The pilot said in their ears, “Ten minutes to drop,” and Gareth gave them a thumbs-up. They were approaching their target fast, the river a shining ribbon in the darkness below them.
Mike said, “I can’t get my bearings. I barely know the city in the daylight. At night, from the air, I’m lost.”
Gareth said, “We’re over the botanical gardens.”
Nicholas said, “Let’s run through once more. Mike will go first and cover me as I come down with the explosives. We’ll set them on the window hinges and blow them inward, then rope in. The chopper will bank back to the river and be waiting for our call to get us out, hopefully with Isabella.”
Gareth said, “It sounds so easy when you lay it out like that.”
“It’s exactly how things will go. Trust me.”
The pilot said, “Three minutes to jump.” The copilot said, “Five minutes to explosives, if you please.”
“Copy that,” Nicholas said, and Mike heard the banked excitement in his voice. He was even a bigger danger junkie than she was. She checked her weapon once more, tightened the straps of her Kevlar vest, then pulled on her gloves.
The pilot said, “One minute. Take your positions.”
Nicholas opened the door, and the cool night air rushed into the cabin.
Mike felt the helicopter slow, then hover. She looked down to see the roof glowing white below her. She grabbed the thick black coil, got a good grip thanks to the sticky gloves. She thought of her father, and smiled. All set, Dad.
“Ready,” the pilot said. She leaned toward the door. Gareth patted her arm and said, “Luck.”
The pilot said, “First jumper, fast-rope on my mark—three, two, one—jump jump jump.”
Mike went straight down and landed lightly on the roof. She felt the rope tug, saw Nicholas come out the door behind her, fast. She pulled the weapon off her back and began scanning for trouble. With no warning, the helicopter lurched to the right, hard, its nose dipping, the rotors twisting counterclockwise, pushing for air.
Nicholas whipped past her head, only one hand on the wildly swinging rope, yelling, “Move, move, move!”
The chopper was burning, red and orange flames shooting into the sky above her. She heard the boom, realized it was about to land on her.
Everything happened in an instant—Nicholas’s horrified face, Mike sprinting hard across the roof, the helicopter tail lashing wildly around toward her. She couldn’t get away, so she went down flat on the roof, hands over her head, and prayed. She felt the harsh wind as the tail rotor passed only a few feet above her and smashed into the concrete ramparts on the roof. She smelled fuel, looked up to see the helicopter tip over the edge, the metal screaming, and fall, upside down, out of sight.
The fire on the roof was burning fast and hot. Please, the pilots got out, please. Wait, where is Nicholas?
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
To Belgravia
Harry sat next to a man he’d known most of his life, a supposed friend who wasn’t a friend at all. Did he believe his own lies? They were silent in the back of a Range Rover, heading at breakneck speed toward the Prince Edward Theatre.
“Once Ardelean is dead, all will be well,” Barstow said.
“Do you really believe that, Corry?”
“I have done nothing wrong.”
Harry didn’t say anything—what was there to say? He was worrying about both Michaela and his son, couldn’t help himself, even though he knew to his soul both were strong and smart. But the problem was neither of the two were afraid of anything. Show them a wild tiger, and they’d gladly hop into the pit and take him on. No, he couldn’t think like that. They’re all right. They’ll do what’s needed. They will be all right, his mantra, he supposed.
He turned to Barstow. “Tell me how you hooked up with Roman Ardelean. How did you know Ardelean would be able to supply your army?”
“Well, why not tell you? It was his falcons. Ardelean spoke once at a British Falcon Society meeting. He mentioned he was training them to attack drones. It’s all the rage—the French are doing it, with eagles and falcons, a new line of defense, and we’re doing it, as well. Being the genius he is, he built a few drones to let the falcons destroy them, discovered he had an affinity for building them. I saw how quickly he was able to prototype—it would have taken years to go through channels and achieve the same velocity—and realized I had an opportunity.
“The way he talked about the birds—they’re an obsession. He’s their master, but he’s also a hunter like they are. He cares for them himself, makes their hoods, makes them dependent on him, then trains them to see the drones as prey in the sky. It’s an incredible sight—the birds all wearing Kevlar, handmade breastplates and covers for their talons—the way they attack the drones.”
Both men fell silent. The city swept past. Rain had begun to fall, cold and gray, and the fog curled round the lampposts.
Barstow threw back his shoulders. “Listen, I told you why I did this, and it’s the truth—I am a patriot, like my ancestors. I wanted to make my own mark.”
Harry said quietly, “But the thing is, Corry, I believe Nicholas. You claim you’re a patriot, but what you really are is greedy. It was always more about the money than your love for England, your hatred of radical Islam.”
“No, no, that’s not true.”
“Yes, Nicholas was right. You lied to Ardelean, told him the investors hadn’t paid the final payment. You have that money. Where? In a series of accounts outside of England?”
Barstow wanted to kill this pompous, self-righteous sod, but he couldn’t. He knew he had to convince him to kill Ardelean, or Ardelean would kill him. He knew it. “You have to listen, Harry. Ardelean can ruin all of us, and he will if he believes it will save him. I had no idea when I took him on as a partner that he knows everything. Think of MATRIX. It’s in nearly every computer in the world. Don’t you understand? He has access to our files, our bank accounts, the websites we visit. Anytime he wants to know who MI5 is investigating, he can. Ardelean has an email server set up to blast our personal banking records, offshore accounts, Internet history—he has our secrets. Can’t you wrap your head around this? Did you learn nothing from WikiLeaks? The Internet, that’s the playing field, and the perfect place to hang the threat over our heads. It can never die. Whatever allegations he makes—and he will make them, if you doubt that, you’re a fool—generations will be affected by the secrets he will release. Nothing is sacred in his world, and now, he will use everything he has against us. You must end this tonight, Harry. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you? You must eliminate him. You must kill him and dismantle Radulov.”
“I don’t want him dead. I want him brought to justice.”
Barstow would have grabbed his arm, but his hands were cuffed. “He’s too dangerous—he must die. We’re not going to survive this with him alive.”
“We’ve weathered worse.”
“You’re a blind fool. Roman Ardelean’s a murderer. He’s the enemy, not me.”
The lampposts were a blur outside the darkened glass. The city felt coiled and tense, ready for mayhem.
Harry said, “I do wish you would simply admit what you’ve done, what you set into motion, and for the basest of motives.”
Barstow stared at him, and said, his voice meditative, “I do despise you, Harry, despite everything you are. I suppose I always have. And now you want to be my judge and jury? Why not, he’ll kill me anyway.” Barstow gave him a twisted smile. “You want the truth? I wanted it all, Harry. The money, the drones, the power that came with saving the world from these animals, these terrorists. You know I come from a long line of military strategists. I thought this was simply another game of chess, with bigger stakes. I had all the moves figured out. I didn’t anticipate Ardelean not to be willing to part with the drones until he had the money in hand. I was wrong. So I tried to distract him by submarining his company.”
“You were behind the hack on MATRIX? How is that possibl
e?”
Barstow looked at Harry and said with a sneer, “I’ve always been smarter than you, Harry. I found a former employee who was Ardelean’s trusted protégé, a brilliant young man who hated Ardelean so much he was willing to take him down, both him and his precious Radulov.”
“Where did you find this genius?”
“You remember we lost several young men to ISIS about four years back? One of them was named Caleb Temora.”
“I recall the name.”
“He was a coder with Radulov for a few years, brilliant, absolutely brilliant. We picked him up in a sweep while looking for people who might be defecting home from ISIS. They get there and realize the caliphate isn’t what they thought it would be.
“The moment we got him home, he tried to hack the security at Buckingham Palace. For ISIS? We don’t know. He claims not, claims he was doing it for fun, but we couldn’t take any chances. He wanted to make a deal with me. He told me Ardelean built his computer code using an ancient manuscript. A new computer language, he called it. Not zeros and ones but fours and eights, something like that, based on the call letter of the manuscript.”
Harry stared at him. “You’re talking about the Voynich, aren’t you?”
“Yes. He was able to write us code to brute-force attack Radulov Industries and start a waterfall effect of hacks on all the terminals housing MATRIX. I’d hoped it would keep Ardelean too busy to bother with me.”
“You, the vaunted patriot, cost the world millions of pounds in lost time and ransomware payments.”
Barstow shrugged.
“Does Ardelean know it was you who had someone playing with his code?”
I know what you did. Barstow shook his head. Ardelean couldn’t have meant Temora. There was no way he could have found out Barstow had kept him in a safe house for the past year—just in case he needed him, and he had. “You wish to talk to Temora? He’s all yours. He’ll give you all the details. Oh, here we are, we’re coming up to the theater. Harry, you must kill him. He’s more dangerous than you can possibly imagine. You should—”
There was a brilliant flash of light, and the front of the Range Rover exploded.
Harry felt the burst of white-hot flame, the window give against his shoulder, the cool night air, then he landed on the pavement, rolling as he hit, to protect himself. He rolled into a gutter, the flames hot on his face, sucking out his breath. He covered his head with his arms and waited for another blast, or gunfire. Finally, he crawled to his knees, then stood, wincing at the pain. His arms were scraped, his ribs—were they broken? Even the smallest breath hurt, but he was alive.
He looked at the mangled SUV, an inferno against the dark sky, and he couldn’t see either the driver or Barstow inside.
He became aware of the growing chaos around him, people screaming, shouting for police, some running away, some pulling out their phones and recording videos. One man with a small dog on a leash stared dumbly at Harry, who realized he must look like a war victim.
His mind struggled to catch up. Drone, it must have been a drone, and it dropped a bomb on the car, like the train attack. Only this time the drone did it on the front of the car, blowing off the doors and windows. Harry, not wearing his seat belt, was thrown from the wreckage by the blast. He learned soon enough that Barstow and the driver had not been so lucky.
Harry saw blood running down his arm and pulled out a handkerchief to tie around the gash. He managed to get away from the flames and pressed against the building, scanning the skies as he reached for his phone. He heard the faint noise above him, looked up to see a red eye in the sky. The drone was searching the scene. It zoomed over, back and forth, seeking, but Harry was hidden in the shadows.
Bloody hell, where was his phone? It wasn’t in his pocket. He realized he wasn’t wearing his jacket anymore, either, it must have gotten caught in the car. He was also missing a shoe.
He leaned his head back against the building, hiding from the drone, listened to sirens wailing as they grew nearer and nearer and the noise from so many people as they watched the car burn. He heard the faint hum of the drone, flying away now, its pilot satisfied it had done its job.
Fury filled him.
This was war.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
The Old Garden
Twickenham
Richmond upon Thames, London
Isabella fell asleep humming. When she awoke, her mind was clear, and she realized she was exhausted. Then it came back. Ardelean had drugged her, and he’d drained some of her blood.
At least she was still alive. It was dark in the room, only the lights from under the cabinets shining down on the desk below, onto Radu’s notes.
She felt a hand on her arm and jerked away. Iago stood over her, nothing showing on his face.
“You’re awake.”
“What time is it?”
“Nearing dawn. The cast will need attending. Before I go, may I bring you anything?”
“You spoke.”
“Yes. I apologize that my accent is so very strong.” Then he shrugged. “Water? Would you like some water?”
“No, I would like my phone to call the police.”
Remarkably, that blank face suddenly split into a smile.
“Madam is amusing. And you are no longer humming. A pity.” He leaned closer. “You are saving my master. For this I am grateful.”
“When will he take more of my blood for your master?”
She heard a yawn close by. Radu called out, “I am still getting your blood, Isabella, only much slower now. He will give you a day to build yourself back up. I don’t think he’ll kill you since it’s possible I will need transfusions from you forever. You will be my private blood bank.
“Thank you, Isabella. It is amazing you came into our lives after all this time.”
She struggled against the webbing, but it was no use. She had to think, had to figure something out. She said, “When is he coming back?”
“I don’t know. It’s nearly dawn, so he’ll be back soon, I hope. I want him to see how strong I am.”
“I would like some water.”
Iago hurried out of the room. Radu said, “When Roman comes back, I’ll have him release the webbing around your neck. Are you very uncomfortable?”
Why would you care? “It’s very uncomfortable, yes.”
“I am sorry. Roman has his ways—I feel good, not the way I really want to feel, but better, with your blood I am so much better.”
“Glad to be of service.” Where had that come from? She was going as insane as the inmates.
Radu said, “I hope Iago will get you my special water. It is wonderfully healthy, perfect to help you build back up.”
There was a loud bang.
“What’s that?”
Isabella heard voices and smelled smoke.
Iago came running back into the lab, slamming the door behind him, a biometric code snapping into place.
He crossed himself. “Master Radu, they’ve come. They’re here. Someone’s attacked the house! The antiaircraft battery shot a missile. I heard it activate.”
Isabella couldn’t do anything, so she closed her eyes and prayed. Someone had come to rescue her?
Radu screamed, “Unhook me, Iago. I am strong now. Give me guns. We will fight them off.”
The whapping sounds of a helicopter rotor grew louder and louder, and, out the window, Isabella saw an explosion, then felt a crush of flame and glass.
“Iago? Unhook me! We cannot let them come in. We cannot let them take her.”
“No, master, no one can get in. The door is barricaded. We will be safe. Hold still, I will unhook you.”
“Call Roman. He must come.”
“Master, your brother isn’t here, but we have the house as a defense. I have the guns. The room is safe. We will be safe.”
“I smell smoke, Iago.” He was whimpering, like a child. He was afraid, she saw his eyes were wild. Again, he whimpered, “Iago, I’m scared.”
> “Don’t worry, master, you know Master Roman installed a chemical-fire suppression system throughout the house and in these rooms so there could never be any harm to the equipment. We will be safe enough. Nothing bad will happen to you.”
“Nothing can happen to Isabella, either! They can’t take her from me, Iago. I must have her.”
She saw Iago had been moving around the room, setting switches into new positions, filling the magazine of the handgun.
There was banging, and they heard shots being fired. Calls and screams.
“Prepare yourself, master. Here is a gun. All you have to think about is pulling the trigger. That’s right, put your finger just there.”
The sound of automatic gunfire came through the doors. They all froze, waiting. Isabella prayed harder than she ever had in her life. Iago and Radu had their guns aimed at the door. She heard a noise on the other side of the door and yelled as loud as she could, “Please, be careful. They have guns!”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
The sky around Mike was on fire. As she dodged flying debris, her mind focused on only one thing—Nicholas. She shouted his name again. “Nicholas!” Nothing but the roar of the flames. She remembered an orange glow moments before the helicopter jerked wildly—she realized it had been a missile shot into the fuselage. She thought of Gareth and sent a prayer.
She stood on the roof of the immense house. Where was he?
A man’s voice. “Mike!”
She ran to the western edge of the roof to see Nicholas dangling off the side, his body sideways, one arm on the fast rope, which had miraculously hooked onto a window frame. Gareth was alive and cursing a blue streak, hanging on to Nicholas’s hand. Both of them had fallen? Below them, the chopper was burning on the grounds.
Nicholas’s face was black with smoke. He gave a laugh and a beautiful white-toothed smile. “Hey, so much for a surprise attack. Mike, Gareth and I went over together. Only one problem—I don’t know how long this rope is going to hold, and Gareth is getting concerned.”
The Sixth Day Page 28