The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI 5)

This was not good. Ransomware had hit England, a main target the National Health Service—whose security was laughable—but not Delphi Cosmetics, with its top-notch security, which meant these buggers were good. He figured how he was going to fix things, which had to include Covert Eyes’s cyber expert, Adam Pearce. He remembered everyone celebrating when Adam had turned twenty. He said, “A bitcoin is a form of monetary recompense used primarily online to pay for services rendered. They don’t exist in the material world, unfortunately. They’re virtual. Most of the services unsavory, as you’ve just learned. I’ll try to save your systems from the ransomware attack without your having to pay anything.”

Nicholas’s grandfather looked relieved. “Well, that’s why you came for a visit, isn’t it, only neither of us realized it when you and Michaela drove up on Sunday. Well, get to it, my boy, we stand to lose millions every single day the direct delivery systems and websites are down. And you know Giles, he’ll pull out all his hair if there’s any delay, and he doesn’t have much to begin with.”

Nicholas said more to himself than to his grandfather, “They must have a back door to stop the attack once they’re paid. I’ll find it, disable the lockdown on Delphi’s systems, push some nasty code their way to disrupt the attack, which will not only release your systems but also should stop the attacks elsewhere, as well.”

His grandfather said, “Good, get to it. Oh yes, Nicholas—I want to see one of these demmed bitcoins. Bitcoins sound as silly as the name you and Michaela gave your FBI team—Covert Eyes. What is a covert eye, I ask you? You skulk about without anyone seeing you? Now, that’s a laugh. The earth shakes when you’re in town.”

“Ah well, we’re supposed to be discreet, really, we do try. There are seven of us, each with a different area of expertise, I guess you could say. We were tasked to travel anywhere in the world in order to solve problems.” He snorted. “Now that certainly sounds high and mighty. First thing I’ll do is call Adam. Here’s Mike now—we’ll get on it right away.”

The baron snorted. “She’s been out running again?”

“She’s trying to keep up with a member of our Covert Eyes group—Louisa Barry’s her name—and she runs marathons. Mike says she still has a long way to go to get anywhere near Louisa.”

The baron shoveled in another spoonful of oatmeal, smacked his lips. “Imagine, girls running around like men, even racing. But I’ll say the girl keeps herself in good shape, just like your mother, always walking here and there, bending herself into strange postures, poses, she calls them. Your mother says it keeps her limber and strong, keeps your father on his toes. He agrees, says he never knows when she’ll chase him down. Downward dog is one of her poses—that sounds as crazy as bitcoins.” He paused a moment. “The girl has a brain, Nicholas, also like your mother. I say, I do appreciate a good brain in a female.”

Nicholas said, “I think Mike knows a downward dog or two herself, Grandfather.” He saw Mike break out of the home wood and run toward the side of the house, her long-legged stride smooth and steady. He knew she’d already done two laps around the lake. Next time, he’d join her, show her some of the places he’d played as a boy. But first he had to take care of the ransomware.

He said, as he looked down at the news flash on his mobile, “As you said, it’s not only Delphi. Hundreds of companies were hit in this latest ransomware attack. You have the finest security in place, which means the hacker is very good.”

“Tell me you and this Adam are better.”

“We are. If my interruption works the way I hope, my program will install a patch on your servers so no one will be able to get in again.” He paused, frowned. “I’m surprised Radulov’s software could be circumvented like this, but then again, even the best computer programs aren’t immune to a skilled hacker with malfeasance on his mind.”

Ah, that serious look, so like his father’s, but with Nicholas, there was always another level to his smiles, like some mad adventure brewing with the devil lurking about. And trust Nicholas to find the devil and kick him in the hindquarters.

The baron was pleased to see the Drummond spark living on in his grandson, ah, so like himself when he was younger. Well, much younger. Odd how it had skipped Harry and bloomed wildly in Harry’s only son. And yet Nicholas knew how to make a computer sing and dance according to his whim. He’d heard his IT man, Giles, say Nicholas’s skills were beyond any he’d ever seen. The baron liked that, didn’t think Giles was bootlicking.

So many years, and where had they all gone? The baron said to Nicholas, “Excellent. I’ll phone Giles as soon as I finish breakfast—he’ll probably pop off firecrackers he’ll be so relieved. These bastards need to be taken down a notch. I’m glad you’ll be the one to do it. Eat your porridge, then you can get on the ransomware attack.”

Nicholas scooped up a spoonful of Cook Crumbe’s bland porridge, filled with lumps, just the way his grandfather had consumed and loved it for thirty years. He swallowed down a bit, chased it with orange juice. He needed to get Mike some pancakes and bacon, something substantial, to recharge her after the run. Her recovery was going well, but he felt she was pushing herself too hard. It still made his blood run cold to remember her near drowning in Lake Trasimeno.

Nicholas was about to ring the bell, to order the eggs and bacon, when Lenny Kravitz’s “American Woman” burst out of his pants pocket. His grandfather, who normally hated mobiles at the table, said, “Is it about the ransomware attacks?”

“I don’t know yet. It’s the FBI in Washington. I’ll take it outside.” He was already walking out of the breakfast room, his mobile to his ear.

“Drummond here. Sherlock? Is everything all right?”

“It’s Savich. I borrowed Sherlock’s phone. Sean dropped mine in the toilet. No, don’t go there.”

Sherlock called from the background, “Sean fished it out and brought to me. I’m giving it a quick bath. Sean wants to know when you’re coming over so he can beat you at his current video game. Sorry, the name of this one escapes me.”

“Tell him maybe next week and no matter what sort of wild aliens he has in store, I’ll bury him. Now, what’s happening?”

Savich said, “I take it you don’t have the television on?”

“No, I was breakfasting with my grandfather. We have ransomware attacks going on over here, one against his company. I’m going to try to reach Adam. What’s happened?”

“The vice chancellor of Germany was assassinated minutes ago on the steps of 10 Downing Street.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Bloody hell.”

Nicholas strode across the foyer to the kitchen, the closest television. The staff was watching the BBC, even Cook Crumbe, her eyes narrowed, her apron clutched in her strong hands. They started to leave when they saw him, but Nicholas waved them back. All gathered again around the television, with Nigel, Nicholas’s butler, and Nigel’s father, Horne, the Drummond butler since the flood, the baron was fond of saying, and Nicholas standing behind them.

Nigel turned up the volume and said in his clipped voice, “Another bloody terrorist attack, and that’s what it was. I know it.”

“Our continuing coverage of what might be yet another assassination of a leading political figure on our soil. First was Chapman Donovan’s sudden collapse and death outside his home in Chelsea yesterday. Now the vice chancellor’s death outside 10 Downing Street. We are awaiting a press update from New Scotland Yard. To recap what we know so far, the vice chancellor of Germany, Heinrich Hemmler, has died after collapsing outside of 10 Downing Street—”