wished he felt as sure. He also wished he had not allowed all of this to happen. BAY OFNAPLES—5:03A.M. Two inflatable Zodiac speedboats zoomed southwest from the Sorrentine peninsula, disco music and lights fading behind. Four men were aboard each. Before long, the north face of Capri appeared before them. To their left was the well-lit Marina Grande. Their de
34 O, that that damned villain were alive again, That we might torture him with some new-found death! —EPERNOUN,in Marlowe’sThe Massacre at Paris LONDON—EARLY AFTERNOON,MAY1593 Thomas Phelippes was at his desk, staring angrily at the numerical message Skeres had delivered to him that morning. He had been attempting to decode it ever since, to no avail. “Marlowe,” he spat. “Stabbing was too good for you.” Robert Cecil felt the same way. He was peering into the empty hollow beneath the floorboards in his study. Fury had never burned so hotly within him. What a shame that Marlowe was now well beyond his grasp. Had Cecil known what was happening downriver at that moment, he would have been doubly enraged. DEPTFORD—EARLY AFTERNOON With three customs agents behind him, Oliver Fitzwilliam was striding down the private dock toward the Muscovy Company ships. Kit had asked him to conduct an inspection just before they set sail, suggesting that a smuggling operation was afoot. Fitzwilliam was c
35 CAPRI—5:36A.M., THE PRESENT DAY De Tolomei pulled the door to his surveillance room shut behind him. He found Kate in the hallway, wracked with quiet sobbing. Noticing him, she used her sleeve to wipe her tears, then grabbed the front of his shirt. “You’ve kept him here, knowing what he’s been through? He needs proper medical attention. He needs a doctor!” Calmly looking down at the bunched fabric in her hand, de Tolomei said, “And he’s had one. Three times a day since he arrived in Tunis.” Kate took a step back. “What did the doctor say?” De Tolomei nodded down the hall, then turned and strode out into his garden. Though well-tended, it had a haunted, melancholy atmosphere. Pines and cypress trees cast long shadows. The lush greenery was dense and overgrown, and the flowers, mostly shades of blue and purple. Jasmine and aloe dangled from crevices in the mossy walls. “Rhys is recovering well,” de Tolomei said, as they moved away from the house. “Is he—” Voice cracking, she tried aga
36 I go as whirlwinds rage before a storm. —GUISE,in Marlowe’sThe Massacre at Paris LONDON—AFTERNOON,MAY1593 He could tarry no longer. His compendium had to be bound and hidden immediately. Phelippes looked out his window. Dark clouds were gathering. Rain would soon fall. Good. Using a small blade, he carved Marlowe’s numerical message into the sole of his left boot. He then slipped the vexing original into its proper place at the very bottom of the stack of reports in his pewter box. Phelippes was loath to have it bound before assuring himself that his final page did, indeed, provide evidence attesting to Cecil’s treasonous liaison with a Barbary pirate, but he had no choice. As soon as Cecil discovered that he possessed such damaging evidence, men would be sent to his lodgings. Men who would not give up until every last crevice had been searched, and every seemingly solid surface had been tapped for a hollow. Not only would Phelippes lose his ability to vanquish Cecil, but his painst
37 PARIS—11:34A.M., THE PRESENT DAY Jeremy Slade was pointing a silenced Browning automatic handgun at a man whose face was swathed in bandages. “You’re wasting your time,” the man said. “Hamid Azadi is already dead. All I want to do is live in peace, by the sea.” “You really imagine I’d choose to trust you?” “No. I’m going to trust you. My new name is Cyril Dardennes. I inherited money from a wealthy French grandmother, and I’m moving to Key West. I’ve dreamed of this for years.” “You don’t deserve dreams, Azadi. You stole three years from someone I love like a brother. Not to mention the fact that if he’d been operational the past three years, who knows how many innocent lives might have been saved.” “I’m sorry your friend lost time. But don’t forget that if I had not interceded, he very likely would have been captured and executed by the Iraqis.” “On the contrary, I believe he’d have prevented a war.” With an audible clicking sound, Slade pulled back the hammer of his pistol. “Your
38 Are these your secrets that no man must know? —GUISE,in Marlowe’sThe Massacre at Paris LONDON—LATE AFTERNOON,MAY1593 Phelippes knew he was being followed. For hours, he’d been walking around slowly, allowing his watcher to keep him in sight. Easily. Phelippes wanted the man relaxed. He’d gossiped in St. Paul’s churchyard, then had ambled down Cheapside, making several purchases along the way. He’d asked questions of every shop owner. How was the wife? The son? By the time Phelippes reached the Royal Exchange, his pursuer was shifty and stifling yawns. In the center of the courtyard, Phelippes paused, as if to adjust the packages he was carrying. The man behind him, he noticed, was waiting back by the front entrance. Relieved, Phelippes continued walking. His bookbinder was in the far corner, a few yards from an inconspicuous exit. Phelippes perused the wares of the adjacent jeweler. Knowing he was in full view of his pursuer, he picked up a miniature clock suspended from a chain, he
39 WESTMINSTER,LONDON—2:48P.M., THE PRESENT DAY He was alive. He was a spy. He did not remember her. Kate was leaning against a stone pillar near New Scotland Yard’s revolving front sign. A heavy shower had broken out, and rainwater streamed from the edges of her umbrella. The sky had darkened, and she couldn’t see more than thirty yards ahead of her. How fitting, she thought. A ring sounded. Her cell phone. It was her father. She let it go. What could he say now that could make up for all he had not said? An armored car pulled up from the garage, and Kate saw Sergeant Colin Davies through a window. Turning off her phone, she walked over to meet him.
40 What is it now but mad Leander dares? —Marlowe’sHero and Leander THEMEDITERRANEANSEA—JUNE1593 It was a gusty but warm spring afternoon when the skiff was lowered by rope and pulley over the starboard side of the ship. A young deckhand called Hal looked on, puzzled. TheBonaventure couldn’t be more than half a league off the Barbary Coast, home to pirates so vicious they brought tremors to the knees of each and every English sailor, whether he would admit it or not. Hitting the choppy waters, the skiff bounced and nearly capsized, then the two young men aboard steadied her and began to row. Straight for the enemy’s lair. Were they mad? Hal wanted to inquire of someone, but the captain had forbidden any discussion of this event. On specific orders from their ultimate master, he’d said, Sir Walter Ralegh. Anyone who breathed a word would be run through and heaved to the deep. Standing on the aft deck, Hal watched the little skiff shrink behind them, the heads of the two seamen now no la
41 BLOOMSBURY,LONDON—3:23P.M., THE PRESENT DAY The dragon stood on his desk. “Most unusual,” the curator said, examining it through a small glass suspended from his neck. “The diamond pattern, the golden inlay…I’ve never seen anything like it.” “Ming, do you think?” Kate asked. The thin, balding man peered up. “The Chinese almost never embellished jade,” he said, tugging on his yellow bow tie. “Particularly not with precious stones. It might be a Mughal piece. I’ll need some time to make an assessment. “Will you excuse me?” he then asked, reaching for his ringing phone. Kate and Sergeant Davies both nodded. Listening to the voice on the other end, the curator nodded excitedly. “Quite intrigued, you say? Oh, yes. It’s lovely.” Then his mouth fell open. “She wishes towhat? ” he stammered, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead.“Today?” The bulletproof limousine glided to a stop before the gilded, wrought-iron gates. Two men in well-cut suits approached and conversed with the drive
← Prev
Back
Next →
← Prev
Back
Next →