Page 41 of The Last Kingdom

“And, if you’re successful, somebody else will take all the credit.”

The call ended.

He stood in the room and stared out the window. At least everyone’s cards were on the table. No more surprises. TOO was right, though. He had no life other than work. His wife left him fifteen years ago, tired of excuses and living alone. They’d tried to have kids, but no luck. Something with his sperm count, and he’d been too busy to put in the extra effort needed to compensate. Which only added to her growing resentment. Jody was a good woman and deserved better. She remarried quickly and now had a daughter. He was happy for her. But him? He was a career spy, caught in the middle of a political vise.

So what else was new?

His phone buzzed again.

He recognized the incoming number and answered.

“We need to speak,” the male voice said. “Now.”

“Go ahead, speak.”

“In person.”

“Tell me where and when.”

Chapter 23

COTTON SAT IN A COMFORTABLE LEATHER CLUB CHAIR. HE OWNEDone himself back in his apartment in Copenhagen, among the few things he’d brought with him when he resigned from the Magellan Billet and moved from Georgia to Denmark. That shift had been a clean break. One life left behind, another looming on the horizon. He’d purposefully brought along as little as possible. Foolishly, he’d thought the past would leave him behind. But he’d come to learn that the past never stopped coming. The trick was to learn how to deal with its relentlessness. He’d fought it at first, trying to resist, but the past never took no for an answer.

His host sat relaxed in another club chair. A dapper middle-aged man with short, iron-gray hair brushed straight back exposing a broad, dignified brow. A mustache and goatee framed the face, the jaw bold, the eyes soft, the skin reflecting the rosy color of good living. He’d decided the knife was unnecessary and laid it on a side table.

“Do you like my home?” Marc Fenn asked.

He stared around at the general atmosphere of genteel dignity that definitely belonged to another time. “Hard not to like a castle.”

“It dates from the thirteenth century but, contrary to its look, it was never a fortified locale, more aritterschloss.”

Knight’s castle, he silently translated.

“Its last noble owner died a long time ago, leaving no heirs. Sadly, all this fell into decay and ruin and squatters occupied it. Can you imagine? A century of wind and weather had its way. Then I came along.”

“Lucky for this place.”

“My thought exactly. I am a connoisseur of collecting. Objets d’art. Antiques. Books. Paintings. My former house outgrew my obsession, so I bought a location large enough to hold all my treasures. I also gave it a name.”

He waited.

“Charmantes Schloss.”

Charming Castle.

“Do you like it?” Fenn asked.

“So far, so good. Though I could have done without the tour of the wine cave.”

“I do apologize for that. But I am so glad you like this place. I planned it all down to the finest detail and personally supervised the renovation.”

“A man of means, I assume.”

“Of course. Of course. I have a great deal of money.”

“And lots of people in your employ.”

Fenn waved off the observation. “They are not in my employ. Quite the contrary. Instead, we are bound in a brotherhood, loyal to ourselves, each other, and our fallen king.”

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