She studied his face. “You already knew about this, didn’t you?”
“I believe I saw something from Interpol, yes.”
“When? You didn’t have time. You never sleep. I know, you’re the vampire they’re searching for.”
Nicholas said, “Not me, I never had a taste for blood. I can see this fascinates you, so why don’t you give Menard a call? I’m sure he’ll have all the inside scoop.”
“Yes, perhaps I will. It’s not every day you run into Dracula roaming free with his fangs out and bloodied. It’s nice having a friend in Interpol. Pierre’s like you, he never sleeps. Hey, maybe he’s the vampire.”
Nicholas laughed, then grew serious. “I spoke to Adam. He hasn’t had any luck identifying the drone from the assassination this morning. Penderley called to say he has nothing on the one you shot down, either. They’re taking it apart, piece by piece, but it’s not one of theirs, nor ours. A phantom drone.”
“Then it stands to reason someone has their own private arsenal.”
“Add that to the list of who’s selling—and buying—drones on the black market. And I’m still trying to figure out exactly how they knew where to find us, but I know someone’s listening to us. I scrambled the call with Adam, not to mention our plane has incredible defenses. Nigel swept the house for listening devices and found nothing. With any luck we can get an idea of what’s going on from my father at dinner. I think that’s why he agreed to dinner so quickly. He wanted privacy to talk.”
He found himself once again touching her shiny hair. She’d scared him today, again. He could still see her leaning out the shattered window, firing up at the drone. “I’m tired of seeing you bloody, Agent Caine.”
She laughed. “Me, too. I promise not to jump in front of a bullet unless I have to protect you. It’s what I promised your mother.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Harry Drummond arrived promptly at half six and immediately went to Mike, wrapped her in a tight bear hug, then turned to his son. “I’m so glad you’re both all right. We will get to the bottom of this, I swear it.” He studied Nicholas a moment, patted him on the back, then nodded. After his un-English show of affection, he accepted a Scotch from Nigel and toasted them.
Mike grinned at him and raised her glass of wine. She knew Nicholas would look very much like his father in thirty years, tall and straight, dark eyes burning with intelligence. And endless curiosity, like his son.
Harry looked around the long, narrow living room and slowly nodded. “I haven’t stayed here for a while, not since I signed Drummond House to you when you turned twenty-five. When I’m up, I stay at Clapton House. I like what you’ve done, Nicholas. Updated it to the new century, but not quite.” He pointed to the heavy golden draperies and the exquisite Regency marquetry table Nicholas’s mother had picked out years before. He nodded to the three Turner paintings on the opposite wall. “Old friends.”
He turned back to his son. “Do you have any idea who tried to kill you today?”
Directly to the point. Nicholas loved that about his father. “No, sir, we don’t. Nor do we know why or how they knew where to hit us. Which is almost as important as the attack itself. Drones are easily summoned, but I’m hard-pressed to think someone has been sitting outside Farrow-on-Gray simply waiting for us to leave. The attack felt much too coordinated. So we’re hoping you can tell us what’s happening, Father. I know there’s more to this than we’ve been told.”
“I’m glad I had people in my office earlier and couldn’t talk, because if you’re correct, and there is an infiltration, I might have given too much away. We acted upon the intelligence you provided me this morning. Your computer genius, Adam, sent us some information as well. Sit down, and I’ll tell you what we know.”
Once settled, Harry said
, “First, the drone you shot down, Michaela. I had it removed from Superintendent Penderley at Scotland Yard and brought to our forensic experts. They verified it isn’t registered to any legitimate company we’ve been able to trace. They believe it’s a prototype. Custom-made. Drones with these capabilities, and by that I mean weaponized drones, are a multimillion-dollar investment. Even if there’s only one, whoever’s behind these attacks is well funded.”
Mike said, “Nicholas and I believe there’s more than one drone.”
“I fear you are correct. Now, let me digress a moment. ISIS has more or less stopped recruiting young spies because of the time and cost to groom them. They now focus on the people with decision-making power in a government. They offer promises of money, freedom, power, honor, whatever they believe will work with a particular individual. They strike deals with them to allow their soldiers to cross borders. Italy, Austria, Sweden, Germany. It’s actually counterespionage at its finest.
“They are well funded, some believe by the Russians, others say leftovers from the failed overthrow of Assad. Either way, they’ve been successful, in my opinion, twice that we know of. First, Heinrich Hemmler. I’ve done some digging, found out Hemmler had a private meeting with an ISIS leader in Aleppo. Said leader is no longer with us, thanks to a U.S. drone strike. Obviously, Hemmler can’t confirm, but his secretary has admitted he set up the trip. Hemmler’s bank account was suddenly quite flush, as well.
“I suspect he was trying to stage a quiet coup in the German government. With the chancellor gone, he could easily call for an election, install himself in her place. To what end? If he’s been meeting with ISIS leaders, I think we can agree he was giving them something in return for his new position. No idea what, we’ll need to look closer.
“As for Chapman Donovan, he helped broker the cease-fire in ’98. He was a good man, aboveboard, as far as we know, and so rich I can’t imagine he’d want more. No idea why he would be targeted.”
He looked at each of them. “Worse, we have no idea who killed these two people.”
Harry took a sip of his drink, eyed his son and Michaela. Such a beauty she was and completely unaware of it, not unlike his incredible wife. And, as his father said, she was a right sharp little whip. He couldn’t call her Mike, couldn’t even think of her as Mike, the name of a bullyboy at school who’d once made his life a misery until his father had told him to kick the little blighter’s arse, which he had. He looked to his son. “Nicholas, one more thing. Since someone managed to overhear your conversation this morning, it seems clear we’ve been compromised.”
“Yes, we believe so, sir. And whoever’s infiltrated your systems can read your emails, your notes, listen to your phone calls. The question is, has the intrusion happened from outside, or inside MI5?”
Harry nodded. “Look at all the people around us, those with the money and ability to pull off such a massive intrusion, those with a motive. A drone carrying a poison, shooting it into the victim’s neck, and I wonder, why kill in such a flamboyant manner?”
Everyone thought about this, then Nicholas said, “Would you be willing to let Adam and me have a crack at it?”
Harry said simply, “Yes.”