The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI 5)

“I’ll get you a whole case for Christmas, how’s that sound?”

“Perfect.” She scooted across the seat and put her head on his shoulder. “Please tell me we’re going to catch Ardelean today. I don’t know if I’m up for any more bombs or fires or guns.”

“I have a good feeling about this meeting with Temora. Maybe he’ll know how to get him or where he is.”

Nicholas parked a block away, in front of a dark Jesuit church, and they went in on foot. The town house was a four-story tan brick with large-paned windows and wrought-iron Juliet balconies. The street was charming. Mike could only imagine how festive it would look at the holidays. Did Brits, she wondered, decorate for Christmas as elaborately as Americans?

She said, “Seriously nice place for a safe house.” Nicholas nodded.

“Hide in plain sight. Always better.”

They knocked, and the door opened. A stranger waved them inside. When the door shut behind them, Mike smelled chlorine, curry, and wood smoke. She saw a huge circular stairwell in front of them, very modern decor—minimalist and sleek.

Harry was waiting for them by the stairs. Father and son hugged each other, hard, then stepped back. They were men of few words, Mike knew, so she wasn’t surprised when Nicholas went right to business.

“Where is Temora?”

“In the basement. This house is equipped for four prisoners at once, or a team of operatives. Right now, there’s only Temora. There’s a pool, a gym, a server farm, and a bomb shelter, too. MI6 does it up right.”

“I’d like to speak to Temora alone.”

Harry started to protest, and Mike shook her head, but Nicholas held up a hand.

“Trust me. This guy is a hacker. If we all go in together, he’ll talk in circles just to piss the two of you off. I’ll go in alone, hacker to hacker, see if I can get the real story from him.”

Harry said, “Understand he’s angry, Nicholas. Don’t trust anything he says—don’t take it at face value. From all I’ve found in Barstow’s files, he plays games. We haven’t yet figured out what he wants.”

“Understood.”

Harry walked them to the back of the house, where the glorious center stairwell gave way to a set of metal stairs with rails that reminded Mike of a submarine. They went down carefully and through a door into a metal hallway, where the claustrophobic sense of being underwater continued. The basement was unlike the upper floors—it was utilitarian, cement walls, and reddish lantern lights.

The interior of the prison was cool and felt empty. The cells were quiet. Nicholas had no idea who had been kept behind the thick steel doors, nor did he want to know. He’d left this world behind years ago, and it made his skin crawl to have to work his way back in, even for a short time.

Harry stopped in front of a steel door on the right of the hallway.

“We’re right here if you need us. The mic is on in his cell. We’ll be in the central room at the end of the hall, just there. Call out if there’s trouble.”

“Thanks. I’ll be fine.” Nicholas stepped through the thick gray door. He wasn’t a fan of tight spaces and was relieved to see the basement prison was roomier than he’d expected.

A guard waited silently halfway down the hall. When Nicholas nodded, the guard opened another thick door, and Nicholas slipped inside, ignoring the crawling sensation of being locked inside a steel cage.

The man sitting on the bench was thin, pale, and his head hung low. His long lank hair hung around his face. He raised his head, and Nicholas saw the fierce, burning intelligence in his eyes.

Temora wasn’t more than twenty-five. He was studying Nicholas closely. Nicholas didn’t move, didn’t speak. Finally Temora said, “You’re Nicholas Drummond.” He sat back, crossed his arms, and said with a sneer, “So the big man’s come to gloat.”

“If you know my name, then you know me better than that. How did you end up here? Held by Security Services? Tried to go to the dark side, did you?”

“I did no such thing, and those bastards upstairs know it. I’m innocent.”

Nicholas sat down across from him. “Come now, Caleb, a private messaging system built expressly for ISIS operatives says differently. If you’d warned our government about the latest attacks, perhaps they’d believe you weren’t working for the other side.”

Temora shook his head, his long hair swinging back and forth. He muttered a curse, then said, “Do you have any idea how hard it is to serve two masters?”

“No. Because I’ve never thought there were two masters to serve, only one. Our government.”

Temora looked away, licked his cracked lips.

“Water?”