The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI 5)

Harry shrugged, then sat forward, his hand on Nicholas’s arm. “All possible. What really scares me is that you’ve been targeted as well, Nicholas, both you and Michaela. I know you don’t have any ties to Hemmler or Donovan. So why you?”

Nicholas said, “We hit on something, clearly.”

“Still nothing useful on the drone, outside of the weapons used. The consensus is you and Michaela are very lucky to be alive.” He rose. “We’re going in circles. Let’s get back. I want to see what Ardelean has to say.”

The sirens were sudden and close. Mike looked at Nicholas, who had shielded his eyes and was looking back toward the Thames.

She saw Harry’s assistant running toward them, his jacket flapping.

Nicholas said, “This doesn’t look good.”

Ian skidded to a halt, panting. “Sir, please come at once. There’s been another attack.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

FBI Headquarters

26 Federal Plaza

22nd Floor, Home of Covert Eyes

New York City

New York SAC Milo Zachery was in the office early, enjoying the relative quiet after supervising a “knock,” FBI talk for serving a predawn search warrant on a suspect. The knock had gone well, and he wasn’t needed, so he poured a cup of coffee and was reading the morning briefs when his secretary, Gladys, knocked on the door. “Special delivery for you, sir. From Agent Drummond and Agent Caine.”

“What’s this all about?” He took the envelope. “An overnight from London? He better not invoice this, do you have any idea how much it cost?”

The overnight envelope was thin. Zachery ripped it open. Out fell a thick, creamy envelope with Zachery’s name on the front in elegant script. Inside was a three-page handwritten letter.

Sir,

We apologize for the subterfuge, but we had no other way to warn you. Our communications have been compromised. Agent Caine and I were attacked yesterday on the way to London to look into the drone murders. Ironically, we were attacked by a drone, which Agent Caine shot down. With a Glock.

There was no way for anyone to know we were working the drone murders unless they were listening to or watching our communication with Agent Savich. We believe the Home Office has also been compromised.

We can only assume your communications are compromised, too. I put Adam on a plane to London last night. Tomorow, he and I will try to discover the depth of the breach at MI5 and who is responsible. On your end, I suggest Gray do a full intrusion protocol on every system we utilize. And yes, I know how much overtime th

at will cost.

Agent Caine asks me to remind you that Savich is probably in the same boat. We leave it to you as to how you wish to communicate with the CAU going forward—a similar letter has been sent to him as well. You must assume all phones and servers are being monitored. If listening devices are in place, I’d be surprised, but right now, we aren’t ruling out anything. I’d suggest taking a walk—without your phone—with Gray to initiate the protocols necessary to keep us all safe. Any software updates from the past six months need to be checked thoroughly. Anything that resembles the code for the WannaCry malware attack is suspect.

I’m afraid we’re going to have to communicate the old-fashioned way for the time being until we get a handle on how we’ve been infiltrated, and how deep the breach goes. NO COMPUTERS. We will report in daily by cable or letter, and you can send your replies to Drummond House in Westminster. Oh, yes, Ben is working with us. I trust you can assemble the rest of Covert Eyes and fill them in on the situation. And yes, we will do our best to stay alive and out of trouble.

Drummond & Caine

Zachery read the letter once more, then hurried to Gray Wharton’s cubicle one floor below.

Zachery wasn’t surprised to see Gray rumpled, his suit coat hanging half off the back of his chair, a granola power bar in his hand. Coffee cups littered his desk, and four computer screens were lined up in a curved array, each with a different program running.

“The breakfast of champions doesn’t come in a wrapping, you know. If you don’t start eating real food, I’ll be forced to hire you a chef. Now, Gray, according to Drummond, we have a problem.” He handed Gray the letter. He read it quickly, whistled.

“Seems the problem isn’t only with Drummond.” He stood up and grabbed his jacket. “Shall we take a walk, sir?”

Five minutes later, Zachery and Gray were out the front doors and onto Worth Street. Zachery saw a line forty people deep already winding around the side of the building, most waiting to get into the passport office or apply for citizenship. It might look like a security nightmare, but, in truth, this building was probably the safest place in all of New York City.

Still unspeaking, they took a right on Lafayette and then veered into Thomas Paine Park. Zachery could see the morning traffic was nose to tail, heard honking and swearing, a typical New York rush hour under way. It made him smile. He loved this city, loved it to his bones.

They took a bench that faced back toward Federal Plaza, and Zachery found himself wondering if Drummond and Mike, like he and Gray, were utilizing parks for their conversations.