Birthright: Pray your past stays hidden (Alex Turner Book 1) Read online

  “Yes, I am. You’re right. We should go. But how do we do this?”

  “If we leave now, we can get our stuff together and be at the airport in Madison in an hour. We grab a flight from there to Chicago, which should get us in by six, seven at the latest. We take an overnight to Heathrow from O’Hare and meet him tomorrow evening at the hotel in person.” She hesitated, adding, “It’s last minute, so the plane tickets might be expensive.”

  “Do it. I still have all of Mr. Brown’s cash. I’ll bring it with me to pay for Eddie’s ticket home.”

  Cate smiled, her first smile since hearing the news, and flipped open her laptop, “London, here we come.”

  The two travelers sat at the British Airways gate in Terminal 5 of O’Hare’s massive airport waiting to board Flight 296 to Heathrow departing at eight fifty-five pm.

  “Do you sleep on planes?” asked Cate.

  “I have a tough time sleeping anywhere,” answered Alex. “But I’ll try.”

  “You’ll have eight hours to see if you can. When I–” Her cell phone, and the Post Malone ringtone, cut her off. Cate glanced at the small screen, “It’s Susan. Let me take this.”

  After a few seconds of listening, Cate interrupted, “Hold on, Susan. I want Professor Turner to hear.”

  She pulled out one of her earbuds and handed it to Alex, “Put this in your ear.”

  He looked at it strangely, but complied.

  Cate gave him a nod of approval, and continued on the call with her friend in New York, “Go ahead.”

  Susan’s voice sounded in the small earbud, “It’s weird. I went by the building and had no problem with the pass you gave me, but when I got to their floor, there was no one there.”

  “Susan, this is Professor Turner,” Alex spoke louder than necessary, “What do you mean, no one?”

  “Exactly that. The entire floor was deserted. The furniture was all in place but it was as if I’d walked in during the middle of the night instead of four in the afternoon. And there were no signs anywhere saying the name of the company, and any paperwork and files were gone, there was nothing on desks, and not a single person was around. The whole thing was cleaned out and even the trash cans were empty. It felt like there’d been a zombie apocalypse and the survivors had fled the scene and taken everything with them. Really eerie. I went down to security and spoke to several different supervisors before one took a shine to me and told me no one from Global Pharmaceuticals had been in the building for two days.”

  “How could they be sure of that?” questioned Alex.

  “When you access the elevators with your laminate badge it’s recorded. Not one person had been to that floor in forty-eight hours apart from a janitorial crew. I thought I’d boarded a ghost ship drifting in the middle of Manhattan.”

  “Do you have any idea what happened?” asked Cate.

  “As I said, one of the supervisors liked me, and he was kind of cute, so he gave me the lowdown of what he knew. The offices had been rented furnished for ninety days with an option for an extension of up to two years. They took it over only a week ago. The supervisor noticed the floor was empty yesterday and called the numbers for the office manager and the leasing company who had arranged everything-”

  Cate jumped in, “Can I make a guess here?”

  “Sure,” said Susan.

  “The numbers didn’t work.”

  “How did you know? None of them. Not even the leasing agency. As if they never existed. But it wasn’t a con game or anything. They paid their rental in full, in advance.” She lowered her voice, “You won’t believe how much. Seven hundred and eighty thousand dollars! That’s a quarter of a million a month, plus a thirty-thousand-dollar lease fee for cards, parking and shit. And those numbers are right because Dave showed me the paperwork.”

  “Dave?” Cate raised her eyebrows.

  “I told you he was cute, girl,” giggled Susan. “What is this all about?”

  “We don’t know. That’s why we’re off to London to find out,” replied Cate.

  “London? We had fun in London,” remembered Susan.

  “Yes, we did,” agreed Cate. “But this time it’s not a pleasure trip.” She looked at Alex, “Do you have any questions for Susan?”

  Alex shook his head, “Too many, and I don’t think Susan, or any of us know the answers yet. Thank you.”

  “Hey, yeah, thanks girl. I’ll try to call you from England.”

  “Do that. Take care.” Susan clicked off the line.

  Cate slipped the phone back into her purse and stared at Alex, “Any idea what’s happening?”

  “No. None.” The professor was baffled.

  “The thing that gets me is the money. They are spending so much. Twenty million to the University. Nearly a million for what was only a week’s rent. It’s crazy.”

  “It’s only crazy if you don’t have it to spend. Maybe whoever is behind this has deep pockets,” explained Alex.

  “You think? I can’t imagine anyone throwing those kinds of sums around.”

  “People do when they want something. Michael Bloomberg spent nine hundred million dollars of his own money in less than one hundred days on his failed presidential bid. He spent more in three days than whoever is behind this has spent in total.”

  Cate was still doubtful, “Bloomberg was after the White House, Global Pharmaceuticals was only looking for a seventeen-year-old kid with a record. How could he be worth that?”

  “Let’s hope the answer is in London.”

  Almost on cue, the announcement rang out from the overhead speakers, “Flight 295 to London is available for pre-boarding. Any travelers with small children or who need assistance, make your way to the gate. Please have your passports open and ready for inspection.”

  Cate flashed a glance at Alex, “They’ll be calling us in about ten minutes. I should have time to grab a Starbucks to bring onboard. Want one, professor?”

  He looked at the eager girl and smiled, “That would be very nice. And Cate, call me Alex.”

  The early morning sun chased the darkness away from Hyde Park, lighting the group of homeless people sheltering in the old wooden bandstand. One of them was young and wearing bright orange pants.

  Eddie stretched to crack his back, sore from the hours spent on the unforgiving plank flooring. As he moved, he noticed some of his companions using bundles of newspapers for makeshift mattresses. On two of the papers, he saw his photograph.

  Next to him, an old lady stirred, and as her eyes focused, she caught Eddie staring at the picture. She looked back and forth, from the photo to Eddie, “It’s a good likeness, luv.”

  “Too damn good,” agreed Eddie, getting quickly to his feet and heading off to lose himself in the vast park.

  Fifteen admission booths were in operation at Heathrow Airport, and Alex was next in line. Cate had already cleared immigration and stood waiting for her travel companion.

  The uniformed officer scanned the passport then looked up at the professor, “I’m not seeing a vaccine record?”

  Alex raised his left arm and showed the official his Covid-19 wristband.

  “Thank you, but I have to scan it. Could you place your wrist under the glass, please?”

  Alex complied, and the hand-held reader displayed the results clearly on his monitor screen. The agent checked and noted the date of the vaccination, and wrote it on Alex’s passport before stamping the entry and sliding it back under the thick Perspex, “Enjoy your stay in England, Mr. Turner.”

  The black cab wound its way through the inevitable late afternoon traffic circling Marble Arch and pulled onto Park Lane as it made for its destination, The Dorchester Hotel.

  Alex checked his watch; it was a few minutes before six. “I thought we would have been here earlier.”

  “If we’d taken the Heathrow Express like I said, we would have. Instead, we lost two hours in the awful traffic on the motorway,” she emphasized the word with a bad attempt at a British accent. “But we should m
ake it right on time.”

  “I would always rather be early,” stated Alex unnecessarily.

  The cab swerved out of the flow of cars and onto the long sweeping driveway leading to one of the world’s most acclaimed hotels. As it pulled to a stop, two bellboys hurried down the low flight of stairs to assist their newest guests.

  The hotel’s classic lobby buzzed with activity as visitors prepared for a night out in Europe’s most exciting city. Cate led the way across the crowded floor to the registration where the desk clerk greeted them with a warm smile, “Good evening. Welcome to The Dorchester. How may I be of help to you?”

  “We have a room reserved for Alex Turner,” answered Cate.

  “Let me check for you.” He punched the name into his keyboard and looked back up, his smile now even bigger, these guests had booked a very expensive room, “Ah yes. A rooftop suite. Two bedrooms. I see we have a reservation with your credit card and passport details already on file. That’s all we need here. Will two keys be enough?”

  “It should be for now. We might want a third later, I’m not sure yet.” Alex looked at the ornate wall clock hanging behind the desk. it was right at six, “Could you page someone for us?”

  “Certainly. Is he staying at the hotel?”

  “No. He said he would be in the lobby about now, but I can’t see him.”

  “We do get very busy this time of night. What is his name?”

  “Eddie York.”

  “Eddie York,” repeated the desk clerk. “I’ll do it right away.”

  He turned from Alex and Cate and raised a small wired microphone from the paging system under the counter. His voice boomed across the marble lobby, “Eddie York to the front desk. You have a party waiting. Eddie York.”

  As the clerk bent down to replace the microphone, he glimpsed a folded newspaper beneath his desk. The headline was hard to miss, HUNT CONTINUES FOR ARMED AMERICAN TEEN – EDDIE YORK

  He tried to mask his concern as he turned back to them, “You are both from America, correct?” He already knew the answer but wanted to hear them say it.

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Hopefully you’ll have a wonderful holiday here with us in London.” It was his usual wish to all the hotel’s guests but somehow it felt false this time.

  A young boy emerged from the crowd and worked his way through the people to the front desk. Cate saw him before he reached them; his disheveled appearance, a dirty white doctor’s coat and bright orange pants, eminently conspicuous among the sea of Savile Row suits and sparkling cocktail dresses surrounding them.

  Eddie stopped several feet short of the desk. He tried to understand what he was seeing. The kind professor was there, waiting. He had been expecting a trans-Atlantic phone call, not an in-person appearance. “Professor? What are you doing here? You were going to call. Who’s she?” he pointed to Cate.

  Cate spoke before Alex could answer, “She is Cate. You called me, remember? In the middle of the night? Woke me up?”

  “We came to help you, Eddie,” said Alex.

  Eddie looked around the bustling lobby, all too aware of the unwanted attention his soiled clothes were attracting, “Can we talk somewhere else? Away from this crowd of stiffs.”

  Alex nodded, and turned back to the front desk, “Thanks for your help, we found him.” He slipped the clerk a five-pound note.

  “Shall we go to the room?” suggested Cate.

  “Anywhere without so many people,” pleaded Eddie.

  “All right,” said Alex, and the trio headed to the elevators.

  The clerk watched them cross the lobby, and as they disappeared from view, picked up his phone and dialed. It was the same number, punched in three times, 9 – 9 – 9.

  It was answered almost immediately, “London Metropolitan Police. What is the nature of your emergency?”

  Colin was still at his desk, gazing out at the river boats far below him, plying their way along the Thames. He had spent the past thirty hours there and not gone home, and the only time he had left his office was to head down to the building’s fitness center for his daily workout, but even in that familiar environment, he had found himself unable to concentrate and develop the intensity he felt his body needed.

  Normally, wherever he was in the world, when he hit the gym, his grueling dedication had others around him shooting envious glances at his extreme techniques, and the ease with which he manhandled the heavy weights and attacked the exhausting repetitions created doubts within them of their own commitment to exercise. But today, even his regular, comforting routines failed to distract him, and frustrated, he cut short his training session and returned, unsatisfied to his office.

  Back inside those four walls, he couldn’t see himself leaving again until this damn kid was taken care of. It was too important, not just for Them, but now, for him as well. If any of this nightmare got out-

  His mobile phone ended his troubled thoughts. He recognized the specific ringtone and grabbed the cell, answering with one clipped word, “Yes?”

  Simon’s familiar voice came over the line, “Communications here at Five have intercepted a call to the Met from the Dorchester. They said Eddie York was in the lobby. The desk clerk confirmed his identity from the newspaper photograph and even heard his name used.”

  Colin was on his feet now, “Jesus. Is he still there?”

  “Yes, but he’s not alone. He’s with two Americans.”

  “What Americans?”

  “You know them. I checked the notes you gave me on this and you have them listed in your files. The Professor from Wisconsin and his assistant.”

  Colin’s mouth fell open in disbelief, “Fuck! What are they doing here?” He thought for a brief second before barking orders, “Okay, have the Yard keep the cops back. Last thing we want is some flatfoot picking them up. Instead, assign them to run a cordon around the hotel. A two-hundred-yard radius. Nothing goes in, nothing comes out.”

  There was a momentary pause on the other end of the line as Simon tried to digest the instructions, “Colin, it’s still rush hour! We can’t shut down Marble Arch, Oxford Street and Bayswater at this time of night. It will tie up a million people!”

  “Then I guess they’ll be late home for tea. Shut it down! Get two tac squads ready and a Sea King equipped with a nightsun to follow us in. And tell them if they’re not rolling in ten minutes, you’ll have them up on charges. I’ll meet you and your team from Five over there.”

  He clicked off the call and slammed his fist down on the desk to vent his anger as he tried to understand how the two other Americans could have become involved. Whatever it was that had brought them here had now made them a part of this, and he knew before he could proceed any further, there were people he had to consult about what was to happen.

  He picked up his cell phone again and opened a drawer, taking out a mini-USB and slipping it into the power connector at the base of his mobile. A green activity light flashed on to indicate it was now active.

  He scrolled through his contact list and located Benny Hill. He touched it and hit dial.

  It was minutes before two in the afternoon in Langley, Virginia, and the CIA’s incoming lines were manned by four operators. Colin’s call was answered on the first ring, “Langley watch desk.”

  Colin spoke quickly but forcefully, “This is Signet, in London. I need the DNI.”

  “Sir, he’s out on a business lunch. The director’s meeting with a couple of lobbyists and does not want to be disturbed.”

  Colin had been expecting a similar response or brush off, “I don’t care if he’s at a Motel 6 humping his mistress. You can see what line I’m calling on. If you want to still have your job tomorrow, you’ll patch me through to the DNI.”

  Her reply was short and fast, “Yes, sir.” She punched a series of numbers and continued, “Connecting you now.”

  The Director of National Intelligence was into his third bourbon as he sought to ease his pain of listening to the fundraising agendas o
f the two political leeches sitting with him when the insistent and familiar distinctive ring pulled his attention away. “Excuse me a moment, I have to take this” he said as he answered his cell, “DNI, Langley.”

  “This is Signet, London. I’m calling on a secure line,” replied Colin.

  “Hold on.” The DNI rose to his feet and gave the money grubbers at the table an overly large, exaggerated smile, “Company business. You know how it is. Have another round, I’ll be right back.”

  The director hustled across the busy restaurant and outside onto the street. He moved a few steps from the entrance, and convinced the constant Washington traffic noise would stop him from being overheard by anyone of importance, he spoke into the phone. “Do you have him?” His tone was urgent, he had been anticipating this call for almost forty-eight hours.

  “I just received his location and teams are moving in as we speak. It’s now a joint op with Five. There is a complication. That’s why I’m calling you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Target is no longer alone. Two people are with him. US nationals.”

  “Fuck! How did that happen? Do they know anything?” demanded the DNI.

  “They know he was in the detention center in San Jose and someone must have gotten him out and brought him to London. It’s the University professor and his assistant, the two people who found the boy. They flew in to meet him.”

  “Then they know too much. It leaves us no choice. Go ahead. Red card them, like the kid.”

  “Are you sure?” Colin sought the confirmation from his American ally, “They are your people.”

  “Don’t get cold feet. When you brought this to me, we agreed it starts with us, it stops with us. We’re our countries’ gatekeepers. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Any leaks and we put together a cover story like teenage drug dealer killed when American professor sets up meth lab in a real life Breaking Bad in London. Joe Public will believe anything. Hell, if the press even gets an idea of what is happening and tries putting it out, we’ll scream Fake News, and the people will eat it up.”

  Colin was still not sure, “And you think a story like that would work?”