Princess: A Private Novel (Private #14)(51)

The cold stone tunnel was ten feet deep, and as Morgan emerged at De Villiers’ back, he saw that much of the interior was cast into darkness.

But there were voices in the night.

“Stop for a moment,” said the Colonel, his voice calm.

“What is it?” Morgan asked quietly.

“Just be quiet.”

Then, clear as day, Morgan heard a young voice cry out into the night. It was a confident voice. The voice of a soldier.

“Halt!” he demanded. “Who comes there?”

A second voice answered, rich with years. Following the sound, Morgan saw the uniform of a Yeoman Warder—a Beefeater. “The keys!” he replied.

“Whose keys?” the young sentry questioned.

“Queen Elizabeth’s keys!”

“Pass then!” the soldier allowed. “All’s well!”

And Morgan watched silently as the Yeoman, under escort of bayonet-toting soldiers, their silhouettes made long by tall bearskin hats, marched by the young sentry and out of sight.

At that moment, Morgan realized he’d been holding his breath, and let it go silently. He could not explain why he had done so. Only that he knew he was watching something ancient, archaic and special. A moment that was timeless. A throwback to past days.

“What was that?” he asked De Villiers, as the tramp of the men’s boots faded into the darkness.

“The Ceremony of the Keys,” the man explained. “They’re locking up the Tower.”

“They do this every night?”

“For centuries,” De Villiers confirmed. “The only thing that changes is the monarch’s name. You’re very lucky to have seen it. Very few do.”

The majesty of the moment had not been lost on Morgan, and he nodded, but the movement was cursory. A punctuation at the end of one conversation, and the beginning of the next. He had come to the Tower for a reason that was not one of ceremony.

“Something’s been troubling me,” Morgan admitted to the Colonel. He didn’t need to say that it was something other than the death of Jane, which burned through his soul with more torturous intent than any of the contraptions that had been used to bring misery to the Tower’s former occupants, and traitors.

“What is it?” De Villiers asked.

“The shooters knew my hotel in Brecon. They knew where to find us at the waterfall. It’s fair to say by now that those gunmen were Flex and an associate. Maybe more than one.”

“Are you saying you think Flex had inside help?”

“I know he did.”

“And do you know from whom?”

“At first I thought it was Lewis, but I know now that’s not possible.”

“Then who?”

“The Princess told me you have SAS troopers on the security detail?”

De Villiers nodded. “Of course. They’re the best of the best.”

“They’re also people who are loyal to Flex, he being one of their own.”

“I don’t like where you’re going with this, Morgan.”

“But hear me out anyway. I’d like you to look into the service records of the SAS men on the Princess’s detail, to see if any served alongside Flex.”

“They’re all younger men on this detail, much younger than Flex. He has been out of the regiment for a while now. I doubt it’s possible.”

“But we need to consider it.”

His business at an end, Morgan gave De Villiers the number that he could now be reached on.

“But we’re not done yet,” the Colonel said suddenly, surprising him.

“We’re not?”

“No, Morgan. There’s a reason I wanted you to come to the Tower, and I’m afraid you can’t leave without knowing it. Follow me.”

Morgan allowed himself to be led by De Villiers into the heart of the Tower, emerging in a courtyard that was lined with small terraced houses older than the American’s home nation.

“Who lives here?” Morgan asked.

“The Beefeaters,” the Colonel answered.

“They’re trusted to live inside the Tower?”

“More than trusted. They’re the soul of the place, every one of them a former warrant officer with twenty-two years’ service or more. They come from the army, air force and navy, each of them as dedicated and patriotic a person as you’ll find.”

Morgan listened, interested to find out where De Villiers’ speech was heading.

“Many of them joined the military at sixteen,” De Villiers added. “And they’ll serve until they retire. Duty to their country is all, to them.”

“And duty to the Crown?”

“You’ll not find a Beefeater who doesn’t see them as one and the same. After you, Morgan.” The Colonel unlocked a door and stepped aside so that the American could walk in first.

He did, and came face to face with a man holding a gun.





Chapter 88


THE ARMED MAN made no move as Morgan entered, a Heckler & Koch MP5 machine gun held downward across his chest. After a moment, Morgan recognized him as one of the men who had talked to Lewis at the gate of the royal residence in Wales, what felt like a lifetime ago. The man acknowledged Morgan with a jut of his chin.