Free The Tudor Plot: A Cotton Malone Novella by Steve Berry Page A

manipulation of that collective affection could sway public sentiment, and he knew precisely what should be used as a cornerstone for that effort.
    Arthur.
    No other English character carried such a mystique.
    Arthur’s resurrection would come directly after the Saxe-Coburgs’ bloody downfall, at a time when the people would be searching for something to latch on to. Though the idea of dispensing with the monarchy altogether had a certain appeal, he doubted that most would embrace the notion. Oliver Cromwell had made that mistake when he beheaded Charles I in 1649. His Protectorate lasted a mere eleven years before the Stuarts were invited to rule again. And in 1660, after Charles II was crowned, the king ordered Cromwell’s body dug up, hung on a gallows, then decapitated. The head remained displayed on a pole outside Westminster for twenty years until a gale finally blew it away.
    Regicide was indeed a dangerous business.
    Footsteps caused him to look up from the newspapers.
    His personal secretary was stepping across the room toward the table, dressed in his customary gray suit. He stopped a few feet away and remained standing.
    “What of Iceland?” Yourstone asked.
    “Everything is progressing. But no success, as yet.”
    He did not like that report. “What’s the problem? I’ve paid those buggers a fortune and they assured me it wouldn’t take this long.”
    “I have reminded them of that. But weather is not cooperating. It’s cold there this time of year.”
    “They’re underground.”
    “The expedition requires supplies, and arctic conditions make that difficult.”
    He poured himself more coffee. He did not offer his employee any—nor, he realized, would any have been accepted. A clear line existed between the upstairs and the downstairs, and this man respected that division. “I’m going to need the Iceland project completed within the next week. It’s critical.”
    “What would you suggest I do to spur their efforts?”
    “Don’t offer them any more money. Try one of your … unique methods of persuasion. I’ll leave the particulars to your vivid imagination.”
    His secretary gave him a nod, signaling a complete understanding. He liked that about the man. No questions, just results.
    “I also need imagination used on this Cotton Malone. He knew about the C-83 explosives. That could be a problem.” He paused. “For us all.”
    Once Eleanor was crowned this man would become
her
personal secretary. So he had a stake in what was happening.
    “And what of our South African ally?”
    He said, “Our business with him will soon be complete. I doubt he’ll care about us after that.”
    “Does not the fact that someone may be investigating concern you?”
    He shrugged. “Not particularly. Lyon will gladly assume the blame for all that is about to happen. I believe he’s actually looking forward to doing so. The terrorist mentality, I assume. He seems to take this trial of his associates quite personally. But I agree. Men like the South African possess agendas unmindful of others. Fanatics come with an assortment of advantages and liabilities.”
    And never had he dealt with such a dangerous personality. He’d located Lyon through intermediaries, and initially the terrorist had not been interested. That was, of course, before his associates were captured and Great Britain agreed to try them in an international court. It had been Lyon who’d reinstituted contact, the only condition to his involvement being that everything Yourstone planned must coincide with the trial. That criterion had been acceptable since it would further divert blame.
    He glanced at his watch: 4:05 P.M.
    “We’re only a few hours away. What’s happening now is out of our hands.”

    Malone waited for an explanation.
    “You’ve entered this fight at the last minute,” Mathews said. “I know the challenge that presents. But you’re a pro, and it may be fortuitous for us all that you are here. This entire matter is