The Poppy Score: A Paul Marcus Thriller

Book : Paul Marcus

by Tom Lowe

Genres: Historical Thrillers

Synopsis

Former CIA cryptographer Paul Marcus and his family are living quietly in a secluded section of Montana when an unscheduled visit brings a frightening dilemma to their home. Paul is asked to decrypt seven mysterious pages first written 2500 years ago in China. The author was Sun Tzu who wrote The Art of War. Tzu’s encrypted pages, though, were never meant for Western eyes. It’s believed the pages could be the lost fourteenth chapter from The Art of War. The code was finally broken in China three years ago and kept secret. If Paul cannot crack the code before an ominous timetable runs out, America will face the deadliest global threat in history.

 

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Release date: April 22, 2022

Publisher: Kingsbridge

Print pages: 515

Sample

ONE

Dorchester, England

Oliver Hamilton never thought of himself as paranoid. At age twenty—tall, lean, and strong, he rarely was suspicious of anyone he met. But, for the last month, Oliver felt as if he was being followed. There was nothing definitive. Only an odd feeling he’d get when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. When he looked in the direction of the motion, always nothing. Maybe a rabbit hopping, a bird in flight, but never anything ominous. There was no reason for the sense of lingering threat he felt in his gut.

He thought about that as he descended a spiral staircase from the second story of the house where he grew up, an estate on the coast of Dorset, forty kilometers southeast of London. The home dated back to 1585. His family purchased it in 1950, updated the grand home while retaining the character of the Elizabethan mansion. Oliver, who was studying international law at University of Oxford, was the only son of Arthur and Scarlett Hamilton. They had two daughters. The family-owned steel mills around the world.

Oliver strolled through the home’s wide reception hall, which had seen the arrival of the royals during Queen Victoria’s reign. He walked into the Great Hall, past the massive

granite fireplace, and outside to the cobbled courtyard and gardens bursting with purple wisteria, blue hydrangea, and pink rambling roses. The roses climbed over an ancient stone terrace that enclosed a half-acre of the two-hundred-acre estate.

His father and mother were having breakfast, sitting at a wrought iron table and chairs in the shade of an English oak, squirrels scampering around its wide base. When Arthur Hamilton saw his son approaching, he smiled. “I’m surprised you’re up so early. You didn’t return from the pub until the wee hours.” Hamilton wore a corduroy sports coat, blue Oxford shirt and khaki pants. He had a trimmed moustache and graying bushy eyebrows.

Oliver nodded. “That’s because we were watching the football game, and it went into extra time. The good news is that Chelsea won. I’m heading back to London in a few minutes. Got to prep for another week of classes.”

Scarlett, his mother, dark hair, refined profile, said, “I so find Sunday’s a rather gloomy day. Afterall, it is the day you go back to London after spending so little time with us, and not every weekend.”

“Sorry, Mum. I can’t take the courses online. Regardless, why pay for a flat near the university if I don’t use it. I love coming here when I can.”

“Well, at least have breakfast with us.”

“I can’t. I’m taking Maya to Dover this afternoon. We’re attending a concert. I’ll take a muffin for the road.”

His mother smiled. “Please, give Maya our regards, Oliver.”

He stepped over and kissed his mother on the cheek. “Not sure If I can make it back next weekend. I promised Maya that I’d take her to the Chester Zoo. She’s never been to a zoo. And she’s quite the animal lover.”

Arthur Hamilton eyed a grey squirrel that came within twenty feet of their table, the squirrel leaning back on its hind legs, as if begging for a bite of food. “I would be curious if Maya’s fondness carries over to grey squirrels. They are not native to the UK. The greys were brought over from other countries. They’ve almost wiped out the red squirrels. The greys are an invasive species ... a situation I’ve seen in some migrant people as well.”

“Father, I hope you aren’t referring to Maya.”

“How can I refer to her if I’ve never met her? I only go by what you’ve chosen to reveal to your mother and me. Nothing more.”

“I would bring her here, but I don’t want Maya to be grilled about her background, family, and her hopes and dreams for the future.”

Scarlett shook her head. “Oliver, if you are getting serious about this young woman, we should have the opportunity to meet her. I assure you that your father will be respectful. He and your grandfather didn’t build a multinational company by treating people unkindly.”

“Mum, with all due respect, I’ve heard stories about what my great grandfather and grandfather did to amass wealth and power after military service. Threads to the sins of the past grow bare and sometimes invisible through the passage of time, but not by all.”

Hamilton chuckled. “Perhaps taking fewer classes in philosophy and more in business will give you a real-world perspective on life and hard work. You should be grateful.”

“I am, but I prefer to carve my own way in the world.”

“Be sure you carry a big knife,” said his father. A shadow from above passed over them. Hamilton glanced up. “Would you look at that? It’s a golden eagle. Haven’t seen one out here in a couple of years. Maybe, if we are fortunate, he will swoop down and take a few of these grey squirrels off our property.”

“Oh, Arthur,” said Scarlett. “That’s a harsh thought.” She looked up at her son. “Friday, when you were just arriving, Oliver, I saw something at the edge of our land. I thought it was an eagle, too. But it appeared man-made ... you know, one of those drone contraptions. I can only assume that some of the local boys were flying it along the coastline.”

Hamilton cleared his throat. “If I see one fly above our property, I’ll shoot it down.”

“That’s odd,” Oliver said. “A drone. I know they’re inexpensive and easy to operate, but our home is so isolated. It makes me wonder which, if any, local lads would have operated it.” He reached down to the table and picked up a muffin. “I know it sounds rather strange but, for a couple of weeks now, I’ve had the feeling that someone was following me.”

“How so, son?” Hamilton asked.

“Nothing that I can put my finger on. Monday, walking across a car park at the university, I thought a man was following me. Kept his distance, walking as if he’d misplaced his vehicle. I caught him looking my way more than once before I got into my car.”

“Are there any other times?” his father asked.

“I thought someone was following me as I drove from my flat to Maya’s flat. When I entered the lot to her building, the car just drove on by me. But the man looked my way.”

“Was he the same man you think might have been following you earlier?” Scarlett asked.

“No. Different. One looked British. One looked Asian. It’s probably my imagination because I’ve been cramming for my exams, taking more courses than perhaps I should. I just want to graduate and be on with my life.”

Scarlett said, “Please remember to call us when you get to London, and you are in your flat. Okay? If anything were to happen to you ... I couldn’t live with myself.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me. Like I said, it’s probably some kind of self-induced paranoia from studying and working the internship with Holland and James International.”

***

Maya Adel thought she would be nervous. She was amazed at how calm she was as the men met her in a dark parking lot next to the Kensington River apartment houses, less than two blocks from University of Oxford. She was in her early twenties, long dark hair. She reached in her purse and handed the man a house key. She said, “It’s number 109. He’s expecting me. I always use the key. We’re trusting.”

A Chinese man, Shing Wang, stocky, dark eyes filled with secrets, took the key. “The people appreciate what you are doing.”

Another man, this one a Brit, tall with light blonde eyebrows, a white scar on his cheek that looked like a long comma, said nothing. Maya looked at them. “Where’s the cash? You were supposed to give it to me when I gave you the key.”

“We will make an electronic deposit into your account.”

“That wasn’t the deal. After you leave here tonight, I don’t have any assurance that the money will ever be in my account. You owe me five-thousand pounds. If I don’t get it, the authorities will learn what really went down here tonight.”

“I understand.” He cut his eyes over to the tall man and nodded. The man instantly slipped up behind Maya, placing one big hand on the back of her skull, grabbing her lower jaw with the other and twisting hard. Her neck snapped. She fell dead at his feet, taking two final breaths, her body jerking once. He pulled her behind landscaped bushes and the two men walked across the lot to the ground-floor apartment. Wang inserted the key and turned the lock, opening the door. There was a soft ping that came from the other room.

The men looked at each other, nodding. They walked quietly through the apartment, finding Oliver Hamilton sitting at a kitchen table, studying. He wore earbuds. When the cool end of a gun barrel was pressed against the side of his neck he jumped, pulling the earbuds off. The men walked in front of him, the tall man holding the Beretta.

“Who are you?” Oliver’s voice filled with fear. “Where’s Maya? What did you do?” Wang smiled. “So many questions. So little time ... Oliver Hamilton.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Because it is a stain on my country.” Wang nodded. The tall man handed him the

Beretta and Wang said, “Hamilton, place your left arm on the tabletop. Here is your choice ... if you do not do it, I will shoot you between your eyes. We’re going to give you a feel- good shot.” He gestured to his partner who reached inside his sports coat pocket, lifting out a syringe and a small black kit. He filled the hypodermic with a white solution.

“No!” Oliver shouted.

“Shut up!” snapped Wang. “You either have this to get a buzz and feel oh so relaxed, or you eat a bullet. We really don’t care either way.”

Oliver reluctantly stretched his arm on the table. The tall man found a vein and injected the solution into Oliver’s arm. “You are lucky,” Kahn said. “This is the best heroin money can buy. It’s the sweetest breast milk from the poppy.” He smiled as the heavy dose entered Oliver’s heart, lungs, and brain. Oliver’s breathing became shallow.

For ten minutes they watched the agonizing slaughter. Oliver shook, staring at the men through confused eyes, fighting the seizure that was crushing him inside and out. He fell from the chair in the fetal position, his body shaking, urine staining his pants. After another minute, the seizure stopped, and the body of twenty-year-old Oliver Hamilton was still.

Wang leaned over the body, plunging the hypodermic needle into Hamilton’s arm, leaving the syringe there as they walked away.