“Ah well, we’re supposed to be discreet, really, we do try. There are seven of us, each with a different area of expertise, I guess you could say. We were tasked to travel anywhere in the world in order to solve problems.” He snorted. “Now that certainly sounds high and mighty. First thing I’ll do is call Adam. Here’s Mike now—we’ll get on it right away.”
The baron snorted. “She’s been out running again?”
“She’s trying to keep up with a member of our Covert Eyes group—Louisa Barry’s her name—and she runs marathons. Mike says she still has a long way to go to get anywhere near Louisa.”
The baron shoveled in another spoonful of oatmeal, smacked his lips. “Imagine, girls running around like men, even racing. But I’ll say the girl keeps herself in good shape, just like your mother, always walking here and there, bending herself into strange postures, poses, she calls them. Your mother says it keeps her limber and strong, keeps your father on his toes. He agrees, says he never knows when she’ll chase him down. Downward dog is one of her poses—that sounds as crazy as bitcoins.” He paused a moment. “The girl has a brain, Nicholas, also like your mother. I say, I do appreciate a good brain in a female.”
Nicholas said, “I think Mike knows a downward dog or two herself, Grandfather.” He saw Mike break out of the home wood and run toward the side of the house, her long-legged stride smooth and steady. He knew she’d already done two laps around the lake. Next time, he’d join her, show her some of the places he’d played as a boy. But first he had to take care of the ransomware.
He said, as he looked down at the news flash on his mobile, “As you said, it’s not only Delphi. Hundreds of companies were hit in this latest ransomware attack. You have the finest security in place, which means the hacker is very good.”
“Tell me you and this Adam are better.”
“We are. If my interruption works the way I hope, my program will install a patch on your servers so no one will be able to get in again.” He paused, frowned. “I’m surprised Radulov’s software could be circumvented like this, but then again, even the best computer programs aren’t immune to a skilled hacker with malfeasance on his mind.”
Ah, that serious look, so like his father’s, but with Nicholas, there was always another level to his smiles, like some mad adventure brewing with the devil lurking about. And trust Nicholas to find the devil and kick him in the hindquarters.
The baron was pleased to see the Drummond spark living on in his grandson, ah, so like himself when he was younger. Well, much younger. Odd how it had skipped Harry and bloomed wildly in Harry’s only son. And yet Nicholas knew how to make a computer sing and dance according to his whim. He’d heard his IT man, Giles, say Nicholas’s skills were beyond any he’d ever seen. The baron liked that, didn’t think Giles was bootlicking.
So many years, and where had they all gone? The baron said to Nicholas, “Excellent. I’ll phone Giles as soon as I finish breakfast—he’ll probably pop off firecrackers he’ll be so relieved. These bastards need to be taken down a notch. I’m glad you’ll be the one to do it. Eat your porridge, then you can get on the ransomware attack.”
Nicholas scooped up a spoonful of Cook Crumbe’s bland porridge, filled with lumps, just the way his grandfather had consumed and loved it for thirty years. He swallowed down a bit, chased it with orange juice. He needed to get Mike some pancakes and bacon, something substantial, to recharge her after the run. Her recovery was going well, but he felt she was pushing herself too hard. It still made his blood run cold to remember her near drowning in Lake Trasimeno.
Nicholas was about to ring the bell, to order the eggs and bacon, when Lenny Kravitz’s “American Woman” burst out of his pants pocket. His grandfather, who normally hated mobiles at the table, said, “Is it about the ransomware attacks?”
“I don’t know yet. It’s the FBI in Washington. I’ll take it outside.” He was already walking out of the breakfast room, his mobile to his ear.
“Drummond here. Sherlock? Is everything all right?”
“It’s Savich. I borrowed Sherlock’s phone. Sean dropped mine in the toilet. No, don’t go there.”
Sherlock called from the background, “Sean fished it out and brought to me. I’m giving it a quick bath. Sean wants to know when you’re coming over so he can beat you at his current video game. Sorry, the name of this one escapes me.”
“Tell him maybe next week and no matter what sort of wild aliens he has in store, I’ll bury him. Now, what’s happening?”
Savich said, “I take it you don’t have the television on?”
“No, I was breakfasting with my grandfather. We have ransomware attacks going on over here, one against his company. I’m going to try to reach Adam. What’s happened?”
“The vice chancellor of Germany was assassinated minutes ago on the steps of 10 Downing Street.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Bloody hell.”
Nicholas strode across the foyer to the kitchen, the closest television. The staff was watching the BBC, even Cook Crumbe, her eyes narrowed, her apron clutched in her strong hands. They started to leave when they saw him, but Nicholas waved them back. All gathered again around the television, with Nigel, Nicholas’s butler, and Nigel’s father, Horne, the Drummond butler since the flood, the baron was fond of saying, and Nicholas standing behind them.
Nigel turned up the volume and said in his clipped voice, “Another bloody terrorist attack, and that’s what it was. I know it.”
“Our continuing coverage of what might be yet another assassination of a leading political figure on our soil. First was Chapman Donovan’s sudden collapse and death outside his home in Chelsea yesterday. Now the vice chancellor’s death outside 10 Downing Street. We are awaiting a press update from New Scotland Yard. To recap what we know so far, the vice chancellor of Germany, Heinrich Hemmler, has died after collapsing outside of 10 Downing Street—”
Nicholas stepped away from the group and said to Savich, “This is worrisome. I’ll call Penderley at Scotland Yard, see what I can learn. Two high-profile deaths in two days? I know the folk in Northern Ireland have to be up in arms over Chapman’s death, and now the German vice chancellor is dead, as well? Both supposedly natural deaths? It doesn’t feel right, does it?”
“No, and we must know as soon as possible if the deaths are assassinations, and related. As you might know, President Bradley is scheduled to meet with the P.M. in London on Sunday to discuss how the U.S. can assist in dealing with possible consequences of Brexit.”
“Not much time,” Nicholas said, “but I’ll get right on it. It’s time to talk to the Security Services. I’ll be discreet. I’ll call you when I have something.”
“Thank you. I hate to cut your vacation short, Nicholas, but Vice President Sloan agrees with me. She knew you and Mike were in England, knew you could get information for the Secret Service so they could determine if the trip is still advisable. I’d like to be able to tell her we have this situation well in hand. Let me know if I need to jump on a call with you when you speak to Security Services. Your dad is involved with them, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he’s back with them as a consultant. I imagine he’s up to his neck, what with these two deaths.”
Sherlock said, “We’ll let Zachery know you’ll be looking into this for us. You and Mike be careful—no more near drownings for Mike, and no more nearly falling into volcano craters for you.”
Nicholas swallowed. “No more deep water, no more volcanoes, I promise.”
Nicholas punched off and immediately dialed his old boss at New Scotland Yard, Hamish Penderley, the big gun with a title to match: chief superintendent of the Operational Command Unit.
“Drummond? I’m not surprised. I suppose you already know we’re rather busy this morning.”
“Sir, this is about the death of the vice chancellor at 10 Downing Street a few minutes ago.”
“And you want to know because . . . ? You, I understand, are here with your partner
to relax and to soak up the rays, as the Yanks say, if there ever are any rays to be found in England. How did you get involved in this mess?”
“Agent Dillon Savich called me, asked me to lend a hand because the president is due to arrive on Sunday to meet with the PM And that’s why I’m calling you, sir. I must know what’s happening, or my hands are tied.”
Penderley sighed. “Honestly, we don’t know anything for sure about the vice chancellor. They have to do a postmortem first. For the time being, the public will be told Hemmler had a heart attack, just as we’ve done with Donovan.
“Don’t get me wrong, Drummond, I do not miss you, but there are times I could use your brain. And now is one of them.”
Nicholas frowned. He heard stress and fatigue in Penderley’s voice, a sure sign of how serious the situation was. “I’m happy to help, sir. We’ll put the full strength of Covert Eyes at your disposal. Have you completed the autopsy on Donovan? How did he die?”
“We don’t know yet, but as soon as I find out, I will call you. As you know, Donovan collapsed outside his house and was dead nearly instantly. Here’s the truth: no one saw anything, no one touched him, nothing. And now Heinrich Hemmler collapses right outside 10 Downing Street? Yesterday and today, we’ve had two major political figures drop dead on our soil with no good reason.”
Nicholas said, “If these two men were assassinated, we must catch whomever is behind the deaths as quickly as possible, or President Bradley’s trip will most likely be canceled. So tell me, sir, what do you think is happening?”
“I haven’t the faintest yet, but there is one thing different in today’s attack on Hemmler. Several people have reported seeing a small drone in the area, like a toy, almost. One witness even took a picture of it.”
Nicholas’s blood stirred. “Ah. Have you enhanced it?”
“Yes. Am I correct to assume you would like to have a crack at it?”
“I would, yes.”
“I’ll send it along, in addition to everything else we have. Report back to me the moment you discover anything, would you, Drummond? I’d like us to be on the same page before the media storm hits.” A pause, then the familiar no-nonsense order from his old boss: “Get it sorted, Drummond.”
He couldn’t help himself, he grinned into his mobile. “Yes, sir. I’ll be in touch.”
Nicholas hung up the phone as Agent Michaela Caine walked into the kitchen, a towel around her neck, her face glistening with sweat, her blond ponytail at half-mast. Despite the vigorous run, she still smelled faintly of jasmine. He took the towel from around her neck and patted her face. “There, perfect again.” Knowing a lot of eyes were watching, he took a step back, studied her face for a moment. “Not too tired, are you?”
“No, I’m good. You’re vibrating, Nicholas. What’s going on?”
How could she know? “Nothing, well, not exactly nothing. I know it’s our vacation, but we have a case, a very high-profile case. Fact is, two big-time politicos, one of them the vice chancellor of Germany, are both dead within twenty-four hours of each other. Both simply collapsed, dead very quickly.” He saw her blue eyes light up and grinned. “You in the mood to work a couple of deaths that are very probably murders?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Mike loved Old Farrow Hall, particularly its multitude of fireplaces, all of them with a provenance, it seemed, that kept the huge house warm even on a chilly day in July. Nicholas’s office was no exception, with its nineteenth-century Venetian green-veined marble fireplace, glowing embers occasionally sparking off flames. His mother had decorated his office and made it both inviting and efficient. And not at all shabby. The fireplace was framed by dark wood paneling. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled haphazardly with paperbacks and hardcovers. A small desk and chair sat in a corner. But what made the room really welcoming were the burgundy leather sofa and two comfortable chairs, complemented by colorful dhurrie rugs. Her mind flew off to his visit to her suite of rooms in the opposite wing the previous night and—
“First things first,” Nicholas said, pulling out his cell phone.
“What? Oh, right, you want to take care of the ransomware problem first.”
He stared at her a moment. “Wool gathering, Agent Caine?”
“Maybe. A little bit, maybe about last night. You’re going to call Adam about the attack?”
“Yes, I want to get him working on both the drone and the malware. What about last night?”
She gave him a mad grin. “Oh, just a little of this, a little of that, nothing much of importance. First, tell me, does Penderley have any idea why the vice chancellor was murdered? Did Hemmler do anything to make himself a target, like someone who hates Germany for their dominating role in the E.U.? And what about this Chapman Donovan?”
Nicholas sat on the sofa and booted up his laptop, saying as he typed, “No, evidently no one has the foggiest idea. Hemmler was meeting with the PM to discuss England’s stand on open borders, maybe to try twisting the PM’s arm, but that’s not earthshaking. Nor does Penderley know why someone would target Chapman Donovan, a wealthy Irish landowner. Family’s been in horse racing for two hundred years, very rich, and an MP from Belfast West.”
“What about the drone someone spotted near where Hemmler died?”
“Penderley is sending a photo along with all his files any minute now. With luck, we’ll be able to identify the drone’s maker and put a stop to this straightaway. I’ll call Adam now. He’ll be able to enhance the photo faster than I can. And I’ll wager he knows all about the malware attacks and will be able to help with that.”
“It’s the middle of the night in New York.”
“You know Adam does his best work at two in the morning.” Nicholas grinned at her when Adam’s face popped up on the screen immediately. He didn’t seem tired or sleepy, had his earbuds in, a bright blue Star Trek Voyager T-shirt on, and a can of Red Bull in front of him, as always.
Adam said, “Hey, you guys are supposed to be on vacation. Did you get called in on the vice chancellor’s murder or the malware attack?”
Had he ever doubted Adam wouldn’t already know about both? No, he hadn’t. He said, “Both. First, how are your photo-enhancement skills?”
“You wouldn’t ask if you didn’t know I’m about the best on the planet. Sending me a file?”
“Any minute, as soon as Penderley sends it to me.”
Mike said, “Hi, Adam. Would you believe I’m getting a suntan in jolly old England? No? Stop laughing. Is everything okay there?”
“Absolutely. I’m bored to tears, and you know what happens when I get bored.”
Nicholas said, “No, and neither Mike nor I want to know. Tell me you’ve been solving the malware problem.”
“I will say I’m looking into it, but I haven’t solved it yet. I can tell you the initial hack appears to have come out of western Russia, and I’ve been purchasing website domain names, thinking I’ll hit on one that might be able to halt it. On the other hand, the attack could be from Tahiti, with someone really bright at the helm, disguising its point of origin. You want me to keep working on it?”
“Not to play favorites, but my grandfather’s firm has been hit, as well. Feel free to use his site to halt the attack. Giles Fourtnoy is his IT man. I’ll send him a text, tell him to expect your call. I am also sending a wee bit of code you might enjoy deploying when you find the back door.”
He hit send, and a few moments later, Adam’s eyes lit up, and he whistled. “Dude. Where does your brain come up with this nasty stuff?”
“It’s a gift. I have the photo from Penderley, sending it now.” And again, Nicholas pressed send.
Mike could see Adam frowning as he looked at the screen.
“This resolution sucks. Was this shot with a cell phone?”
Nicholas said, “As far as we know, yes.”
“It almost looks like a toy helicopter, doesn’t it? If I have the scale right, based on that window on the right side of the photo, it looks like
it could fit in the palm of your hand.”
Nicholas waited, and, sure enough, after only a short pause, Adam said, “If I were a betting man, I’d say it was a military-grade micro UAV—unmanned air vehicle.” Adam clicked a few keys, and the specs came up on the screen. “The small ones like this are almost always either toys or military-grade. This photo matches dimensions with a British military Black Hornet drone. They call it a nanodrone. Four port cameras, battery-powered, it can stay aloft over twenty-five minutes. It can fly pretty quick, too, if someone needed it to make a getaway. Not something you can buy at Radio Shack, even if you can find one nowadays. Who does this belong to?”
Nicholas said, “That’s what we have to find out. It was hovering over the crime scene today. A person in the crowd forwarded the photo to Scotland Yard. I suppose the drone could belong to a member of Downing Street security and it’s all a coincidence—”
“Or someone wanting to do bad things, more likely,” Adam said.
Mike was leaning over Nicholas’s shoulder. “Like murder the vice chancellor.”
“Yes,” Nicholas said. “If it is murder, then this drone could have the capability to deliver some sort of weapon.”
“What kind of weapon? I mean, it’s a super small drone, so the weight of any larger ordinance, a gun or a missile, wouldn’t be sustainable. Drones like this are mainly used for surveillance. What are you thinking?”
“Let’s see.” Nicholas clicked a few times, and Mike watched the screen break into segments—Adam, the drone, the specification blueprints of the official Black Hornet devices, and a close-up shot of the undercarriage of their mystery drone.
Nicholas said, “If this was not a surveillance drone, it must have a delivery mechanism for a weapon that can kill. Hold on, Penderley’s sent us a message. Several attachments.”