The Lost Key (A Brit in the FBI 2)

Mike said, “Don’t worry about your job, Nicholas. The SIRT board will find you did everything according to the book, like Zachery said.”

“It’s not that,” he said, turning to face her. “The high-tech specs on Pearce’s computer, the three German assassins, the implant, Pearce’s murder, Alfie Stanford’s murder. It’s all connected, and I think I know—”

His mobile rang. “Good, here’s news,” and he put the call on speaker. “Bonsoir, Monsieur Menard. It’s one-thirty in the morning your time. Don’t you sleep?”

“Bonsoir, Nicholas. Not when I have such interesting research to pursue.”

“You’re on with Mike Caine, too.”

“Hello, Pierre.”

“It is good to hear your voice again. This is quite an interesting case you have. Nano-biotech is all the rage in the European underground. There are many uses for the developing technologies, and in the hands of the wrong people, it could go very badly.”

Nicholas said, “We’re looking for a specific company, Pierre, very advanced, very cutting-edge. A supposedly legitimate leader in the field with the possibility of a few off-the-book projects going on, too. We’re looking for someone with money, who could provide serious funding. The equipment we found this afternoon is heads and tails above anything I’ve ever heard or read about.”

Menard said, “This equipment, the implant, it was made of a biological polymer?”

“It seems so. My bet is, whoever developed it might also have worked on organ transplant research. You know the rejection rate on organs is always a problem. If there’s a biologically based metal that won’t be disruptive, there may have been a breakthrough on the other side as well.”

Menard said, “There are only a few companies I have heard of who fit the criteria you’re speaking of, but none of them are known to have criminal dealings.”

“They wouldn’t, I don’t suppose. Whoever is behind this would have to be, on the surface at least, on the up-and-up.”

“I will look into this for you, my friend,” Menard said. “I assume the inquiry is of an urgent manner?”

“When is it not, Pierre? Oh, yes, we believe the chances are good the company is based in Germany.”

“Ah,” Pierre said and disconnected.

Nicholas said to Mike, “This is good. He’ll have something for us shortly. Here we are.”

Nicholas pointed, and Mike pulled into an empty spot directly in front of a stunning five-story limestone-washed town house. Why was she surprised, given who his grandfather was, who his parents were? Nicholas was fidgeting, he looked embarrassed. She said, “Well, it’s not too bad, considering. Nice of the slumlord to throw in a parking place since this place is such a hovel.” She put the Crown Vic in Park, unsnapped her seat belt. “Did it come with rented furniture?”

He shook his head at her. “Very funny. Thanks to my grandfather, this place is all mine, four floors of it at least. Nigel has the third floor, that’s where the kitchen is and his rooms. He’s in heaven.”

“Close enough I’ll bet he doesn’t need an elevator,” she said, still staring up at the house.

“Don’t give me any guff over this, Mike. Like I said, my grandfather was behind it. I wanted something simple, and he would hear nothing of it.”

She started to laugh. “Um, Nicholas, I did visit Old Farrow Hall. I wouldn’t expect you to be living in a studio walk-up in Hell’s Kitchen. It’s a beautiful house. Let’s go inside, I want to see how Nigel’s set you up, and see if we can scrounge something up from your—no, his—kitchen. I’m famished.”

He paused after he unlocked the front door. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

“Nicholas, the entire FBI knows your grandfather is a baron. Not to mention all the women

agents know he owns Delphi Cosmetics and are trying to get the nerve to ask you to get them free samples. No one will be upset about this. They might tease you a bit—I mean come on, you have a real live butler—but they won’t hold it against you. We’re all better than that.” And she ruined it with a giggle.

“Sure you are.” He opened the door onto a magnificent entryway, done in dark woods and white marble, very modern, and it fit him perfectly. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

“Should I take off my shoes? No? Where is Nigel?”

Nigel suddenly appeared above them on the stairs. His face went white and he hurried into the foyer, looking Nicholas up and down. “Oh, my, whatever happened to you? And you, Agent Caine? There’s a bit of blood, I see.”

“We’re okay, Nigel, nothing some Advil and ice won’t fix. And a change of clothes, maybe one of my shirts for Agent Caine. We’re both starving, we didn’t have time to eat much today. Any chance of some dinner?”

“Yes, I have a lovely roast in the kitchen, with vegetables and mash. Shall I open a bottle of wine? I set aside a Château Margaux—the ’67. It can decant whilst you change your clothes for dinner and fetch a shirt for Agent Caine.”

“Yes, I’ll find something. Nigel, this is a working dinner, so we’ll have some Pellegrino with lime. Thanks.”