No Way Out (6 page)

“And you can’t overlook the influence that the accomplished Lord Hunsdon had on a bright, impressionable young woman. Hunsdon was Henry VIII’’s illegitimate son, so he was both a half brother and cousin to Queen Elizabeth. John believes that Hunsdon’s knowledge as a judge, lawyer, general, falconer, and diplomatic envoy to Scotland and France exposed Amelia to the types of experiences and skills needed to write such complex literature. And we see all of these influences in her works.”

“From what I remember of my history classes,” Reid said, “that was highly unusual in those times. For an English woman to be so accomplished.”

“Absolutely. There were very
few
women in England who were educated. We’re talking maybe several dozen in the entire
country
. But Amelia was the polar opposite, as was Anne Locke, who lived next door to the Bassanos when Amelia was growing up. Locke became one of the most highly educated women in England. She invented the sonnet sequence—a group of sonnets thematically linked to create a longer work. And again, we can see the effect which that kind of influence would have on Amelia in shaping her writing style. Remember I told you that Amelia was the first woman in England to have a book of original poetry published?

“It was titled
Salve Deus
—and it contains a comical crucifixion parody, something no good Christian would write. But the same type of crucifixion parody also appears in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Again, this is not something a Christian would write—yet more evidence why Amelia, a Jew, wrote that play—and all the other Shakespearean plays.”

“And that,” Vail said, turning to Turner, “brings us full circle, back to the
Midsummer Night’s Dream
manuscript you’ve found.”

Reid, having drained his coffee mug, set it down on the table. “Indeed it does.”

Vail leaned back in her chair. “Sounds like John Hudson has done some groundbreaking work here.”

“You haven’t heard all of it, I’m afraid,” Wilkinson said. “John’s writing a couple of books on it, assuming he isn’t prevented from getting them published.”

“So saying you had proof that William Shakespeare did not write the plays is like saying you’ve got proof that Jesus was a mere mortal. In my business, that translates into lots of reasons for someone to want that manuscript destroyed.”

“Likewise,” Turner said, “there are lots of people in this multibillion dollar industry who’d lose a great deal of money if ‘Shakespeare’ was a fraud perpetrated by organizations supported by the government for financial gain.”

“Not to mention the loss of national prestige,” Reid said.

Vail tossed a handful of espresso beans into her mouth. As she crunched them, she said, “You’d run yourselves ragged trying to assess all the angles of who’d want to destroy this manuscript. The list of suspects would be too numerous. You have to find a way to narrow it down.”

“What’s your role in all this?” Wilkinson asked.

“I’m helping Scotland Yard draw up a threat assessment. More than that, I don’t know. I haven’t even been fully briefed yet.” She looked to Reid, who shrugged.

“Don’t ask me. I was just handed this assignment.”

I’m an “assignment” again? “Pretty redhead,” remember?

Reid’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the display, then answered it. “Yes, guv’nor.” He listened a moment, then said, “Yes sir. Got it. I will.”

He dropped the phone from his face and turned to Vail. “Looks like we should suspend show-and-tell for a bit. We’ve got one answer to your question. A group just claimed responsibility for the bombing.”

7

R
eid pulled the car to a stop in the parking lot of the Kennington Road Police Station.

“Where are we?” Vail asked, craning her head around.

“South London. That big, winding river you probably saw from the plane? That’s the Thames. Pretty spectacular, anyway. If you’ve got time, you should take one of the sightseeing boats all the way to Canary Wharf. The architecture is stunning. You can’t get into any of the buildings, but you can gawk from the outside.”

“Why can’t I go inside?”

“Financial district. Security’s tighter than a virgin’s—oh, sorry. Tighter than a rusted nut.”

“Where’s your mind, Reid? Virgins and rusted nuts?”

“Did I say rusted? I meant roasted. The street vendors sell tasty roasted nuts right across from Big Ben.”

Vail tilted her head. “Virgins, rusted nuts, and
Big Ben
. I think I misjudged you.”

“Anyway,” Reid said, looking a bit flustered, “London’s not divided into a north-south-east-west grid like some cities. It’s arranged in boroughs.”

Vail pushed open her car door. “Doesn’t look like a great area.”

Reid joined her around front. “It’s no Bond Street or Chelsea, that’s for sure. It’s an immigrant area, fairly poor. Not a place for a woman to be alone at night.”

They walked up the steps to the entrance, where salt-and-pepper granite tile and white marble facing seemed out of place in the neighborhood. The glass doors slid apart and they walked up to the front desk.

“We’re here for DCI Grouze,” Reid said to the desk clerk, who moved to her left and lifted a phone.

“So this station has jurisdiction over the bombing?” Vail asked.

“Not exactly. Policing is very different here in the UK from what you’re used to back in America.”

“Yeah, been meaning to ask you—How do you cops do it? Not carry a gun? Mine’s like a third hand.”

“Simple. We don’t need ’em. We don’t have a gun problem like you do in the US.”

“So let me get this straight. A perp’s just robbed a bank and you’re in foot pursuit. What do you do, yell? Stop—or I’ll yell ‘stop’ again?”

The clerk behind the desk gave Vail a full-mouthed frown.

“We have ways of dealing with those types of situations. We surround the perp and use manpower over gunpowder.”

Vail grinned. “Cute. But what if he draws down on you?”

“There aren’t many handguns in the UK. Knife-related violence is a much greater threat. But if we do have reason to believe the perpetrators are armed, we call in SCO19—better known as CO19—our elite gun squad. It’s similar to the group you’ve got—you know, the thing you do with flies.” He wiggled his fingers.

“SWAT.”

Reid winked at her. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Seriously—your offenders don’t carry guns?”

“Well,” Reid said with a tilt of his head, “I didn’t exactly say that. There was a case we had a couple years back. Some gang banger had a gun stored away in a vault. He’d have his crew bring it to him, he’d do his job, and then they’d ferry the gun back to their home base and put it back in the vault.”

Vail stood there staring at Reid. “You’re bullshitting me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.” Reid checked his watch. “Just because we speak English doesn’t mean our societies are the same, or even similar.”

Yeah, I got that.

The clerk handed Vail a visitor’s badge and they proceeded up the concrete stairs to the fourth floor. Reid pulled open the metal door and motioned Vail through. A sign indicated she was entering the area that housed the Lambeth Murder Investigation Team.

The long rectangular room accommodated a dozen or so detectives sitting at stout wood desks, a computer at each station. Along the left side, an expansive white board showed assignments hand-lettered in colored marker against a light mint-colored wall. A monstrous, industrial-sized HP LaserJet stood beside well-worn metal cabinets and filing drawers perched atop flooring made of blue commercial carpet squares.

“There he is.”

A voice from behind; Vail and Reid turned. Ingram Losner was standing there, hands on his hips.

“You’re back,” Reid said.

“From Madrid? Yeah, the conference got cut short. The FBI profiler they brought in ended up getting arrested. Boom. Conference over.”

“I heard about that,” Vail said. “Can’t take those profilers anywhere. Never know what trouble they’re going to get into. Degenerates, every one of ’em.”

Reid looked at Vail, then at Losner, then back at Vail. “Wait, you were the one teaching the conference? And you got arrested?”

Vail hiked her brow. “Guilty as charged. Of course, that’s not what I told the judge.”

“Judge—”

“Kidding. But it all turned out okay. Calls were made, strings were pulled, and, well, here I am, at your service.”

“Let’s hope you don’t get nicked in the UK.”

“I promise to leave your country in better shape than I did Spain. I’m looking forward to getting back home, so I’ll be outta here faster than you can read one of Churchill’s addresses. Besides, I promised the legal attaché I’d be on my best behavior.”

Reid made a twisted face. “I think I’ve gotten to know you well enough by now to ask if your best behavior will do the trick.”

Vail fought back a grin. “You keep impressing me, Reid.

A woman approached from behind them. “The guv’nor is ready to see you now.”

“This way,” Reid said. He led them down a long corridor and turned right into a small room that was deeper than it was wide.

The lanky man seated behind the sizable desk closed the file he was reading and set it beside his nameplate, which read, “Lance Grouze, Detective Chief Inspector.”

Vail leaned forward and extended a hand.

“Oh, right.” Grouze looked at it a long second, then took it and shook—but did not make eye contact. “Have a seat.”

Vail and Reid took the chairs in front of the desk and Losner sat off to the side, behind them.

“So we got a phone call,” Grouze said as he removed his reading glasses. He tossed them onto the file in front of him and looked at Vail for the first time.

He seemed to frown.
Gotta be my imagination. I haven’t even opened my mouth yet.

“The call was different from the first one. A computerized male voice. He said more attacks are coming.”

“Wait,” Vail said. “There was a call? Claiming responsibility?”

“Ten minutes after the bombing,” Grouze said.

That would’ve been nice to know.
Vail turned to Reid and gave him a less than pleasant look.

“The caller,” Grouze said, “railed against ‘the powers’—he looked at a pad on his desk—“‘the powers that seek to destroy the English legend of William Shakespeare, to muddy the British people’s reputation, to demoralize the country’s pride.’”

“Can I listen to the recording?”

“There wasn’t any,” Reid said. “It didn’t come in on a recorded line. The inspector who answered the phone jotted down notes. It’s not word for word.”

Great
. “And the new call?”

“Not recorded either,” Grouze said. “They identified themselves as the Army of English Anarchists.”

After a moment of quiet, Vail shrugged. “If that’s supposed to mean something, the reference is lost on me.”

“I would think your superiors would do a better job of preparing you.”

Vail squinted. “Then you would think wrong. I pretty much just got here. You want my assistance, it might be helpful to provide some background.”

“They’re an offshoot of the British Heritage Party—the BHP. For now, let’s just say that the BHP is a party in our government opposed to combining England with the European Union to make a US-type country. Their position has gotten more traction after the Greek financial crisis. But worse than that, the BHP has spawned a number of minority fringe movements that want to prevent Turkey from joining the EU, groups that’ve been covertly spearheaded by the BHP. They’re basically neo-Nazis who fear immigrants. They complain that Slavs and Croats have been taking their jobs and living off the state.”

“Living off the state, how?”

“Britain offers free health care and other very generous entitlement programs.”

“And what’s the problem with Turkey?”

“Turkey,” Losner said, “has the death penalty, which no EU country has. And Turkey would be the first Islamic country in the EU, which has stirred a range of feelings. And paranoia, as you might imagine.”

“But the BHP is legitimately part of the Parliament?” Vail asked.

“They are,” Reid said. “Because a lot of what they stand for strikes a chord with the common man.”

Grouze leaned back in his chair and swung it half around, facing the window. “There’s also the Euro Zone and Schengen Agreement. The Euro Zone allows member countries to have a single currency—the euro—and Schengen allows freedom of movement from one country to another. No passports needed among the twenty-six member countries. No border control, no customs. The UK’s chosen not to be part of Schengen—or the Euro Zone. There’s pressure from both political and industrial economic groups for the UK to join the Euro Zone, to have one currency and no barriers to business.”

“Sounds like they want what the US has.”

“Quite. They want to move toward a US model, a ‘United States of Europe.’ But some Brits don’t want to give up their sovereignty. They feel they’d be getting the short end of the stick because England is, well, England. The British culture is rich, its economy healthier and more prosperous than most of its EU cousins.”

“They feel they’re superior to the rest of the EU.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Vail smirked. “You kind of did. Not in so many words, but—”

Grouze swung his chair around. “We’ve only been invaded once in a thousand years, Agent Vail. And it failed. And yes, we’re afraid of diluting our heritage, of becoming one big melting pot of nothingness. We’d lose centuries of culture with the swipe of a pen.”

“It’s not my place to comment on that.”
Except that you switched to “we” from “they.” Interesting.
“But if you don’t mind me saying, you sound a bit like that first caller, who seemed to be talking about the discovery of the Shakespearean manuscript of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. And since that manuscript is a flashpoint for the media—and apparently all of British society—it would appear that there’s a relationship there.”

“Maybe,” Grouze said. “But to me the question seems to be, Is the second caller—The Army of English Anarchists—the same as the first? My sense says no, but unfortunately, we’ve got no way of knowing.”

“Tell me about these Anarchists,” Vail said. “You said they were an offshoot of the British National Party?’

“No, no. The British National Party’s a different organization. They’re not part of Parliament. This is the British
Heritage
Party. The BHP.”

“So these Anarchists are a splinter group of the BHP?”

“Exactly. To try to achieve their objectives from within the legitimate political system, the BHP has attempted to go more mainstream by removing some of the more odious parts of their agenda. That’s given power to the extreme factions within the group, who think the party’s gone ‘soft,’ selling out to the establishment. They’ve formed a number of spin-offs, extremists in the strictest sense. We’ve had problems with these groups before. Good news is that, despite their name, we’ve never seen violence from the Anarchists. They surface from time to time, but the bad news is that we don’t know who they are—beyond a name.”

“They may be trying to bring more attention to themselves with a high profile bombing,” Reid said.

“Possibly.” Vail thought a moment and then asked, “What’re their demands?”

Grouze shrugged. “They haven’t made any. They’ve just stated that there’ll be more attacks and that they’ll be in touch with their demands when we’ve felt enough pain.”

Lovely.
“That tells me that they feel like they’re in total control, that they don’t feel we’re capable of figuring out who they are, or that we can catch them.”

Grouze laughed. “You got that from two sentences? Give me a break.”

Here we go again. C’mon, Karen. Win him over with your charm. And when I find that charm, I bet it’d be very useful.
She held out her hands and splayed her fingers. “Hey, you brought me here for my skills in developing a threat assessment. You don’t want my help, just call my boss and I’ll be on the next flight out.”

Grouze’s jaw muscles flexed.

“Before we get too far down this road,” Reid said, “how ’bout we take a break and let the air clear?”

“Fine,” Grouze said, rising from his chair. “That’s why I keep you around, Reid. Go grab some coffee. And be careful Vail doesn’t profile you down the wrong road. We all know how that story turns out.”

Reid and Losner, likely sensing that they needed to head off a conflict, rose from their chairs and ushered Vail out of the room.

Outside, Vail shook her arms free of their gentle grasp. “What the hell was that in there? What’s his problem?”

“Oh,” Reid said, “you picked up on that.”

Vail gave him a look.

“Yes, of course you did.”

“I’m gonna go grab us some coffees,” Losner said.

As he walked off—rather quickly—Vail turned to Reid. “So what the hell?”

Reid lowered his voice and said, conspiratorially, “He can be a bit of an arsehole at times.”

“Then we’ve got something in common.” Vail turned and started back down the corridor where they had come from a moment ago.

“Where are you going?”

“To stir up a hornet’s nest.”

Reid started after her. “You’re not going back in there.”

“Everything tells me I shouldn’t. But yeah, I am.”

“Karen, don’t do this—”

She pushed through the door to see a surprised—and annoyed—Lance Grouze. “So what’s your problem?” she asked.

“You realize you just barged into my office?”

“Answer my question.”
Take a breath, Karen. And take it down a notch.
“Please.”

Grouze buried his gaze among the papers on his desk and then lifted a folder. “I don’t have a problem. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do. Real policework.”