The Crowns Vengeance Read online

  As far as the investing public was concerned, Spencer Drake was the chairman of a respected financial institution, one of the largest investment banking and securities firms in the world. Though the current incarnation of his organization had only been established within the last thirty years, the company had been founded over two centuries ago.

  Less than a half dozen living men knew the true story of the financial giant’s birth.

  On the monitor, Nigel Stirling’s gaunt visage materialized.

  “Good afternoon, Spencer.”

  “Sir. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

  Nigel had been reticent about the purpose of this conversation. Typical of the wily old codger.

  “What is the status of your purchase program?”

  Several days ago Stirling had instructed Drake to establish a set of shell corporations in the Bahamas, none of which could be traced back to Aldrich Securities. The sole purpose of these entities was to purchase oil futures in massive quantities.

  This was not the first time he had established offshore corporations. Normally these companies were used as fronts through which to funnel illicit earnings from the stock market, monies that stemmed from a mutually beneficial and highly improper relationship he had cultivated with a member of the Food and Drug Administration.

  In exchange for a monthly bribe, the FDA official informed Drake when any new drugs would be approved for use by the general public. All he had to do was purchase said company’s stock, and a few days later, when the price inevitably rose, he was that much richer.

  “Seven new entities were incorporated in the Bahamas on Monday, as per your instructions. Each company purchased one hundred fifty million barrels of futures contracts with the expectation that the price of crude will soon rise and continue to do so indefinitely.”

  Stirling’s icy gray eyes betrayed no reaction.

  “Has your activity garnered attention?”

  Both Drake and Stirling were so far removed from the day-to-day financial world that most of the normal market chatter never reached their ears.

  “One of my associates reported the uptick in oil speculation has been noted, though no one seems to know what it means.”

  “Which is to be expected, given the lack of a clear reason for such activity. Excellent work, Spencer. Continue purchasing the commodity through this week.”

  Stirling’s digital face glanced down as he opened a folder on his desk, though he remained silent for several beats.

  “Spencer, I need you to transfer one million dollars to this account number.”

  Drake hurriedly copied down the numbers written on a piece of paper that Nigel held to the camera.

  “May I ask what this money is for?”

  “Once the deposit is completed,” he continued, ignoring Drake’s question, “you will be contacted by a man with whom we have contracted a service. He will provide you with a time frame and instructions for where to deposit an additional million dollars after our agreement is consummated.”

  Spencer was lost. “Forgive my asking, sir, but time frame for what?”

  Stirling leaned toward the camera, tiny red veins on his eyes visible on-screen. “We have contracted to have the next impediment to our operation removed.”

  “That is excellent news, sir. I’ll initiate the transfer immediately.”

  Nigel leaned back in his chair, one hand manipulating a keyboard rapidly. “As to the next phase of this operation, President bin Khan is waiting for our call.”

  Seconds later the monitor went to split screen, and a snowy white beard flashed into view, a drastic contrast to bin Khan’s deeply tanned face. A few mumbled words in Arabic came from off-screen, and the president eye’s filled with recognition.

  “Hello, my friends. It is good to see you again.”

  “It’s our pleasure, President bin Khan. Thank you for taking the time to speak with us today.”

  The soft-spoken Arab dismissed Nigel’s comments with a wave of his hand. “I believe that we are men with similar interests. So please, what is it you wish to discuss?”

  Drake’s heart sped up. Their entire operation rode on this call.

  “Spencer, would you kindly bring President bin Khan up to date regarding our recent acquisitions?”

  Drake briefly summarized his activities over the past few days, relating the incorporations and oil futures purchases he’d coordinated.

  “I appreciate your activity, Mr. Drake. A rise in the price of crude bodes well for my pocketbook.”

  President bin Khan may have been an old man, but beneath the wizened exterior was a ruthless businessman, dispassionate as a shark. Spencer appreciated such qualities in a man.

  “However, as you gentleman can likely surmise, my finances are quite healthy at the moment. Why have you orchestrated these transactions?”

  Drake and Stirling locked eyes, aware that everything hinged on bin Khan’s reaction.

  “President bin Khan, what are your thoughts on America?”

  The president seemed to freeze for an instant. Just as quickly, his eyes softened, though the anger that flashed across his features had been unmistakable.

  “The answer is complicated.”

  Even if Stirling and Drake didn’t already know about bin Khan’s past, there was no mistaking his tone. The man hated America with a passion, and Drake didn’t blame him. In 1948, bin Khan had been a child living in Iraq. His mother and father, both members of the Iraqi military, were deployed to fight the newly formed state of Israel. Their only son Khalifa had stayed at home while his parents went to war.

  They never came back.

  Five-year-old Khalifa bin Khan would later learn of the United States involvement in the creation of a Zionist state in Palestine, a precursor to the 1948 war that killed his parents and sent eight hundred thousand Palestinians into exile, forever altering the dynamic of the Middle East.

  As he grew, bin Khan laid blame for his parents’ death at the feet of the United States, his hatred for their western culture and meddlesome politics growing with each passing year. Time and again, America prevented the heathen Israelites from being overrun by the righteous Muslims whose land had been stolen from underneath their feet.

  After his adoption by an influential cleric, bin Khan had quickly risen to prominence in his new home country of Dubai, aided by his adoptive father’s paternal relationship to the ruling family. Within a decade, bin Khan was so beloved within Dubai that he was appointed to the Federal National Council, the supreme federal legislative body for the United Arab Emirates.

  Ten years later, he was elevated to the presidency.

  Now in control of one hundred billion barrels of crude oil reserves, Khalifa bin Khan was the perfect man to bring Stirling and Drake’s plan to fruition.

  “I understand that the loss of your family can be directly attributed to the American government’s support of Israel.”

  President bin Khan remained still.

  “You have done your homework, Mr. Stirling.”

  Spencer Drake cut to the chase.

  “President bin Khan, we have a proposal for you. First of all, I must admit my near total ignorance as to how your country’s oil production facilities operate. Your secrecy is legendary. That being said, if you, as the president, decided it was in the best interests of your nation to reduce the supply of oil coming onto the market each day, would it be within your authority to make that a reality?”

  For several seconds, bin Khan was frozen, not so much as twitching a muscle. Finally, he responded. “Gentlemen, as president of my country, my authority is without question. In my capacity as leader of the UAE, it is the same. If I decide that our crude output should be reduced, it will be done.”

  “That is excellent news. Here is what we propose.”

  As Drake spoke, bin Khan’s features became chilling in their ferocity. Thirty minutes later, it was settled.

  “Gentlemen, thank you for including me in your plans. I cannot
express the joy you have delivered to my soul.”

  Drake leaned back in his chair, his thoughts already beyond the aged president on screen.

  “President bin Khan, it is we who owe you a debt of gratitude,” Nigel Stirling replied. “Rest assured you will not be disappointed.”

  “I look forward to speaking with you soon.”

  The president’s face faded from view, Stirling’s parchment-like skin once again filling the monitor.

  “I think that went fairly well, old boy.”

  A dry laugh escaped Stirling’s throat at his own joke. “Once you are contacted by our asset, apprise me of his proposed timeline.”

  Spencer nodded once, and then the monitor faded to black. Drake did not move for some time, contemplating what was to happen. Soon, a second tragedy would rock the financial world, further solidifying their hold on certain markets. As gratifying as this would be, it was but a prelude to the true purpose of this operation, the reason their group had toiled in anonymity for two centuries.

  Finally, the colonists would be put in their place, left to flounder as England reclaimed her rightful position as a world power.

  A sharp ringing filled the air. An unknown phone number flashed across his personal phone line. With the care one would expect while handling a live grenade, Spencer lifted the phone from his desk. His throat was unnaturally dry.

  Chapter 10

  Boston, Massachusetts

  A jet engine had fired to life inside the hotel room.

  Parker lay still, the overpowering roar assaulting his senses. After a moment, it all came clear. The noise wasn’t an engine-it was Erika’s hair dryer, blowing incessantly several feet from his head. For some reason she had chosen to use the infernal device while sitting on the bed.

  One eye cracked open and was immediately attacked by sunlight streaming through a window.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead. You’re missing half the day.”

  “What time is it?” Parker’s voice was muffled, head buried under the covers.

  “Nearly nine. We have to get moving.”

  What was wrong with her? They’d been out last night, had a few bottles of wine with dinner, then a few more. His head ached and all he wanted to do was sleep. Erika, on the other hand, was full of energy.

  “Go away.”

  His wish was not granted, and Erika ripped the covers from the bed.

  “Not today, party animal. Get up and take a shower. We only have two days here, and I’m not wasting them sitting in this room waiting for you to wake up.”

  Parker had finished his meetings, a long three days spent in the company of his old classmate Ben, who now worked for a securities firm in Boston. In the financial world, as in life, it was often who you knew as opposed to what you knew. Through his personal relationship with Ben, Parker had delivered consistent profits on a regular basis, one perk of which was the expense account with which he’d booked this lavish hotel room.

  “I am not getting up. Leave me alone.”

  For a few moments, nothing. This made Parker nervous. When he rolled over, it was just in time to catch a face full of cold water, the shock of which sent him hurtling from the bed.

  “What’s the matter with you? That’s freezing cold.”

  Erika stood, one hand on a hip, head cocked.

  “Oh, you decided to get up? Now go take another shower. There’s a city to explore.”

  Parker knew he wouldn’t win this battle, and twenty minutes later they walked outside onto Atlantic Avenue, blue skies overhead. A warm breeze blew through Parker’s wet hair. The headache was gone, replaced by a rumbling in his stomach. The sidewalks were busy, small groups of people out enjoying the summer air. A short walk along the waterfront brought them to a coffee shop filled with tourists and locals alike.

  Outside in the sunshine, Erika studied a map on her phone as he devoured his breakfast.

  “While you were getting your beauty sleep, I laid out a plan of action. First, we’re going to the Revere House.”

  Parker grunted his agreement. May as well get this over with and enjoy the rest of the weekend.

  “I called the house, and a tour guide said the big crowds don’t usually come until the weekend. The place should be fairly empty until tomorrow.”

  “And exactly what do you propose we do? I have no interest in breaking any laws.”

  “All we’re going to do is look,” Erika answered. “If we don’t find anything, we’ll leave. I promise.”

  “Why do I not believe you?”

  Her lack of response did nothing to ease his mind.

  They hopped in a cab, and five minutes later they found themselves outside a two-story, gray, wooden house, notable mainly for its diminutive stature in comparison to surrounding buildings. A single sign above the front door was all that identified the historical landmark.

  “Are you sure this place is open? When I told Ben we were coming here he thought it might not open until later in the day.”

  Parker didn’t see anyone outside the building. Trees had been planted along the roadway, and warm air rustled the green leaves, bringing with it the promise of a beautiful day.

  “Yes, I’m sure. In fact, I think this is ideal.”

  He leaned in close, his voice low. “And why is this so ideal?”

  “I would prefer to have some privacy inside.”

  “You remember when I said I wouldn’t break any laws? I wasn’t kidding.”

  “All you’re doing is keeping an eye out for anyone who walks into the room. I’m a history professor with a keen interest in some of the artifacts. We’re two perfectly normal, law-abiding tourists.”

  As much as he didn’t want to, Parker couldn’t help but wonder what they might find. If the message Erika had uncovered was correct, the bureau inside might contain a clue regarding Revere’s alleged conspiracy.

  “What exactly are you planning to do?”

  A glance around ensured no one was listening.

  “I think that Revere’s directions are straightforward. The decorative designs, which are shaped like arrows, point to each other. My guess is they’re the triggers for a locking mechanism of some kind, and if we push them closer together, something interesting might happen.”

  “You do realize this piece of furniture was built over two centuries ago, don’t you? I doubt any moving pieces will still work. Even if there is a hidden area, it’s probably rusted shut.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we have to.”

  With that, Erika turned on a heel and headed toward the museum, her sandals slapping over the red brick sidewalk. She first stopped at a circular kiosk that sold entrance passes. Two stubs in hand, she marched to the diminutive front door. Trailing behind, Parker saw the doorknob turn in her grasp, and the gray boards opened into the museum. When he walked inside, creaking footsteps filled the air.

  Directly in front of him was an ancient brick fireplace, inside of which sat a large bronze cauldron, the golden color tinged with a deep green patina. Several hand-carved pieces of wooden furniture surrounded the hearth, each stained a deep brown. A tiny crib sat across from a rocking chair, underneath a row of enormous cast iron pots and pans.

  “Everything looks so small.”

  “Why are you whispering? We’re the only ones here.”

  She was right, but the room carried a sense of history, a weight that was impossible to ignore.

  “According to this map, the sitting room is just ahead,” she said, and was off.

  Each step echoed like a gunshot in the still room, the boards protesting his weight as he passed. The museum was designed to control their movements, with each room flowing to the next, a single path forward. Through a low-hanging archway that nearly clipped his head, Parker saw a dining table set for two. Placards on the tablecloth informed visitors that each piece had actually been used by the Revere family, handcrafted by the patriarch.

  “There it is.”

  He followed Erika’s outstretched finge
r, aimed at the purpose of their visit. A gorgeous bureau constructed of reddish-brown mahogany sat against the far wall. Six drawers comprised the lower half, atop which sat a single cupboard framed by open shelves on both sides. Each of the drawers was adorned with two V-shaped designs on either end, the tips of which pointed to a handle midway between them. The lines that composed each triangular piece were accented with silver.

  Parker glanced behind them, though he’d have to be deaf to miss any footsteps on these cacophonous floors. When he looked back, Erika was already halfway to the bureau.

  “Hold on a second. What exactly is your plan?”

  Erika didn’t turn around as she spoke.

  “To solve the riddle and find whatever Revere left behind. Stop wasting time and get over here.”

  Her hands ran over the polished drawers. Perched atop the piece was a typed card that informed Parker the desk had indeed been made in England as a gift for Revere’s wife.

  “I can’t move these at all.”

  Erika’s arms shook with effort as she attempted to force the triangular designs closer together.

  “Don’t do that.” Parker grabbed her hands. “If you break this thing, we’re going to have some explaining to do.”

  “I didn’t come all this way just to look at it.”

  She ripped her hands free and studied the drawers, nose inches from the wood.

  “Two opposing arrows adorned by my touch, fired together, will reveal the truth.”

  Erika ran a finger over the woodwork. “That’s the key. These designs look like arrows, right?”

  Parker grunted in agreement.

  “Each of these designs is accented with silver, which to my untrained eye looks to be the real stuff. As we all know, Paul Revere was a silversmith.” Her logic was flawless. “So it stands to reason that these are what Revere was referring to in his encrypted letter to Hamilton.”