The Lost Key (A Brit in the FBI 2)

s arriving in half an hour.”

“This is very good news. The Order is moving quickly, as it should. You are to be congratulated. Do tell them I’m so very anxious to step in and help. What with my father’s untimely passing, and the sudden horrors this lovely day has brought, it would be my honor to continue his legacy. I can be there at a moment’s notice, to serve at their pleasure.”

Weston was quiet for a minute. “It will happen, I’ll see to it. There has been no luck finding Adam Pearce?”

“Not yet, not yet, but all the pieces are coming together. Soon we will have the exact location of the sub.”

Weston said, “In that case, I think you should come as soon as possible. I’ve ordered Alex Grossman to bring Sophie Pearce to London tonight. If we can’t find Adam Pearce, she’s the lever we need to make him come to us.”

“I’m impressed, Edward. Well done.”

A moment of uncertain silence, then Weston said, “It’s added insurance, in case your plans fail—and they already have today, Manfred, don’t think I’m not entirely aware of how badly your boys screwed up this morning. Damn it all, that idiot killed Pearce! Of all the people, he’s the one we needed the most.”

Havelock said, “Pearce refused to cooperate; his death was an accident. But it’s no matter, Edward. Adam is the key, not his father. He has all the data we need, locked up tight in his brilliant little brain. Yes, yes, I see having Sophie Pearce under our control could be very helpful. Yes, that is very good thinking.”

“I also told Alex not to worry about Pearce’s SD card, since we have the other one, from Alfie’s safe. But I do worry. The FBI have it and they are not stupid.”

Havelock only smiled into the phone. “Do not worry about Drummond. He is nothing.”

“Well, are you coming, then?”

“I will be there by morning. When is the meeting?”

“Noon tomorrow.”

“Excellent, capital, well done. By then, if we don’t have Adam Pearce and the location of the sub, we’ll at least have Sophia Pearce in our hands. Until then, dear Edward.”

Havelock placed the phone in its cradle, a smile still playing on his lips.

He hit his intercom button. “Elise? Begin packing. We are going to London.”

23

26 Federal Plaza

1:45 p.m.

While Nicholas was on the phone to his family, Mike took a quick look at some of the information Agent Gray Wharton had taken from Pearce’s computers. She glanced at Pearce’s client list, stopped cold—she saw names she recognized—an international who’s who of power and wealth. Sophie had said her father’s business was global; she certainly hadn’t been kidding.

Mike scanned the list, seeing name after familiar name, and knew from experience that there was something more here. She glanced at her watch; it was nearly two and they had to get to the OCME for Mr. Olympic’s autopsy. She started to close the file when she saw a name that really stood out. She read it over a few times, then closed the file and ejected the thumb drive. Nicholas needed to see this. She didn’t know what it meant, but he might.

She grabbed two bottles of water and two apples from the small fridge she kept under her desk. She was hungry; they hadn’t had time for lunch. The apples would have to do for now. They could stop and eat on their way back downtown. A full stomach before an autopsy wasn’t a smart move, in any case.

She looked up to see Nicholas standing in the door to her cube. “Are you ready to go?”

“I am.” She handed him a bottle of water and an apple. “I know we have to hurry, but you need to see this before we go.”

She inserted the thumb drive back into the secure, red partitioned side of her FBI computer and opened the mirrored hard drive. She clicked on the file labeled CLIENTS. Hundreds of blue folders came up on the screen, neat and orderly.

“Thank goodness Pearce was an organized bloke. His files are almost too easy to find.”

Mike punched the third blue file, got up and gestured to her chair. “Sit down and take a look. Tell me what you see.”

Nicholas sat with Mike perched on the chair’s arm. Her blond ponytail had grown in the past few months and it was right next to his face. He breathed in the jasmine scent, shifted himself away.

She leaned, pointed, her ponytail touching his face. “Look at that, Nicholas.”

He leaned away again, looked at the screen, whistled. “Good catch, Agent Caine. Alfie Stanford bought several books on military history from Mr. Pearce over the years. Mostly World War One titles, though there are a few from the Franco-Prussian War and some on the Russian oligarchs.”