Nicholas walked to the back of the store, opened the door to the office, and shouted down the stairs, “Mr. Brown? You can come up now.”
Nothing. Sophie was busying herself with the register. Nicholas called out, “Sophie, where is Mr. Brown?”
Sophie cocked her head to one side. “Oh, he had to go, he had a lunch meeting, like he said. I let him out the back.”
Nicholas stalked back up the aisle toward her, clearly pissed. “You shouldn’t have done that. We weren’t finished talking to him.”
Sophie’s chin rose. “Kevin’s not a threat, nor did he have anything to do with my father’s death. He’s a kid, nice enough, but not old enough to get it together, you know?”
Mike said, “We don’t know he didn’t have something to do with your father’s death, Sophie. It was odd, Brown suddenly in the store the same day your father’s been killed. Give us all his information. We’ll have to find him, check him out.”
“I don’t have it. It’s probably on my dad’s computer, but all his files are password protected.” She glanced at her watch. “I want to see my father. Where is he?”
Mike said, “I’ll make arrangements so you can see him. Tomorrow, maybe.”
“I’ve got to go. Dad’s funeral arrangements—all his friends, I don’t know, there’s so much—when will I be able to bury him?”
“Probably a few more days. I’m sorry, Sophie, but I can’t give you an exact day yet.”
She was crying again, and Mike drew a deep breath and let her go.
Nicholas narrowed his eyes after her. “She was lying through her teeth. Oh, her grief for her father was real enough, but Kevin Brown? She simply let him go? And the identity of EP?”
Mike was shaking her head. “I don’t understand her. Why wouldn’t she tell us everything she could to help us find out why her father was killed?”
Nicholas said, “And why was she upset over Alex Grossman speaking to her father last night?”
“You saw that, too, did you?”
19
Lexington and East 53rd Street
Alex Grossman wanted to run full out, but he couldn’t, the FBI might be watching him, so he forced himself to walk the four blocks to his apartment at a steady pace, the only secure place he could make the call. And he needed to make the call, right now. More was at stake than Jonathan’s death. He had to keep the charade in place, no matter what.
He took a deep breath. Jonathan Pearce, the Messenger—dead. He couldn’t get his brain around it. It was a disaster. The Order—every link in the chain was meant to be unbreakable, and yet the most important link—the Messenger—was dead. Not only dead, he’d been murdered. Sophie was barely holding it together, and Adam, dear God in heaven, what would Adam say when he found out? No one even knew where he was.
What would they do now?
Thank the Almighty he’d managed to get the book with the SD card hidden inside, as they’d arranged. And Sophie, quick on her feet, had managed to get the book to him right under the noses of the FBI. If they’d lost Pearce and the files—
No, don’t think of it. You have the SD card. Call in. Weston will know what’s to be done.
Grossman’s apartment, despite the Midtown location, was a fifth-floor walk-up two blocks down from his pub. He didn’t mind the stairs, they kept him in shape. When he burst into his flat, he locked the door and went straight to the safe in the kitchen, nicely disguised in one of the cabinets, right behind three cans of kidney beans.
He started to put the book inside, but something made him stop. He held the book for a moment, staring down at it. Slowly, he untied the twine, unwrapped all the layers of paper.
He opened the book. There was a space cut inside the pages, the perfect size for a small micro–SD card.
But the space was empty.
Panic slammed him. He tamped it down. He had to think. There were only two possibilities—either Jonathan Pearce hadn’t put the SD card in the book after all or someone had gotten to the store before Alex had and stolen it.
There were only two copies of this SD card in existence—standard operating procedure for the Order. Redundancies. One card was supposed to be in the book. The other was in Alfie Stanford’s safe at 11 Downing Street.
He reached into the safe and pulled out an encrypted satellite phone. He noticed his hands were shaking. Adrenaline. Calm down, lad, there’s much to be done.
He dialed the number from memory. It was answered on the first ring.
He blurted out the words, his American accent gone to reveal his natural crisp British. “Pearce is dead.”
Edward Weston said calmly, “Yes, I know. Did you retrieve the book?”
“Yes, but the SD card wasn’t inside. FBI agents were in Jonathan’s store.”
“Yes, I know. Do you have any idea where Pearce’s SD card could be?”
“I’m not certain at this time, sir. Sophie was there in the store as well. She was a mess.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure she was. We all are. What about Adam Pearce, was he there?”
“I didn’t see him. I don’t know how to contact him directly.”
Grossman could hear Weston tapping his fingers on his desk, a longtime nervous habit. “I see.”
“What are your orders, sir?”
“I need you on a plane to London straightaway.”
Grossman was surprised. “I shouldn’t stay in place? My cover will be blown. Try to get ahold of the SD card? The FBI agent, Drummond, he was at the store this morning. He and another agent are investigating Jonathan’s murder, so I’ll bet he found it at Jonathan’s apartment. I could try to waylay him, maybe—”
“Absolutely not. It doesn’t matter, not now. Prepare yourself, Alex, there’s more.” He heard Weston take a deep breath. “Alfie Stanford died in his office at Eleven Downing Street two hours ago, and the contents of his private safe were stolen.”
“No,” Alex said, stunned, disbelieving. Stanford was their leader. He’d run the Order for more than thirty years. To lose both him and Pearce in the same day was unthinkable. “It’s murder, surely, sir, it must be. We’re under attack.”
“I believe you’re right, Alex, but we won’t know anything until the inquest. Scotland Yard is conducting an investigation, as well as the Security Service. We’re coming at this from all angles. Now you understand why I need you to come to London right away. Forget the SD card. There’s no way you can get it. Right away, Alex, tonight.”
Pearce dead, Stanford dead. And—“Sir, Wolfgang Havelock died not above a month ago as well. I know he had a stroke, but with three members of the Order dead in such a short period of time—”
“Exactly, Alex, exactly. You’re absolutely correct, it seems the Order is under attack. The information stolen from Stanford’s safe can cripple us all. We are convening an emergency meeting of the Order, and I want you here.”
“Yes, sir, of course. My cover will be blown, but it hardly seems to matter now.”
“Good. I’ll share some news with you, Alex, because I know I can trust you, and you’re going to know it soon enough, anyway. I know that Pearce was in direct contact with Alfie Stanford last night. As for the message you passed to me last night from Jonathan, it was indeed good news—the very best news, actually—Adam located the submarine at last. We don’t have the exact coordinates as yet, but we will soon. Once we get to the sub, we’ll retrieve Marie’s key and her book and be able to find the weapon, and the kaiser’s gold, if that isn’t a myth.”
“Do you think it’s possible English spies really did manage to steal the kaiser’s private treasure?”
“Probably no, but we’ll see. I don’t intend to let anyone get in the way. Now, I’m not sure who to trust right now, Alex, so you must be careful.”
“The pub—”
“That is why you have a partner. Call him, tel
l him your mother is ill and you must return to—where does your current legend say you’re from?”
“Chicago. Lincoln Park, a few blocks from the zoo.” He said the words automatically, the information so ingrained in his being he could recite it in his sleep, with a knife pointed at his throat.
“Right. Tell him you must return to Chicago immediately. We’ll take care of the rest and send a plane for you. It will be waiting for you at Teterboro. And Alex? About Drummond having the other SD card. I believe you’re right. Drummond used to be with the Foreign Office, and he was Met Police for a stretch, before moving to America to join the FBI. We detected a breach on Pearce’s computer this morning. I think this Drummond character may have made a mirror of the files. If he has, certainly it’s very likely he found the SD card during a search of Jonathan’s apartment.
“If that is the case, we must simply forget about getting it back. Drummond has already turned the SD card in. I’m sorry the American FBI have it, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. So what I want you to do is bring Sophie Pearce with you. She’s in danger, and until we understand what’s going on here, who else is also after the sub and the key, she must be protected.”
Alex looked out the window, watched the pigeons alight on the sill, cooing and preening. Oh, bugger it all, how was he going to get Sophie to come willingly with him? She wouldn’t, no way, it wouldn’t matter what he said. “What about Adam?”
“Do not worry about him. I have others looking for him.”
“Very well, sir. May I ask who is taking over the Order now that Mr. Stanford is dead?”
There was a slight pause, then a hitch in Edward Weston’s throat, which he quickly cleared away.
“I am.”
20
26 Federal Plaza
1:00 p.m.
Zachery was waiting for them when Nicholas and Mike returned. He’d been alerted they were on their way up, and stood right outside the elevator doors, his hands on his hips. He did not look happy.
“Two dead bodies before lunch, Drummond? You’re having one hell of a first day.”
Then, of course, Zachery saw clearly that the two bodies were the last thing on Nicholas’s mind, but he snapped to quickly. “Ah, yes, sir, I know.”
Nicholas was accustomed to being on the radar of his superiors for all the wrong reasons, but two dead bodies, that was surely pushing it. No one could have anticipated how his first day would turn into a bloodbath, without his assistance, not really. He stood straight and tall and waited for the hammer to fall, Mike beside him.
Before Zachery could say anything else, Mike asked, “Sir, any word on identification of Mr. Olympic? That’s what Nicholas named our man because he could run as fast as Bolt.”
Which meant Nicholas had run faster, Zachery thought, looking at her. “Not yet. Fingerprint, DNA, and facial-recognition software are running as we speak on—Mr. Olympic—but so far, nothing. The autopsy has been scheduled for two-thirty this afternoon. You need to know what killed this man.”
I love autopsies, my very favorite way to spend an afternoon. But the fact was, though, they did need to know if Mr. Olympic had indeed chomped down on some sort of poison pill in his mouth.
“Yes, sir, not a problem.”
Mike said, “Sir, what about Pearce’s hard drive and the SD card we had messengered back? Any word there?”
“It’s all still running. Gray Wharton has the video feeds uploaded as well.” Zachery glanced at him, one eyebrow hiked. “Once you’re done at the OCME, Drummond, perhaps you can lend a hand there.”
Nicholas smiled. “With pleasure, sir.”
“Good. Before you go uptown, I want a full rundown of everything that happened this morning. I’m beginning to gather we’re dealing with something very complicated, very sticky.”
“Yes, sir,” Nicholas said. “On both counts.”
Mike shot a glance at Nicholas. She knew him well, a surprise since they’d really known each other only a handful of days. Something was cooking, but exactly what, she didn’t know yet.
Zachery had made it clear to her when he’d agreed to pair her with Nicholas that one of her main responsibilities was to manage the Brit, and that meant to make sure Nicholas followed the hallowed rules to the letter. Creativity was welcome; hotdogging was not, although any FBI special agent knew that the New York Field Office was known for its cowboys, particularly under Bo Horsley.
Control Nicholas? She wanted to tell Zachery that would be like trying to control a plume of smoke on a windy day, but she didn’t. One of the reasons she liked working for Zachery was that he was steady, even-keeled. But now he looked strained. Was something else going on, something big? Well, Zachery would tell them in his own good time.
He led them to his office, shut the door, and Mike gave him a moment-by-moment rundown on their morning. He did not interrupt her because she was good, clear, no unnecessary information, always on point. When she’d finished, Zachery said, “Your suspect—this Mr. Olympic—when he unexpectedly died, are you certain, Drummond, that you didn’t hit him in a way that could be misinterpreted?”
“Not at all. I saved his life, pushing him out of the way of the patrol car. He was very much alive when we started to cuff him. He went down, with no warning. It was clear to me he’d activated some sort of poison, and it did its job. We’ll know after he’s autopsied exactly what killed him.”
“There won’t be any video surveillance footage showing your hands anywhere near this man’s face? No witnesses to claim you brutalized him, in fact, caused his death?”
“There won’t be. I did nothing wrong here.”
Zachery held up a finger. “Don’t get riled up. I have to ask. You had your hands on a man as he died in broad daylight on a busy New York street. You know an inquiry is mandated since you are still in your probationary period, and there is no fooling around in these proceedings.
“Agent Caine agrees that you did nothing wrong. If, however, there is anything either of you wish to tell me, now’s the time.”
They both shook their heads.
“All right, then. Before you leave, you have some time to look deeper into Jonathan Pearce. He was clearly not a simple antiquarian bookseller. You said he’d been lured with fake text messages to Wall Street; the computer in Mr. Pearce’s home office had been compromised before you were able to access the files, and there was all the classified material you found with the SD card, and e-mailed to him. Tell me exactly what the classified material was.”
Nicholas said, “He had specs for a military satellite still in the developmental stages, which will be launched in a few months to bolster the Milstar II military communications satellites already in orbit.”
“Not what you’d expect from a bookseller’s files.”
“Especially when sent through an anonymous repeater, so there’s no way to tell who provided the information. That satellite is so top secret no one outside the program and the launch schedule know anything about it. It certainly isn’t something laymen have access to. The SD card Gray is processing was full of files and letters and photographs. I didn’t have time to sort through them all before his daughter, Sophie Pearce, showed up. I need some time to make sense of all of this, but the information was clearly of a secret nature.”
Zachery nodded. “We’ll get to the bottom of it. We always do.” He drew a deep breath. “Now I have some bad news, Drummond. We received word an hour ago that Alfie Stanford has passed away.”
21
Nicholas took the news like a fist to the gut. “You don’t mean Alfie Stanford, the chancellor of the Exchequer?”
Zachery nodded. “From the look on your face, I see he was a friend of your family? I imagined as much. I’m sorry, Drummond.”
Nicholas finally found his voice. “Yes, he is. I went to school with his three grandsons. I’ve known him my whole life.”<
br />
“I’m very sorry, Nicholas,” Mike said. She touched his forearm lightly. “Sir, what happened?”
“He collapsed in his office at Eleven Downing Street. It seems to be natural causes, though they don’t know for sure yet. He was eighty-two, so I suppose it makes sense. The media is going to be all over the story, of course, Stanford being who he was. Drummond, if I hear anything more, I’ll let you know. Both of you, keep me posted.”
The audience was over. He gestured toward the door, then reached for his phone. “And Drummond? Do try not to get anyone else dead today, will you?”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
Nicholas looked shell-shocked. He didn’t wait, pulled out his mobile and dialed. Mike said nothing, merely stood close, giving him silent support.
It was only half past six in the evening in England; at least he wasn’t going to wake anyone up.
The Drummond family butler since the beginning of time answered, “Old Farrow Hall. May I help you?”
“Horne?”
“Master Nicholas? How wonderful to hear from you. All is well in New York?” Nicholas heard the unspoken question—and is Nigel well?—though Horne was too ingrained in the proper etiquette to permit him to ask after his son.
“We’re fine, Horne. Nigel has me so set up I can’t find my knickers by myself. I’ll tell him you asked after him.” He swallowed. “I need to speak to my father, Horne. Is he home?”
“He is. He’s in the midst of a very serious situation with Mr. Stanford dying so unexpectedly today. Oh, my apologies, Master Nicholas, you do know about Mr. Stanford?”
“I do, Horne. That’s why I’m calling.”
Horne let out a sigh. “Of course, nowadays everyone knows everything at nearly the same instant. I’ll go fetch Master Harry for you. And Master Nicholas, permit me to say—we do so miss you here.”
Nicholas was hit with a wave of homesickness. It mixed with his shocked grief at Alfie Stanford’s death and for a moment he couldn’t speak. He missed them all, his grandfather, his parents, all the denizens at Old Farrow Hall. He even missed Cooke Crumbe’s very bland porridge.