Harry closed his eyes against the enormity of it. “Oh, Corry, what have you done?”
Nicholas said, “Adam, was the bespoke email for this group designed specifically by Ardelean? As in he was hired to find them a secure way to communicate?”
“I’d say so, yes. It makes the most sense.”
Harry said, “So he may know more about this than he claims. Good work, Adam. We need to get Ardelean back into the office and have another chat. I certainly hope he was only hired to build a secure communications system for this team of renegades, and nothing more.”
A voice came from the corridor. “There won’t be any need. I’ll be happy to explain what’s happening.”
The man Nicholas knew as his father’s friend and his counterpart at MI6—Corinthian Jones, Lord Barstow—stood in the door of his father’s office.
Harry slowly stood. Mike saw his hands were clenched at his sides.
“Corry, what the bloody hell are you thinking, man? Raising funds for a private army?”
Barstow shrugged. “Since you’ve stuck your nose in, Harry, I’m forced to explain. This is a black-ops program run by MI6. I am overseeing it. That is all you need to know. I need you and your team to stand down. I have this situation well in hand. Don’t stand down, and we will have a serious problem.”
Nicholas said very quietly, “People are dead, and we’ve been tasked with uncovering the truth behind their murders. If your off-book drone army has gone rogue, we need to know.”
Barstow heaved a sigh, and Nicholas saw a bulge under his coat.
He slowly rose. “Why are you wearing a weapon? I thought you had lackeys to kill for you.”
“Nicholas,” Mike said, a hand on his arm.
Barstow said, “Yes, Nicholas, listen to your partner. Sit down and shut up. You’ve caused me a great deal of grief these past two days. You would have done well to stay in America. We don’t want or need you here. I’d have thought Afghanistan made that clear enough.”
Harry said quietly, “Yes, sit down, Nicholas.” And to Barstow, he said, his voice formal, “Corry, are you admitting to killing the people who helped you build your private army? I assume you couldn’t get the funding from Her Majesty and had to find your own sources of income? Is that how you managed to get tied up with Heinrich Hemmler? Was Paulina Vittorini running the guns for you? And Chapman Donovan, you’ve never been a fan of his, but Terry Alexander, man. He was your oldest friend.”
Barstow said through gritted teeth, “I didn’t kill them, none of them. I’m trying to make sure no one else is murdered, which is why I need you to back off.”
Mike saw his hands were trembling. He was frightened, understandably so. He was in a room of sharks. Make him lose it. She gave him a push, put some bitch in her voice. “Why should we back off? Can’t you tell whoever’s been killing those funding you to stop? Or are we next? How are we to know you don’t have one of your drones positioned outside, or the birds you’ve been using to spy on us? How did you manage to corrupt MATRIX? You don’t seem smart enough for that. If Roman Ardelean doesn’t know you were behind the breach, he soon will, you know it.” She added extra bitch, “You’re finished, sir, it’s only a matter of time, very little time—”
Barstow started to laugh, a strained laugh, an ugly laugh. He laughed so hard he nearly choked. “You think he isn’t a part of this? You stupid girl, you—”
Nicholas was ready to jump at Barstow and beat him to a pulp. Barstow’s eyes grew wild, and in a flash, he’d drawn the gun and was pointing it at Nicholas.
The room erupted in shouts.
Nicholas ignored the yelling, felt his father’s elbow gently nudge his arm, saw the slight nod of his head. Nicholas in turn nudged Ben with his knee. Harry dove to one side, Ben ducked away, and Nicholas kicked out of his chair and launched himself at Barstow.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Barstow saw Nicholas move a second too late. He fired as Nicholas crashed into him, knocking him over backward.
Nicholas felt the sting of a bullet against his side, right above his belt, heard the shouts, but ignored everything, flipped Barstow over on his stomach and pinned his arms behind his back. He knew he was bleeding, prayed it wasn’t too bad, and then Mike was there with the handcuffs she always had latched to her belt. She clapped them around Barstow’s wrists.
“Cover me,” Mike shouted to Ben, darting into the hall. Ben was right behind her. They were back in a moment, Mike panting. “Looks like he came alone.” Then she saw Harry kneeling beside Nicholas. He’d pulled his shirt up and pressed his handkerchief against his side. “Harry, is it bad?”
“I can speak, Mike. No, it’s not bad, is it, Father?”
Harry looked up. “I think he missed the important bits.”
“Why is Barstow unconscious?”
Harry said, “I hit him in the jaw for shooting my son.”
There was shouting from outside the conference room, and Ben ran out. Nicholas started to follow, but Mike and Harry held him down. “Listen to me, lamebrain, all you have to do is stop yourself bleeding, all right?”