The Sixth Day

by Catherine Coulter

  Kill Nicholas Drummond?

  It was a good thought. Without Drummond at its head, that ridiculous private team the FBI allowed him to put together would fall apart. But even Roman had to admit having him operating on European soil again was dangerous. And now he’d stopped the malware attack in its tracks, put his own code into the mix, and he was also aware of the drone—Roman leaned on the edge of a cabinet, crossed his arms. “Suppose you’re right,” he said slowly, “how would we do it? Send a Night Hawk?”

  Radu’s smile bloomed bright as a child’s. “Wouldn’t you want to do it yourself?”

  He hated to dim his brother’s smile, but—“I might draw too much attention, though a few drops of the special medicine in his drink would save us a lot of headaches. No, I’m sorry, Radu, I believe a strike would be easier.”

  Radu nodded. “He will not expect an attack. Eliminate him before he reaches London. It is something I feel strongly about.”

  Still Roman was undecided.

  “Roman, they are closing in. I can feel it here.” He smacked the side of his head. “And there is more. The latest dispatches from the Security Services show all their passwords are being changed hourly. They are putting new firewalls into place because of the ransomware attack this morning.”

  Roman shrugged. “It’s not a problem. If I, the head of Radulov, go personally to Security Services and tell them I’ve come to them to install a new patch on their servers because of the malware attack, I will ensure we continue to receive all needful information.”

  He took his twin’s hands between his. “Trust me, Radu, MI5 and MI6 have no idea who they’re dealing with. Once we close off all paths into MATRIX, no one else, including Temora, will ever be able to compromise us again. I promise. Please don’t worry.”

  Radu stubbornly shook his head. “Kill Drummond.”

  “I will consider it. Now, I want you to shower and allow Iago to cut your hair and make you presentable. You’ve entombed yourself in these rooms far too long. Tomorrow, after lunch, you and I shall go for a walk. We’ll watch the cabal fly. Would you like that?”

  “Don’t speak to me as if I’m five years old, Roman. I don’t want to cut my hair, and I don’t care to see your vermin fly. We have more important tasks ahead. Speaking of Temora, you know he is as dangerous as Drummond. We must find him and cut off his head.”

  “I plan to.”

  Radu gave him a sly look that surprised Roman. “Kill Drummond and I swear I will find Temora for you.”

  Roman didn’t immediately answer, and Radu stalked out of the room, to his kitchen. Roman followed, nodded toward the cooler he saw sitting on the granite countertop. “Have you run the Romanian’s blood?”

  “Not yet. How much more have I to do?” Radu turned away from his brother and busied himself with a glass, ran water through the HEPA filter, drank it down, slowly. Roman didn’t like being ignored. He fought the urge to yell at his brother, but yelling would send Radu back into his silent shell, for who knew how long. As Radu had grown older, as they both had grown more dedicated, the littlest things sometimes set him off. They must remain united. They must. As if there weren’t enough on their plates, he knew they both had to focus on curing Radu’s illness. It was the most critical goal of Roman’s life. He wanted this precious being, this genius with death always lurking in the shadows near him, to be healthy again. He no longer wanted him to fear that a simple cut could cause him to bleed to death. If only he responded to medical treatments, but he never had.

  He said, “Very well, Radu. Send Drummond’s tracking information to my mobile. And send this morning’s video feed while you’re at it. I want to see that treacherous German die all over again. He received his just desserts, like Donovan. I told Barstow I did him a favor, which he well knows. Today was supposed to be my payday, a billion pounds, but Barstow said the Money want their drones first. He’ll get them in line, or all of them will regret it. He swears he’ll talk them around. He told me tomorrow. Do I believe him? We’ll see.” He shook his head. “If only we could find Temora, drop a bomb on his cursed head.”

  Radu drank more water, wiped his hand over his mouth. “Temora’s off-grid entirely. There’s been no sign of him anywhere for the past month. But I’ll find him, Roman.”

  “Then he’s moved out of Aleppo and is working elsewhere. As soon as I’ve made my special upgrades on the servers, we’ll know again everything MI5 and MI6 know.”

  As Roman walked back to the mews, he realized Radu was right. He hadn’t been sure about killing Drummond, but now he knew it was the best move. He hated to admit it, but Drummond was too smart. He was relentless. He and his partner, Caine, could cause him headaches he didn’t need right now. Very well.

  He turned back to Radu’s suite. Radu was still in the kitchen, staring down at the Romanian’s blood on the countertop.

  “Caine is going with Drummond this morning, yes? To London?”

  “Yes.”

  “Prepare a drone. But not a Night Hawk, we need to make this hit less subtle. We will take both him and Caine out on the A14, once he’s past Newmarket. Use an Aire Drone. We need a final test run of the technology anyway.”

  Radu smiled and nodded. “Yes, Brother.”

  “Be sure you follow with a distraction to draw attention well away from us. When they’re gone, I want there to be no question who was behind their deaths.”

  “Who shall we blame?”

  “I’m feeling very uncharitable toward the North Koreans, as is the rest of the world. But the Irish are a better choice. Drummond took out an entire cell of the IRA a few months back. It stands to reason they’d hold a grudge. After Donovan’s death, I’m sure they’re on alert.”

  “Yes, that is good. I will take care of it.”

  “Be careful, Radu. We can’t have this coming back to us.”

  “I understand, Brother.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Old Farrow Hall

  Farrow-on-Gray, England

  Mike showered, dressed, put her hair in a clip, and got lost only once finding her way from the east side of Old Farrow Hall to Nicholas’s study on the west side. She walked in to hear Nicholas speaking on his cell. Who was he talking to?

  “Yes, I’ve released Grandfather’s servers from the ransomware attack, and, in so doing, we believe we’ve discovered a bigger problem. Father, I hate to tell you this, but I believe the servers at both the Home and Foreign Office have been compromised. I need Adam here to do a full sweep of the Security Services’ servers. Yes, both MI5 and MI6.”

  Harry Drummond had been called back to London the day before, some sort of important Brexit meeting with the home secretary. Nicholas saw Mike and put his cell on speaker. She heard his father say clearly, “Nicholas, you know those servers are carefully monitored. In fact, after the malware attack this morning, we immediately set the servers to change passwords every hour. We’re taking every precaution.”

  Nicholas said, “If MATRIX is compromised on one machine, it could be compromised on all of them. As I said, Adam is flying over, and we’d like to take a look personally at the servers. I’m glad to hear you took such measures so quickly. It’s smart, but it’s still not enough. There’s more, Father. We’re looking for possible ties between Hemmler and Donovan. Is there anything you call tell me, off the record?”

  Mike heard silence, then, “This isn’t an appropriate conversation for us to be having.”

  “So you’re already pursuing this angle.”

  “Those were not my words.”

  Nicholas looked at Mike, said slowly, “Do you know if they were involved in some sort of plot, or were they targeted separately? Is there something in your files that ties the two together?”

  Harry’s voice became more clipped. “We have no reason to believe the vice chancellor of Germany was doing anything illegal, or immoral. Nor Donovan. Again, this isn’t an appropriate conversation.”

  “Except they’re both dead. Murdered, Hemmler, moments
before a meeting with the prime minister, Donovan taken out in front of his home. What were these men doing? If you’d let me look at their files, examine the servers—”

  His father said with finality, “You do not have the clearance to see any of this information, nor are you part of our investigative services any longer.”

  “Mike and I are heading to London shortly, surely we can talk—”

  “No, we most certainly cannot. I will pass along your concerns. Now, I will see you at the weekend.”

  And then Mike understood. She held up a hand, called out, “Hello, Mr. Drummond. Mike here. It would be lovely to have dinner with you this evening at Drummond House.”

  Mike heard silence from his father, then, “Very well. Half six and don’t be late.” And he rang off.

  Nicholas smiled at her. “Well done.”

  “I realized he simply couldn’t talk to you. The phones aren’t secure, and there were probably people around.”

  “Yes. And you know as well as I do he’ll let us know what’s up at dinner. I wonder if there is a link between the two.” He stood. “I’m sorry about cutting our holiday short, but we’ll come back as soon as this is resolved.”

  Mike wrapped her arms around his waist, looked up at him, eyes alight with excitement. “Sorry? Nicholas, the game’s afoot. I’ll race you to the car.”

  “The game is always afoot for us. Let me tell my mother and talk her out of coming with us. Oh, and I’m going to update Savich. Let him know what’s going on. Get packed, and I’ll meet you at the drive in twenty minutes.”

  “Tell S and S I said hello.”

  Nicholas watched her nearly dance out of his office. She was an excitement junkie, just like him. He was a lucky, lucky man.

  He dialed Savich. “Sorry to bother you, but I need to run something by you.”

  “Let me get Sherlock on the phone, too—all right, here she is.”

  He filled them in, and they listened without interruptions, until Sherlock said, “Wait. Let me get this straight. Your theory is the victims were already being investigated by Security Services, and you think someone may have hacked the Security Services’ databases and gained this knowledge? Nicholas, the Security Services’ servers are the most secure in the world, as secure as ours.”

  Savich laughed. “Sweetheart, both Nicholas and I—and don’t forget Adam Pearce—all of us could hack their databases.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re all geek gods.”

  Nicholas laughed. “That’s good, Sherlock, I’ll have to tell Adam.”

  She continued, “But the real question is, how would someone outside know to hack the databases to find these specific names in the first place? Or are classified documents being leaked? Either way, if someone is murdering people Security Services are investigating, you do have a serious problem.”

  “Yes,” Nicholas said. “We need to find out why these two were being investigated. You know about the massive malware attack Adam and I stopped this morning. And remember, Parliament was attacked head-on back in June.” He paused a moment. “I’m thinking perhaps this goes deeper than we think.”

  “Deeper, what do you mean?”

  “It’s all coordinated with another purpose at the core of it—what, I don’t know. Yet. But I’ll keep you updated with what Mike and I discover.”

  Savich said, “Please do. I’ll pass this along to the president’s team. Keep us posted.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Nicholas cruised his Beemer down the long lime-tree-covered drive to the country road. Mike turned in her seat to look back at Old Farrow Hall glistening under the sun, the wildly blooming front gardens, and off to the side, the tall, thick bushes that formed the labyrinth. Could there be a more perfect place on this earth?

  “That was fast talking to get your mom to stay here and not jump in the car.”

  “Anytime I can outtalk her, I deserve a medal. She’s too smart.”

  “I don’t know how, but she said she knew we could be up to something dangerous. And the look she gave me, Nicholas, like I’d better step in front of a bullet if it came your way. Hopefully she was reassured I am your personal dragon slayer.”

  His personal dragon slayer? He liked the sound of that. He thought again of Lake Trasimeno, her near drowning, and swallowed.

  Mike fastened her seat belt. “Your mom could give my mom a run for her money. Did I tell you the Gorgeous Rebecca acted at university?” She paused. “Wow, I said it like a Brit. Okay, she once played Petruchio’s Kate. I don’t know if it was her talent that made her so amazing or the fact that one look at her and every man in the vicinity fell to his knees. I told you my dad’s been in love with your mom since her TV show? Well, turns out the Gorgeous Rebecca loves her, too, says she wants to have high tea with her at Browns in London.”

  He laughed. Nicholas had yet to meet the Gorgeous Rebecca, but he’d seen photos of her. She was a heart-stopper, no question about that. His own mother’s beauty was different, more whimsical, perhaps, he wasn’t certain.

  Nicholas navigated the Beemer through the small town of Farrow-on-Gray and turned south onto the highway.

  Once they were on the A14, Mike said, “I like to watch you drive, especially on the wrong side of the car and the wrong side of the road.”

  He shot her a grin. “Do you now?”

  “Yes. Very capable, very steady at the helm.” She gave him a wicked grin. “All in all, you handle most things quite well.”

  A black brow went up. “Only ‘quite well,’ not, say, perfectly?”

  “Well, there does seem to be a small tendency to get us nearly killed. But hey, usually not more than once a week. I can deal with once a week.”

  “Ah. Well, Agent Caine, I will do my best not to get us dead on the drive to Westminster.”

  “Hey, be super careful. It’s been longer than a week.” And oddly, she suddenly felt a chill and fiddled with the air conditioner, turned it down a notch. “Nicholas, do you really think MI5 and MI6 were hacked? And if they were, the idea someone might be using that information to find targets, even to assassinate them, feels out of control to me.”

  “I agree. I do think they’ve been compromised, yes. Whether from inside or out, someone is accessing information they shouldn’t have. But don’t worry, we’ll—”

  There was a heavy thud against the side of the car, and Mike’s window exploded, spraying glass all over her.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Nicholas could see there was an exit ahead in a few hundred feet. He floored the car, whipped off onto a tree-lined country road, shouting, “Get down, get down! Don’t you dare get shot!”

  Mike had already flattened herself against the seat. “I’m okay, lots of glass shards, but only pricks, nothing major, no blood, no pain, no bullet wounds.”

  The road was thankfully empty of traffic. Mike came back up on the seat and looked back. All she saw was country road.

  “Did you see the shooter?”

  “No, they must have been on the A14, and there’s no one behind us.”

  Nicholas checked in the rearview mirror. Nothing. “We must have kicked the hornet’s nest. Mike, there’s a gun in the glove box. Wherever the shooter is, you know he’s coming back. When he does, take him out.”

  They were hit with another barrage of bullets.

  “More bloody hornets! Hold on, Mike.” He wrenched the wheel to the right, and the car started to spin. He looked grim, hard, but there was no panic. More bullets, but none struck the car, it was weaving around too fast.

  Mike grabbed the Glock out of the glove box and twisted in her seat, aiming out the shattered window with her right hand, her left holding her steady. She looked behind them, to the sides, didn’t see anything. “I don’t understand. Nicholas, there’s no one here,” and then she looked up and saw it—a drone flying above them.

  “Crap, it’s a drone. Hold the car steady, hold it steady.”

  He slowly brought the car around until they were once again str
aight on the road.

  Immediately, more shots. Nicholas gunned the gas again, and the Beemer leaped forward. The shots kept on coming, ripping into the side panels.

  There was a moment’s pause in the gunfire. Mike ignored the shards of glass and pushed herself up on the edge of the window, leaned out. She sighted the Glock, and her father’s words came clear in her mind. Trace the path, pull the trigger, once, twice. It was tough to site, the drone was only about two feet in length, but she did it. She missed. There was a flash of gunfire from the drone, and she ducked back into the car, a bullet pinging not two inches from her head. Nicholas yanked the wheel to the right, and she tumbled, hit her shoulder hard against the gearshift, and yipped. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” The moment the bullets stopped, she was hanging out the window again, tracing the path, tracing the path, shooting upward. This time, with the third bullet, she hit the drone. She saw a trail of black smoke and watched the drone swallowtail out of the sky.

  She pumped her fist. “Yes! Nicholas, I got it!”

  Nicholas slowed. They heard the drone slam into the ground some twenty feet off to their left.

  When Nicholas had backed up and they were out of the car, Mike said, “I was expecting a small fireball, maybe some burning bushes or grass, but there’s nothing.”

  “No,” he said, “nothing, only a dead death machine. Great shooting, my girl.” He cursed. “You’re bleeding.” His fingers wiped away a trickle of blood making its way down her neck, seeping onto her white shirt.

  Mike felt the base of her skull. Her fingers came away wet. “No, don’t worry, not much blood. I think it’s a cut from the window glass when it exploded.” She grabbed his hand. “I’m all right, Nicholas. Now, how about you? That was some driving, by the way.” And she whispered a prayer.

  “What?”

  “I’m thanking my dad. He taught me how to hit a moving target. Now, answer me, are you okay?”