The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI 5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

MI5 Headquarters, Home Office

Thames House

12 Millbank

Westminster, London

Identification, please.”

Mike handed over her FBI creds to a security officer who looked bored to her, but then she saw his eyes roving between her and Nicholas and decided no, maybe not so bored after all. She had to admit, going into the vaunted Home Office was a bit of a thrill. The security was similar to theirs at home—tight, biometric, and impenetrable—but to an American ear, there was something special about hearing the British accents.

She discovered she liked London quite a bit, almost as much as New York. No, that was going too far.

They were issued badges, and a young man with glasses similar to Mike’s stepped from behind a column.

Nicholas saw him, smiled, and stuck out his hand. “Ian. Good to see you. Mike, this is Ian Sansom, my father’s right hand. He plays cricket, but don’t hold it against him.”

“You’re mad I beat you the last time we faced off. You still owe me a pint. Mike, it’s good to meet you. Harry has said nothing but good things about you. Did I hear correctly, you shot down a drone with a Glock?”

“Lucky shot.”

“Bollocks,” Nicholas said and punched her arm.

“I agree,” Ian said, “I hardly think that’s the case. Now, please follow me. Harry is waiting.”

Harry Drummond’s office was on the fifth floor. When they got out of the elevator, Mike stopped. She saw beautiful dark woods and marble-topped tables in the hallway, all heavy, imposing, and older than the White House.

People were everywhere, many of them agents, she supposed, but it was strangely silent. The air was charged. Everyone knew something was up, but with typical British restraint, no one was talking openly. It was eerie, seeing a whole floor of agents go silent like that.

She wasn’t surprised to see Harry’s office was as elegant and understated as the man himself. A massive mahogany Victorian desk, the surface clean except for a leather desk pad and laptop and a discreet banker’s lamp dominated the room. A heavy mahogany credenza behind the desk held photos of Nicholas as a boy, Mitzie as a young woman, and a current shot of the whole Drummond family. And, inexplicably, on the wall, beside the flag of the United Kingdom, a large stuffed trout. She wanted to laugh, but everyone was speaking in low, worried voices. She planned to ask Nicholas later if the stuffed trout was a humorous homage to the castle ghost of Old Farrow Hall, a gentleman she had yet to encounter—the infamous Captain Flounder.

Harry immediately rose and came forward. “Good morning to you. Do come in, make yourselves at home. You haven’t been in my office for years, have you, Nicholas? Ian, can you bring a tea and two coffees, please?”

Ian nodded and slipped quietly away, closing the door behind him. When they were alone, Harry slid a note across the desk to Nicholas and Mike. The words made her heart kick up like a mule.

Found two listening devices in the office. Have swept for more but not sure we’ve found them all. Very sophisticated, very well-placed. Have informed the home secretary. Authorized to use whatever means necessary to rout the suspect.

When they nodded, Harry put a lighter to it and dropped it in a large brass ashtray. As the acrid smoke curled into the room, he said, voice jovial, “I’d love to show you around the place, Mike. Let’s take a tour.”

Five minutes later, the three of them were walking up Page Street to St. John’s Gardens. No rain this morning; sun streaked through the green trees onto the paths filled with people bustling about.

Harry led them to a quiet bench under a birch tree, and they settled themselves. Nicholas saw his father looked haggard in the strong morning sunlight. He looked older. It scared him. His father had always been a rock, impervious to upset or stress, full of strength. This morning, he looked every one of his sixty-two years.

Nicholas said quietly, “What else have you found?”

“Outside of the listening devices? Sophisticated buggers, those. They aren’t putting off the normal signatures. I only found them because I started taking apart my office the moment I arrived this morning. We sweep for bugs daily anyway, and they passed a standard sweep, which isn’t very standard. The whole building’s being swept now, and your Adam is set up inside our server mainframes, looking for anomalies. Without a doubt, someone inside has infiltrated us, and now we must discover who it is.”

Mike asked, “What do you think his end goal is?”

Harry looked off across the park. “I have no earthly idea. But they want something.”

He glanced at his watch. “Roman Ardelean is due shortly. Let’s talk to him, see what he can tell us. Radulov Industries has moved quickly to issue patches to the software affected by all the security breaches this past week. Getting past a Radulov firewall takes some talent. To me, this feels like a well-funded, state-sponsored assault. It’s the cyberattack I’ve been fearing, the real deal, not a couple of Russian hackers in a basement in Moscow.

“Now, we’ve taken apart Chapman Donovan’s life, and I’m sad to say, he was talking to Heinrich Hemmler about a transfer of money. We don’t yet know what it was for, but it certainly reinforces the notion he was up to no good, and someone needed to get both men out of the way. Are the two situations tied together? I don’t know yet, but I’m willing to bet they are.”

Nicholas said, “So the two were working together and double-crossed a partner, so he had them killed?”