The Lost Key (21 page)

26 Federal Plaza

“Yep, that's exactly it,” Gray said.

“Bloody MI Five doesn't even bother to inform us they have an operative on our soil, in our operation? I'm calling them immediately. There's no excuse.” But it was Alfie Stanford giving the orders, he thought, and now that he was dead, who was directing Grossman?

Zachery held up his hand. “Here's the bottom line. You and Mike are going to London. New Scotland Yard, MI Five, and FedPol all want a crack at this submarine. And to reward you, I suspect, since you are the ones who found the coordinates to the sub, you're to be allowed to be on the ground in Scotland when they bring her up, if that is even possible.”

Nicholas said, “So we're actually going to be involved in recovering the sub? In getting the key?”

“Yes,” Zachery said. “They will provide you diving gear. I know Mike doesn't dive, but I assume you do, Nicholas?”

“Yes, sir.”

Well, of course he did. She wanted to punch him. No, she should learn, and she would.

“Good. All of you listen up now. A naturalized American
citizen was killed for his knowledge of this submarine, and now his daughter has been kidnapped. We're a part of the international investigation now. And you're in luck, the director has sent his G-Five for you to use. We need totally secure communications while you're in the air, and he clearly feels you're the right agents for the job, or he wouldn't have given his blessing to this little junket. The Gulfstream is waiting for you at Teterboro.”

Mike said, “Submarine rescue aside, why do you think Sophie's been taken to London, sir?”

“Gray? Would you like to explain?” Zachery said.

Gray put another image onto the screen. “I ran facial recognition on every airport, bus terminal, and train station in New York. This popped up.”

There was a grainy image of a man carrying a woman across a tarmac. Mike recognized the pair as Alex Shepherd and Sophie Pearce. He'd pulled off her wig and her dark hair was tangled over his arm.

Nicholas asked, “Where is this?”

“Teterboro, late last night.”

“Did you get the tail number of the plane?”

“I did. It landed at London Airport about an hour ago, the private airport. They're already off the grid again.”

Mike said, “London makes sense, since the majority of the men Pearce were in contact with were in the UK.”

Zachery said, “Gray has prepared a laptop for you uploaded with all the additional files. I understand he already replaced all the SD card files Grossman tried to steal. It's good you managed to erase everything before he got his hands on it. In the meantime, Nicholas, I expect you to show me some of that razzle-dazzle magic
computer work you're famed for. Find out why a group of international leaders want this lost submarine so badly, and what the hell the key in Loch Eriboll opens.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

Zachery turned to Mike. “Mike, once Nicholas decodes the files, you will share with Interpol and Scotland Yard what the link is between the fifteen men Mr. Pearce was conversing with, and start rounding them up for questioning. And find out everything you can about Shepherd and this connection of his to MI Five.”

“Yes, sir.”

Zachery flicked off the screen. “People, we're an inch from figuring out what this weapon is, and why Havelock's been buying up polonium. The Brits claim not to know; let's see if they're being truthful with us. If they're involved, they very likely have a line on Adam Pearce. Find him, find Sophie Pearce. The two are clearly tied together.”

Gray handed Nicholas the laptop. “Everything I hadn't already sent you has been loaded, plus a few extras you might need along the way. I'll be linked to you in real time.”

“Brilliant. Thank you.”

“One more thing,” Zachery said. “There's a full-scale international alert for Manfred Havelock. He's gone to ground. He was in Berlin as of last night, but his jet took off very early in the morning, and they didn't file a flight plan. Gray is going to keep looking for him; he did such a great job finding the Fox when she snuck off to France, I'm sure he'll find this guy.”

He leaned on the table, suddenly serious. “You two listen to me. You be careful. We have multiple agencies involved. You're going to be on foreign soil, and this time, Nicholas, you work for the
FBI, you represent the United States, so there will be no rogue Bond crap. I regret taking all the fun out of your life, but no bombing, no shooting, no kidnapping of thieves. You hear me?”

The corner of Nicholas's mouth kicked up. “Roger that, sir. Who is our contact on the ground in London?”

“Who else? Your old boss, Hamish Penderley. Now, go find Sophie Pearce. Find her alive, and her brother, and recover this weapon, whatever it may be, and don't kill any more people, unless it's absolutely necessary, or so help me God, don't bother coming back.”

6:00 a.m.

Per standard operating procedure, Nicholas and Mike had small go bags stashed in their desks—a change of clothes, a spare weapon, ammunition, two disposable cell phones, and a tablet computer. Nicholas had also included a bevy of computer cords and other tools of the trade he felt might be necessary.

Mike looked at the clean jeans, the clean blouse, the clean underwear, and couldn't wait to wash and change in the plane lavatory. No one had said a word about her wearing Nicholas's white shirt. Things were so tense, so focused, maybe no one had noticed.

They grabbed their bags and their Glocks and Gray met them in the hallway. He handed them some papers.

“Here are your official papers allowing you to operate on foreign soil, so there'll be no running afoul of the British government.”

Mike clapped him on the shoulder. “You always think of everything. Thanks, Gray. Listen, why don't you go take a twenty-minute catnap? We'll be in touch as soon as we're up and running on the plane.”

He smiled. “I look that bedraggled, eh? Smell a little ripe?”

“No, nothing like that. You're going to make Nicholas think FBI agents don't ever sleep.”

“What did you say? We're allowed to sleep?” And Gray laughed. “I wish you'd told me sooner. You two be careful.” He tapped his temple. “I'll be ready for you when you're in the air. Twenty minutes will do me fine.”

Ben was waiting for them in the garage by the Crown Vic. “I'm going to drive you to the airport. There's more, and Zachery needed to get you guys on the plane as soon as possible.”

When Ben eased into traffic, he said, “Now, about the brain implant. I've been doing some research. Havelock's company is the only one I could find that's close to having patents in this area. He's really advanced. I mean, this stuff is space-age. There's nothing like it on the market. The composite material alone being biological in nature is groundbreaking stuff. If Havelock
is
behind this, he could have eyes on the ground everywhere.”

Nicholas said. “Do you think our MI Five friend, Alex Shepherd, has one?”

“It's possible, depending on who he's working for now, what with Mr. Stanford murdered. Like you said, Nicholas, he's supposed to be on our side, but he certainly hasn't acted like it. Is he now one of Havelock's soldiers? Was he all along? I mean, taking Sophie, what's that all about? I'm hoping when you talk to MI Five, Mike, they can tell you what's going on now. At the very least, they might know enough to help you guys guard your backs. In any case, we need all the information we can get on those implants.”

“Let me guess,” Nicholas said. “You want me to break into the computers of Havelock's company.”

“You're quick, Sir Nick. I didn't want to mention it in Zachery's
office, but that's it exactly. If this brain implant is what we think it is, a live feed which can be sent anywhere in the world undetected, maybe there's a program on his computers to control it. And at the very least, we can find out who he has in the field, and what they're looking at, specifically.”

“I'll do my best, Ben, and don't call me sir. No luck on the German in a coma?”

Ben met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “He had the gall to die an hour ago.”

“I see.” Another man dead at his hands. But he felt not a lick of remorse. Both of those men would have happily dispatched him and Mike, after they'd murdered Allie McGee to get to Adam Pearce.

Mike said. “Yeah, and here I was hoping we'd have a chance to interrogate him. Since neither of the Germans had implants, they were only hired muscle sent over to do a job, probably didn't know squat. I wonder why Havelock sent some operatives into the field with the brain implants, and some without.”

“That's a question we need to address,” Ben said. “Were the second set of thugs under Havelock's orders or someone else's? We haven't considered there might be more players in the game.”

Nicholas said, “It's a good point, Ben, especially if there's been a leak about what's in the submarine. Very high stakes, evidently. What we do know is that Adam Pearce is the staked goat in the middle. Everyone would want him.”

Mike said, “Ben, did you see something that made you think there are multiple people with the implants?”

“No, but I have a gut feeling about this.”

“Good enough for me,” Mike said. “We'll be on our guard, then.” She looked back over the seat at Nicholas. “With any luck,
Mr. Computer Whiz here will be able to get into Havelock's files and we'll know.”

Ben nodded. “You two be careful.”

And he pulled through the gates at Teterboro.

—

TEN MINUTES LATER,
they were wheels up.

Their pilot, who'd flown three different FBI directors, came over the intercom. “Dan Breaker, at your service. We'll be on the ground in London in five hours. Agent Caine. I've turned on the secure communications system. Feel free to plug in. Hit the green button if you need anything. There's food and drink in the galley, help yourselves. I'm going to be hauling ass across the Atlantic. This lovely beast will do four hundred eighty knots, and it's windy up here, we have a great tailwind of almost eighty knots. My copilot, Tom Strauss, and I, we're going to see if we can break a record getting across the pond.”

Mike pressed the green button. “Does the director know you two are speed demons?”

A ghostly laugh from the overhead. “Yep. Who do you think bought us this beautiful baby?”

They didn't waste any time. Mike headed for the lavatory to clean up and change, and Nicholas opened the loaded laptop Gray had given him and inserted an earwig into his right ear. “Gray, are you awake?”

“I'm here, Nicholas.”

“Good. I'm going to break through Havelock's firewalls and put a worm into his security system on his website, then see what information I can pull down. It will flow directly to our computer. It's going to take a while to see any results, but it's a start.”

“Sounds great. I'll work the back end for you.” Nicholas watched the computer screen in front of him segment, saw Gray in the upper right corner. Gray started to type, and Nicholas turned to Mike. “Hey, you're looking good, all clean and polished, and the lovely lavender of a few hours ago has faded to a light pink, with a touch of green to add interest. We're wired in. Are you all set?”

“Absolutely.” She waved the case file at him. “I have plenty to look at myself, and I'll make some calls, see what I can turn up.”

“If you see me with my eyes glazed and my tongue hanging out, I promise I'm okay; it's just me off in the code zone.”

Mike wasn't kidding about the work ahead. Gray had given her a thick case file with everything their researchers had managed to find on both Adam Pearce and Havelock. After a while, she looked up at Nicholas. He was focused on the screen in front of him. It felt oddly reminiscent of their first case together, flying to Europe on the tail of the Fox.

“You're staring,” he said, without raising his head or slowing his typing. “What's wrong?”

She said, “It's hard for you, isn't it?”

The typing stopped, but the head stayed down. “What do you mean?”

“Being constrained by our rules.”

He looked up then. “Oh, Hamish Penderley of New Scotland Yard constrained me plenty. And Zachery was kind enough to request my razzle-dazzle. Penderley never did that. I fully intend to do my best.”

He would, too. She grew quiet.

“What is it, Mike? What's really wrong?”

“I'm scared. We're not chasing a diamond this time. We've stumbled into a big conspiracy, fully operational well before we got
involved. We're up against a multinational group, and all we know is they're after something that could destroy the world as we know it. Supposedly.”

“Worry not, Agent Caine. By the end of this flight, we'll know exactly who we're up against. And once we do, we'll do what we're good at—we'll catch the bad guys and keep the world safe.” With a pirate's smile, he dove back into the files.

She thought,
I guess it's up to me to keep you safe, and yes, then the world,
and returned her attention to her files.

Highest Order Headquarters

London

Noon

Edward Weston knew it was time to cajole, to persuade, to manipulate, even to bribe, time to do whatever was necessary. He looked down the long mahogany table at the members of the Order assembled in the elegantly appointed room. He knew some were worried, others scared. There was excitement, too, in those on his and Havelock's side. Nearly a century of work begun before any of them were even born, and yet they would be the ones to succeed. And with his leadership, with Havelock's, the Order would forge ahead on a new path, one he—and a few of the others—felt long overdue.

The fifteen men around the table represented Great Britain, the United States, Germany, Russia, China, India, Brunei, and Israel. They were some of the wealthiest, most influential people in the world. Power brokers. It was Weston's belief that power should be used overtly, not the discreet traditional behind-the-scenes machinations meant to stabilize the world. It was time to throw off secrecy, time to show themselves as the true world leaders.

It was up to Weston to make it happen. And Havelock, he thought, always Havelock.

He cleared his throat, and all the faces focused on him.

“Come to order, if you will.”

Cups were set down, notepads straightened, pencils arranged. Then they all settled and waited expectantly.

It would not do to show anything but profound regret and sadness, and so Weston's voice was calm, respectful, the man to comfort, the man to lead. “It is with a heavy heart I've called this meeting. As you know, we have lost two more members of our brethren. Gentlemen, it was unclear until yesterday, but now I know we are under attack. I do not know who has taken action against us, but I do know our only choice is to band together, as we always have through the years, and find a way to stop these unseen enemies before the Order is destroyed and many of us murdered as well.”

Alastair Burrow, one of the remaining six Brits in the Order, said, “Do we truly not know who ordered Alfie and Jonathan murdered on the same day?”

“No, Alastair, I'm sorry to say we do not. Unfortunately, we are currently limited in how much we can do, since the results of the inquest on Alfie must be kept secret. If it were to get out he'd been murdered, the British government would be under fire. We must keep this silent. The public must honor Alfie as a soldier and a leader, not as a murder victim. Better to let him fade away, the victim of an untimely heart attack, than risk the world finding out who we are, and what purpose our organization serves.”

Dmitri Zachar, a former leader of Chechnyan rebels who now headed a Russian oil conglomerate and was almost single-handedly responsible for bringing his country back to life, said from the
end of the table, “Two of us murdered. Who of us is next? And why?”

Weston said, his voice firm, confident, “No more of us will die and that is because we will find the submarine and the instructions on how to find Madame Curie's weapon. Then we will be safe.”

Mason Armstrong, technological wizard and the sole American in the Order, said, “And how are we going to do that, Weston?”

Now came the tough part. “I know this is not standard protocol, that new members should be carefully considered, but gentlemen, we find ourselves in desperate times. First we must inaugurate new members since our numbers must be at fifteen in order to proceed. Then we must secure the weapon before it is used against us. And I have a way to do it.”

There was open disagreement as members argued among themselves. Oliver Leyland, head of the Bank of England, brilliant, steady, ruthless, raised a hand to quiet the group. Jonathan Pearce and Alfie Stanford had been close friends, and he was feeling both grief-stricken and wildly angry, and he didn't like Weston, didn't trust him. “Weston, you know we try to keep these positions in a hereditary line. However, Jonathan's son, Adam, isn't in a position to become a member of the Order, and from what I've heard, we don't even know where he is in any case. Alfie's son is dead, his three grandsons ignorant of the Order. I know Alfie left instructions for his successor, but those papers were stolen along with the Order's protocols by his murderer. With that in mind, then, may I ask who you are putting forth?”

The moment was at hand, Weston thought, and said firmly, “Manfred Havelock. His father would have named him his successor, had he been given the time.”

Leyland's thick brows shot up. “Wolfgang Havelock had six years as a member of this group to name his son as heir to his position, Weston, and he didn't. Don't you think if he had wanted Manfred to have his seat, he'd have said so?”

Weston said, “Wolfgang's death was unexpected, and he hadn't been questioned by this group on his wishes. Leyland, I know you aren't a fan of the younger Havelock, but—”

“Too right I'm not. The man's an egomaniac, and barking mad. What he could do to the Order doesn't bear thinking. Which is exactly why his father hadn't named him heir.”

“On the contrary,” Weston said, “Manfred Havelock is a brilliant scientist who can bring untold abilities to our group.”

Leyland half stood, his hands splayed on the table in front of him. “Abilities? Dear God, the man travels around the world with that bizarre woman at his side, who, I might add, is said to lay the whip on for pleasure. And look at the people he employs—that März character in particular—I've heard he's a sadistic animal.

“Manfred Havelock is not the type of man to belong to the Order, the type of man to look at the world objectively, and sanely, without self-interest, and come to agreement with other members. How could he possibly be a benefit to our community?”

“He has money,” Claude Benoit, France's finance minister, said frankly, “and money is something we always need. Also he has the ear of the entire scientific world. He has the means and the intelligence to raise the submarine.”

“We have to find the damned thing first,” Leyland said.

Weston nodded. “As you know, Adam Pearce has finally located the sub. When we have the exact coordinates, we will share this information with Havelock. He not only has the technology to retrieve the key from the sub, he can do it without alerting the
military to our presence. For this ability alone, he would prove his true worth to the Order. I believe he is also in a position to locate Adam Pearce. We've never had someone with Havelock's leverage before.”

Had he said too much, or still not enough? He waited.

The Sultan of Brunei, Omar Hakim, a tough old hawk who was known to disappear his enemies, said, “Leverage? Whatever do you mean, Weston?”

Careful, man, don't make Havelock sound like the promised land. Back off a bit, let them find their way to the answer.
“Perhaps
leverage
is too strong a word, Omar. Let me rephrase. Havelock has a foot in a world we don't. The closest we come to the scientific community is Mason, and he admits he's very limited in his technical scope.”

Omar said, “I do not see what the rush is to vote in new members. We should take our time, do things properly, according to the bylaws of the Order. We can certainly act, even though our numbers are not at our mandated fifteen. It is an emergency, after all.”

Huang Chén, a wealthy Chinese industrialist from Beijing, all of seventy, with a brain fast as a striking cobra, said in fluent English, “The bylaws allow for emergencies, Omar, and as you said this appears to be a big one—someone is trying to destroy our world, this same someone who had Jonathan and Alfie murdered, and now I believe it imperative that we get back to strength immediately. I for one have no intention of allowing Marie Curie's weapon to be used against us or anyone else. If we don't find it, and control it now, the world could be in very big trouble.”