The Lost Key (24 page)

Over the Atlantic

Nicholas read Wolfgang Havelock's autopsy report, then read it again more slowly. Mike was right. He looked up at her, sitting forward, so excited she was nearly bouncing on the seat.

She said, “They found the implant, but evidently it must have been a prototype, not as obvious or as well defined as the one Dr. Janovich found. Maybe its capabilities weren't as advanced as the one in Mr. Olympic's head since British ME believed it to be some sort of advanced German technology for the aneurysm, an ‘aneurysm chip,' is what they wrote. They also wrote they'd never seen anything like it.”

“So he implanted his father at the beginning. To see what the Order was up to, that makes the most sense.”

She nodded. “Either his father agreed to it or he didn't know about it, and that raises the question, How did Havelock do it without his being any the wiser?”

“A question we'll have to ask Manfred when we get cuffs on him, but it makes the most sense he was implanted with the chip during his aneurysm surgery.” He added, “If the father wasn't the good guy we all think he was, then he was in on all this maneuvering with his son.” He shook his head. “That doesn't make sense. If
the father was in on it with his son, then all he had to do was tell him everything. I don't think Havelock senior had any idea he'd been given an implant.”

Mike nodded. “And then Havelock starts buying up polonium, and through his father's implant he gets a direct feed into Adam Pearce, the sub, the key, and suddenly, he doesn't need dear old Dad anymore. With Dad gone, Havelock has a sure line into the Order.”

Nicholas said, “I buy Havelock using Daddy to spy on the Order. Maybe he was pushing his father to convince the Order members to go a certain way, and his father refused. Dad's implant is triggered, and he's gone, clearing the way for Manfred to step into his place and take the weapon they've been searching for for nearly a hundred years into his own hands.

He stared down at his clasped hands on his knees. “Then this key to this weapon that's in the sub, it has to be something Havelock needs to make the mini-nukes work properly or make them more powerful.”

She bounced in her seat again. “Yes, that's it. Nicholas, I've got it, I know what the implants are for.”

“What?”

“You said it yourself. It's a trigger.” She pointed at the autopsy sheet. “It all makes perfect sense now. The micro-nukes. They need a trigger. The implants are the trigger.”

“I have to say,” he said slowly, “this is so much worse than anything I imagined. I hope you're wrong.”

“But you know I'm not. We have to get that key out of the sub and find that weapon, Nicholas.”

“Yes, we absolutely do. Soon we'll have access to everything Havelock has in his databases. And then I'll call Penderley.”

He tapped on his laptop for no longer than a minute, then closed it. “Done. We'll have all Havelock's files momentarily. But before I call Penderley, we need to look again at Pearce's files. I want to see if he'd caught on to Havelock. The coded messages from the past few days might have answers.” He clicked a few buttons, and Pearce's e-mail came on the screen. He clicked on the in-box, started to type, then stopped.

“Wait, what's this?”

Nicholas watched the screen of his computer light up, then go completely black. Then a small face floated into the center of the screen, rotating and spinning. Nicholas looked closely at the image, squinted at the small face. He recognized it instantly.

“That cheeky bugger.”

“Nicholas? What are you talking about?”

He turned his laptop to face her. “Adam Pearce has hacked into my computer.”

“How did he manage that?”

“I don't know. But I'm going to find out.” And he clicked on the face.

A link popped onto the black screen. He recognized part of a word embedded in the string.
Ariston
.

Normally, Nicholas wouldn't get anywhere near something like this, knowing full well it was a hack, and that whoever was on the other side could bring mayhem on his world. But if Adam Pearce was reaching out, he had to know.

He clicked on the link.

It took him to Jonathan Pearce's secure e-mail.

He combed the messages. Clearly he was meant to see something here, but nothing jumped out at him. “Maybe I'm supposed to go back in time. Look at yesterday's e-mail.”

Mike stepped behind him and pointed to a message. “No, wait. It's right there.”

He looked at the message she was pointing to. “That's spam, only an advertisement for a sale on British Airways.”

“Yep. One that so happens to invite Pearce to come to Scotland for a holiday. Click on it. Right there, on the northern coast of Scotland, where the small star is. That's what we're looking for.”

“What are you seeing that I'm not?”

“Adam Pearce is trying to give you the exact location of the sub.”

He clicked the message.

Instead of a normal e-mail coming up, a text message box filled the screen. Mike gave Nicholas a big smile. “Tell Adam I said hello.”

Nicholas wrote in the message box—
It's Drummond. We're here.

“Hopefully he's paying attention. Want to tell me how you knew this was the one?”

Mike said, “There are some private websites with hidden embedded links inside their home pages. It's one of the ways child porn works. Believe me, I've seen too much of that.”

“What made you think this particular e-mail was the one?”

She flipped out her phone, opened her e-mail. “Because I get e-mails from British Airways all the time, and the one that came today was advertising a trip to Machu Picchu in Peru. Not to Scotland.”

He stared at her. “You're very clever, Agent Caine.”

Before he could go on, the cursor started to blink on Nicholas's screen. The words spilled into the small chat space.

“It's Adam,” he said.

They have my sister. You have to help me. I'll do whatever you want.

Nicholas wrote back.

We know they do, we are trying to help. Alex Shepherd—Alex Grossman—kidnapped her last night. Do you know where they've taken her?

Shepherd works for the Order, and now for Havelock. No idea where Sophie is. You have to help me find her.

We're coming.

“Mike, are you seeing this?”

“I am. Ask him where he is.”

Where are you? We need to speak in person.

Meet you at Leyland's.

You're already in London? We'll send the Metropolitan Police to pick you up. My people. They'll keep you safe.

No. Havelock has people everywhere. When you get to Leyland's I'll tell you everything. We must stop Havelock. Promise me you'll save Sophie.

That's the plan. You must come in.

Will you expunge my record? I got an offer from the wrong side to do that in exchange for info on where to retrieve the key.

What's more important to you? Your sister or saving your own hide?

Both. I want to be on the right side of this. My father would want me to. We can't allow Havelock to win. Have to go. This channel has been open too long. Leyland's ASAP.

And the chat box disappeared.

Notting Hill

1:00 p.m.

Leyland had left Adam a key. He'd come in and eaten his way through the fridge and found some of the weird fizzy lemonade they passed off as soda. Then he'd gone outside with his laptop and reached Drummond. And now here he sat on a bench behind Leyland's house, looking out at the beautiful, peaceful gardens, everything opposite of how he felt right now.

Where was Leyland? The house was too quiet, too empty. Adam was getting spooked.

Oliver Leyland, his godfather, had been a good friend to him and it wasn't the first time he had stayed in his house, in what was considered his own room, hiding out from one government or another after him at the time. Adam was a white hat hacker, breaking into secure systems to show them their security flaws. He never profited from his hacking, though he certainly did make a great deal of money designing the code on the front end. And when he discovered the weaknesses, he didn't sell that information to the highest bidder like most of the other hackers he knew. He wasn't interested in taking down governments or anarchy, he wanted
adventure, the chase, the excitement of changing the world, one keystroke at a time.

As tense and uncertain as this situation was becoming, Adam had to admit he liked the FBI agents on this case. Especially the Drummond guy, the big Brit. He was smart, and a computer geek, like Adam. Maybe when all this was over, he could sit down with him and they could talk.

It hit him like a punch to his stomach—the deadening pain made him gasp aloud. He hadn't allowed himself to grieve, not for Allie, not for his dad. But now he shook with pain. Smart, sweet Allie, his friend for two years, his girlfriend for less than six months. Now she was gone and it was all his fault.

He saw his dad, bleeding out on the street twenty feet away, and he knew he'd never get that image out of his head. He hadn't told Sophie, couldn't, the pain of it was too deep, too raw.

He felt tears sting his eyes, swiped them away. He wouldn't break down, not with that crazy bastard Havelock after the key. He realized with sudden clarity that he was willing to die if necessary to make sure it didn't happen.

He said aloud, “You're nineteen and you're ready to throw yourself under the bus? You're an idiot.”

“No, not an idiot unless you want to throw yourself under the wrong bus.”

Oliver Leyland stood in the doorway, a big man, a strong man, with a lion's mane of thick white hair, now smiling at him, welcoming him, his arms held wide. Adam burrowed against him, and let the grief pour out of him. His godfather held him, saying nothing, simply letting him grieve, giving him what comfort he could. The boy was only nineteen and his world was tilting. As for
his world, it didn't look much better. He said, “I am so sorry, Adam. So very sorry.”

Adam nodded, finally drew away, and once again swiped his hand over his eyes. “What are we going to do?”

“Honestly?” Leyland streaked a big hand through his hair. “At this point we're going to have to pull in some of our contacts in the Security Service. Havelock's too far ahead of us on this. He's been voted into the Order, Weston saw to that, and there are others. Havelock had Stanford and your father killed to precipitate this crisis so he could be voted into the Order. He probably killed his own father, too. Three seats open, he gets one, arranges for his own people to take the other two, and he and his people swing the vote. It's as simple, and as complicated, as that.

“First, I need a cup of tea. As for you, I assume you'd like a real meal?”

“Well, I did eat all the jelly and bread. I guess I could eat something more.”

“Ah, to be young,” Leyland said, hugged him again, then set off for the kitchen.

“Havelock wants Curie's weapon, doesn't he?”

Leyland nodded. “Oh, yes, and the key to the weapon and the book of instructions. And don't forget all the kaiser's gold bars, probably at least a billion dollars' worth, maybe more, I don't know.

“Havelock's power-hungry, and he's quite mad. You add in that he's a scientific genius and we have the makings of a disaster of epic proportion.”

“Then we have to stop him, sir. But how?”

“The same way we've always stopped people who wanted too
much—we find a way to eliminate him, and quickly. Dismantle his technologies, discredit his work. When we're finished with him, it will be as if he was never born. We owe your father that level of revenge, at least.” Leyland opened the fridge, poked around. “How about some bubble and squeak?”

At Adam's blank look, he smiled. “Fried leftover potatoes and veggies, some onions in there, too.”

He dumped ingredients into a pan, started the heat.

Adam said, “Well, the bastard doesn't have the final coordinates of the sub. Only I know them and he's not going to get me. So I'm the key to the key.” No reason to tell his godfather Drummond had the coordinates.

“No, Adam, two of us will have the coordinates. You're going to tell me exactly where the
Victoria
is, since I already have our people standing by.” He stirred the mash, turned off the heat. “Nice and hot.”

Adam thought for a moment. “Are you sure, sir?”

“I am, yes. Get the forks out of that drawer over there. I think I'll join you.”

The house alarm double beeped. A door had been opened.

Leyland grabbed Adam's arm. “I wasn't expecting anyone. I sent everyone away for the afternoon so I could meet with you alone.”

They heard people moving through the bottom level of the house, heavy steps, heard a man's voice giving directions.

Leyland calmly pulled a Walther PPK from his pocket. “Adam, I want you to go upstairs to your room and lock yourself in. Don't open that door for anyone. Wait for me to come for you. Don't worry about me, go, now,” and his godfather was gone.

Adam ran up the back stairs to the third floor, stopped, and
listened. He heard Leyland shout, he heard fighting, no mistaking the sickening sound of bones cracking, the grunts of pain. Then a popping sound—a silenced gun. He couldn't lose his godfather, he simply couldn't. He ran to the front stairs and started down, hugging the wall, one stair at a time until he reached the entrance hall landing.

He saw three men standing over his godfather. Oliver wasn't moving. His prized Walther was on the floor near his hand.

Was Oliver dead? No, no, it couldn't be. Rage roared through him. Adam couldn't stop himself. He ran down those steps, yelling, “Leave him alone!”

Three men turned to stare at the skinny boy racing toward them, his fists raised.

“Well, now, boys, what have we here?” Adam heard that thick German accent, recognized the scar that sliced through the man's cheek. The man smiled at him, making the scar pucker and redden. It was Havelock's vicious right hand, the man known only as März.

“I do believe we have Adam Pearce.”

Adam had read about this man in Havelock's files, but he hadn't realized—his godfather moaned. März turned and casually shot him with a suppressed Beretta, the sound no louder than a polite cough.

He turned back to Adam, his smile still in place, and gestured with his gun for him to come down the stairs.

Adam snapped. He charged the man, kicking, punching, screaming. He wasn't a fighter, but his fury was profound, fueled by his grief. He caught the men off guard, but still, it only took a couple of seconds for them to grab him and hold him. One of the men raised his knife, but März shouted, “No! We need him.” The
man cursed but drew back. Still, they'd gotten in a couple of licks. Adam's face hurt, and he knew his lip was split and bleeding.

März said, “You're a brave little cock, aren't you? I wonder if you will be marked, like me.”

Adam licked the blood from his lip. “You've killed my godfather! You've killed him,” and Adam tried to break away, but this time it was no use.

“Enough!”

“Did you send the man to kill my father? Or was it your boss, Havelock? Oh, yes, I know who you are.”

Again, that awful smile that widened his mouth and made the scar push up and pleat. “What would you do if I had?”

“I'll kill you, you bastard.”

März laughed. “Come along, little boy. We have things to do, a short trip to take, then we'll have a nice long chat.” He nodded to Leyland's body.

Adam watched the two men carry his godfather up to the second landing, turn and simply toss him over the railing. März laughed. “There, that should ensure the old man is dead.”

Adam couldn't bear it, he yelled and charged März again.

Adam felt a sharp sting in his neck. His heart speeded up, his breathing came fast, too fast. Then he couldn't breathe, he was drowning. As everything went black, he heard März say, “You shouldn't have done that, little boy.”

He fell to his knees, dizzy, knowing he was going to die. The last thing he saw was the blood on the floor from his godfather's body seeping toward him. Everything went dark.