“ ‘How wrong he is. I understand perfectly. No wonder Nathaniel was so desperate. The truth of what he’s doing in that research facility will destroy him.
“ ‘And no one hurts my child.’ ”
Amy opened up the folder and spread out the other documents. “It’s not just letters and reports in there. There’s an old military map, with an area circled in red. It’s all in German, but it looks like it’s in the Black Forest. There was a report, too.” Amy picked that up.
“ ‘The facility has been destroyed, but Nathaniel has fled. The secrets will now lie buried in that awful place forever. Secrets that could destroy us all and terrorize the world if anyone attempted to replicate them.’ ”
Ham grunted. “Now, that doesn’t sound good.”
Amy read on. “ ‘I cannot let my personal feelings get in the way of what must be done to protect my family. Nathaniel must have known it would come to this. He must be removed, permanently, lest he rebuild his research facility again, and farther away from innocent eyes.
“ ‘I shall find a way to explain it to Hope. That her father is gone.’ ”
Amy held up a short telegram, dated November 5, 1967. “This is from Vladimir Spasky to Grace.”
“What’s it say?” asked Jonah.
“ ‘Nathaniel Hartford is dead.’ ”
Argument over.
But they still didn’t have a plan, exactly.
Ian needed some fresh air and time alone to think. But three steps out of the apartment and he walked into a puddle. It was deeper than he’d expected.
Drat. Those were cashmere socks.
“Ian! Wait!” Cara flipped up the collar of her raincoat and cast a wary eye at the clouds overhead.
Ian glanced at his soaked-through shoes. Why is it, when I do something stupid, Cara is always around?
“Yes?” he replied, more testily than he wanted to.
“What’s wrong?”
“Never mind.”
Cara scowled. “Fine. If you want to go rushing off by yourself, then go right ahead. What is it? Tea with the Queen?”
“Don’t be ridiculous—it’s only ten.” Ian tapped his watch. “Tea’s at four.”
“Was that … a joke?” She shook her head. “Ian Kabra made a joke.”
“I think that’s classed as a witticism. A joke has more the traditional ‘a horse walks into a bar’ type of structure,” Ian replied.
Cara laughed. She threw her head back and her hair shook. It was good watching her. Ian smiled as she covered her mouth, embarrassed at how loud she was being.
Ian didn’t care.
Life couldn’t be so bad if he could make Cara laugh like that.
* * *
“This is Lunt’s,” said Ian, opening the narrow black door. “They’ve been serving coffee here since the seventeenth century, and it’s the only place in London you can get a decent cappuccino.” He nodded to the waitress and led Cara to a table.
“How did you find this place?” Cara asked.
“Father used to bring me here, back in … better days.” Ian inspected the furnishings. Patchy armchairs, plain wooden stools, bare floorboards. Yet it was warm, and the smell of the different beans took him back to a happy memory. “He brought me here for my birthday once. Said he’d got something special for me. I was so excited. I’d been on and on at him for a first-edition copy of The Hobbit.”
Cara’s eyebrow arched. “And?”
“It was a book, at least it was that.” Ian could still remember the feel of the wrapping paper, the way his heart raced as he tore it. Then the dismal plummeting as he saw the cover. “It was Sun Tzu’s The Art of War. In the original Chinese.”
“Poor, poor Ian.”
Cara then sat by the café window, resting her chin on her fist, watching the world hurry by in the rain.
Ian put himself down opposite and followed her gaze.
Typical London. People hidden under their umbrellas, plenty scurrying with newspapers over their heads to protect them from the heavy raindrops. It amazed Ian that still happened. This was England. How could you step out the door without an umbrella?
Across the road was a covered bus stop. A lone middle-aged businessman waited, chin sunk deep into his raised collar, hands stuffed into his pockets. He looked over at the café.
Warm and dry in here, chum.
Ian sipped his cappuccino. Everything about the café invited them to linger. But they weren’t in London for the diamonds of Hatton Garden.
“Well, Ian?”
“Well what?”
“I can see you thinking. What’s your plan?”
Ian straightened his cuffs. Was that chocolate on the edge? He’d told the waitress to be careful. “Ah, yes. The plan. Nathaniel’s given us very few options, and that’s good. This time.”
“How is having fewer options good?”
“He’s attacked the Janus branch. He’s all but wiped out mine, the Lucians. And from Nellie and Sammy’s visit to Mount Fuji we know the Tomas have been … neutralized. That leaves … ?”
“The Ekat branch.” Cara nodded.
“Exactly. The Ekats. Our very own band of boffins.” Ian had spent the whole trip from Rotterdam looking at the angles. The more he thought about it, the more a pattern emerged. “His next disaster will be to eliminate that branch.”
Cara frowned. “But Nathaniel’s an Ekat. Why would he wipe out his own branch?”
“He is the Outcast, Cara. Think what that means. He has no loyalty to any part of the Cahill organization and, as Dan put it, he’s not the sort of fellow who shares his toys. No, this next disaster will be the biggest, and it will be aimed at the Ekats, I’m certain.”
“What’s his strategy, then?”
“To get the Ekats together. With all that’s been happening they’ll be wary, so it’ll be something they can’t resist, and given how long Nathaniel’s been planning this, I’ll bet it’s been on the calendar for quite a while.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“No, but I know a man who might. Professor Peerless, a lecturer at Imperial College London.”
Cara smiled. “I get it. There, or MIT, right?”
“Right. Imperial is one of the most prestigious science colleges in the world and has an above-average presence of Ekats on its faculty, the professor being one of them.” Ian glanced at his watch. “And he’s expecting us for brunch.”
Cara’s smile widened. There were creases at the edge of her eyes.
Ian blushed. “What are you staring at?” He put his hand to his mouth. “I’ve froth on my lip, haven’t I? All this time we’ve been talking and I’ve been wearing a foam mustache.”
Cara took his hand and lowered it. She put it down on the table and tucked her fingers around his.
Why was she looking at him like that?
That laugh of hers tinkled in the back of her throat. “Ian Kabra, what am I going to do with you?”
* * *
“Ian Kabra, what am I going to do with you?”
Alek Spasky switched off the sound recorder. He had all he needed.
Love makes you blind.
Ian had looked right at him. If the boy hadn’t been so distracted by the young woman opposite, he would have realized something was off.
Perhaps Vikram Kabra was right, the boy was too soft to be a true Lucian. He’d also been right about the coffeehouse—sooner or later Ian would go there. Alek found it interesting how willing Vikram was to betray his own son. To Alek, family was all.
The Cahills were responsible for his sister’s death, so they, too, must die. It was simple family loyalty.
Alek gripped the Makarov semiautomatic pistol in his pocket, his thumb idly resting on the safety.
He could cross the road and finish them both now. They were so deep in each other’s eyes they hadn’t seen him at all. Perhaps that would be a kindness. Their last moments of life would be happy ones.
No, that would put the rest of them on alert and he
’d lose the other boy, Dan Cahill.
The bus slowed down and Alek reluctantly released his hold on his weapon. He missed his ring darts but, as his old KGB instructor once warned him, over-reliance on a single weapon was a sign of weakness, and vanity.
He drew out his wallet and smiled at the bus driver. “Excuse me, but does this go to Imperial College?”
Imperial College London
Dr. Peerless looked disappointedly at his doughnut.
They’re definitely getting smaller every year.
He sighed, took a bite, and admired the view from the top of Queen’s Tower.
This was all that remained of the original college. A neat, brick tower on a lawn surrounded by cutting-edge laboratories, massive lecture theaters, and modern dormitories.
He’d been coming here since his first days as an undergraduate, oh, a long time ago now. He and his mates would sneak to the top of the tower for a break, looking out over the college and South Kensington itself, boasting of the things they’d accomplish.
Dr. Peerless looked at his wrinkled hands. How could that bright, hopeful boy have turned into this decrepit old man?
Still, from those days on, every day up he’d marched, taking all the steps even when they’d installed the elevator, to look over his kingdom. And have a doughnut.
True, the steps wearied him more than ever and he now had to stop three times before he reached the top, but the view was always worth it.
It made him young again, just for a while.
He took a second bite, savoring the strawberry jam that seeped out of the heart of the doughnut. He tried to lick it off before it dripped, but was too late. A splotch fell onto his white shirt.
“Blast.” He searched his pocket for a napkin.
“Use this.”
The voice emerged out of the shadowy doorway. Peerless turned to see a man, his raincoat shiny with raindrops. He held out a handkerchief.
Dr. Peerless squinted. He’d left his glasses in the laboratory, too. Getting old and forgetful. “The tower is closed to students.”
“I’m not a student.”
Dr. Peerless took the handkerchief. “It’s not open to the public, either.”
The man leaned his elbows on the edge of the arched opening. “That’s a shame. The view is splendid.”
Dr. Peerless nodded as he joined him. The first rush of sugar had put him in a good mood. Let his handkerchief-carrying savior stay. “That it is.” He glanced over. “Russian?”
The man smiled. “I thought I’d lost my accent a long time ago.”
“I spent quite a while in Russia and Ukraine, or the Soviet Union as it was then, after the Chernobyl disaster.”
“A bad time,” the man said.
Peerless nodded. “The worst. Terrifying.”
He still dreamed about it, even after all these years. Back in 1986 he’d just been promoted to head of nuclear technology and his first job was to help at what was the world’s worst nuclear disaster. The reactor at Chernobyl had overheated and exploded, hurling a radioactive cloud over much of Europe.
“Nuclear meltdowns are your field of work?”
Dr. Peerless shook his head. “Contamination. It was my job to map out dispersion patterns, radiation levels in the soil. Track levels of radiation poisoning and mutation.” He shook his head, remembering some of the awful things he’d seen. “That was then. Now I specialize in green technology. To try to free us from our”—he glanced at his doughnut—“bad habits.”
The man laughed. “You seek to save the world?”
Dr. Peerless grinned. The young man he’d once been had promised himself he’d do exactly that. “That’s one way of looking at it. Why else become a scientist if not to make the world a better place?”
“A sentiment worthy of an Ekat.”
Dr. Peerless tensed. “A what?”
The man shook his head. “You are not a fool, Dr. Peerless, please do not assume I am one.”
Dr. Peerless only now noticed the man was wearing tight black gloves. It made him afraid in a way he hadn’t been in years. When he’d first arrived at Chernobyl, they’d often been “chaperoned” by men in raincoats with tight black gloves. The power station had been built in Ukraine, one of the republics that made up the old Soviet Union. Then, one night at the end, over a bottle of vodka, he’d been told who they were.…
“KGB,” whispered Dr. Peerless. The doughnut fell from his hands.
“It was a tradition to give the condemned man one last meal,” said the man as he approached Peerless.
“The traffic’s a nightmare, mate,” said the taxi driver. “You’re better off walking. Imperial’s just five minutes up the road.”
“What’s holding us up? Can you tell?” asked Ian, irritated. They’d been stuck at the traffic light for five minutes now, unable to move because of the gridlock.
The taxi driver shrugged.
Ian flicked out a twenty-pound note. “Keep the change.”
He and Cara hit Exhibition Road. Monolithic marble-clad buildings lined either side and were guarded by statues of mythic heroes and preeminent Britons.
Cara gazed around. “Wow. I feel like I’m in a Sherlock Holmes movie.”
Ian didn’t understand. “It’s just Exhibition Road.” He must have walked it a thousand times when going from the shops on Kensington High Street down to Harrods for more shopping. Really, it was the only place worth shopping. Its food hall was world famous and the only place west of St. Petersburg that sold decent caviar.
“What’s that?” asked Cara.
“The Natural History Museum.”
“That?”
“The Science Museum.”
“And that?”
“The Victoria and Albert Museum.”
“And that?”
“Kensington Gardens and yes, that’s Kensington Palace and the big dome is the Albert Hall.” He started off. “But we’re in a hurry.”
They passed the Royal Geographical Society and the solemn statues of great explorers. As they turned the corner into Imperial, Ian saw the ambulances.
And the police cars.
“Quickly,” he ordered.
Cara nodded and they both ran toward the flashing lights and the gathering crowd.
“What’s going on?” Cara asked.
A student turned around. “There’s been an accident. They say someone’s fallen from Queen’s Tower.”
“Do you know who?” asked Ian, though his sinking gut warned him he already knew.
Another student piped up. “One of the professors. The tower’s been shut for ages, loose masonry. Old fool must have lost his footing.”
Ian gazed up at the tower. “You don’t think … ?”
“Yes, I do. Dr. Peerless isn’t going to make his appointment.”
“Oh. Now what? He was my only lead.”
Cara grabbed Ian’s arm. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“Dr. Peerless’s office.” Cara dragged him through the crowd toward the department building. “And we need to be quick.”
* * *
They entered the Mechanical Engineering building, straight past security guards who were too busy peering out the windows at the scene on the lawn. The police had moved the crowd back and there were medics at the base of the tower. People pointed at the viewing platform of the tower. It had been a long way down.
They got in the elevator and Cara jammed a button. “We need his appointment schedule.”
“A man like Peerless will have hundreds of appointments. What are we looking for?” asked Ian. Things were going too quickly and he needed a moment to plan, think things through.
But Cara was in a hurry. She tapped her foot impatiently as she watched the floor indicator lights slowly ascend. “It’ll be an invitation that seems too good to be true. And it may have been cc’d to a lot of other people, the majority being Ekats.”
Ian frowned. “The police will be up here in minutes. We can’t be caught hacking a mu
rdered man’s e-mails.”
Cara smiled as the doors opened. “Leave that to me.”
The corridor was lined with anonymous office doors. There was no natural lighting and the walls were mere plasterboard, but someone had put in the effort to add a few potted plants and colorful landscape photographs. Cara could hear … sobbing?
“Someone’s inside,” she said.
“Let me deal with this.” Ian knocked on the door marked DR. PEERLESS.
A secretary sat, sniffing into a tissue, phone cradled on her shoulder. She blinked through tear-smeared glasses. “I’m—I’m sorry, but the office is closed today. There’s been an accident.”
“Not an accident,” said Ian, “but a tragedy.” He handed over his silk handkerchief. The secretary took it and blew long and hard into it. Ian stared at the soaking cloth, his face wrinkled in disgust. “A terrible tragedy.” He took her hand and looked softly into the secretary’s eyes. “I’ve been sent by the dean. It’s unfair for you to stay here, given what’s happened. Take the rest of the day off.”
“What?” asked the secretary.
“If it helps, Harrods is having a sale. End of season on”—he glanced at her—“Dior and Hermès.” Ian helped her smoothly from her chair and handed the secretary her handbag. “I wouldn’t rush in tomorrow, either.”
“Are you sure the dean—”
“It’s at least fifty percent off on scarves. But I’d hurry.” Ian helped her put on her coat. “Don’t worry, I’ll lock up.”
He led her out the door and waved her off until she was in the elevator. Then Ian closed the door and locked it.
“What. Was. That?” said Cara.
“That was pure charm,” said Ian. “Do you have a data stick?”
“I always have a data stick. And I don’t believe it,” said Cara, inserting the data stick. “The woman’s boss has just died and you send her shopping?”
“I sent her to Harrods, there’s a difference,” Ian replied.
“All done.” The data stick went into Cara’s pocket. “Let’s go.”
Heels clacked on the corridor floor.
Ian jolted to a stop by the door. “Hold on. Someone’s coming.”
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