The Lost Key

He looked younger than she’d thought, younger and more vital than the quiet, watchful book lover who’d stopped by the store on the weekends when she worked.

“Or something,” he said. “I’m not a full member of the Order. I’m sure your father has explained how it works, it is your legacy, after all. I’m rather like you, aware of the Order’s existence, its mission, and its goals. Then I was assigned to be your father’s backup, for lack of a better term. I was in place to keep an eye on him, to make sure he was never compromised.”

“So you don’t really own a pub?”

“I do, but it’s a cover. I love the place, it’s become a passion of mine. One day, I might even own one for myself, more a restaurant than a bar and grill, I think. I like to cook, I’m good at it.” He paused, his hand tightened into a fist. “No time soon, though, I doubt.”

“Are you really a book enthusiast, or were you just pretending?”

“I love books. I loved Ariston’s. I hope, when all of this is over, you’ll be able to keep the store open. It would be such a shame to see it go away. I know your father wouldn’t want to lose it.”

She swallowed, hard, fighting back tears. “I don’t know what I’ll do. My dad was the one with the grand passion.”

Alex leaned across the table. “There’s more, Sophie. I was also tasked with protecting you, should something happen to him. That’s what I’m doing. If anything, be glad I removed you from the FBI’s scrutiny.”

She looked at her hands clasped together in her lap. “I still don’t understand why you had to drug me and kidnap me. Would it have been so difficult to simply tell me the truth?”

“Please forgive the attack, the needle. I felt it best to eliminate your options last night. I needed you safe on the plane before I went to the Brit’s house to get the SD card before the whole world found out about the Order.”

She stared at him, slowly nodded. “I’ll forgive you if you tell me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“This weapon that could destroy the world in the wrong hands. What is it, exactly?”

“It’s better, safer, I think, that you don’t know. If—when—this all works out, then I’ll tell you. Then you can decide if you wish to continue with your father’s work or continue in your current career as a translator. Okay? Will you accept that?”

When she didn’t answer, he reached out his hand to her. “Trust me.”

“No,” she said, ignored his hand, and looked out the small window to see London below. “You said you’re afraid they’re trying to get their hands on Adam. Who is ‘they’?”

“It’s a he. The man’s name is Manfred Havelock, the son of the Order member who died last month.”

“Or was murdered, you think. By his own son?”

“I don’t know, but given who Havelock is, I wouldn’t doubt it. Tell me how you were supposed to contact Adam.”

She reached into her pocket for her phone. It wasn’t there.

“He was going to call me. I suppose you left my phone behind in New York?”

“Yes, but I spoofed it first before I kicked it under a car in the UN garage. I was hoping he was going to call.” He handed her a new phone, similar to hers. “This one’s clean, a burner. When he does call, it will scramble the signal, moving from your number through multiple servers to this one. It’s the most secure way I could come up with on short notice.”

“And the FBI won’t be able to track it?”

“They might, but we’re far enough ahead of them it won’t matter. We’re about to land.”

47

Nicholas’s brownstone

5:00 a.m.

He had strange dreams of being locked away in a tiny cage, being dive-bombed by killer bumblebees. How ironic—death by bumblebee. He flicked a hand to make them go away, but they flew closer, and they were loud, right in his face now—the bumblebees morphed into his phone, vibrating on the table next to him.

He fumbled for his mobile, saw the time—5:05 a.m.—and who was calling. Zachery. That brought him instantly awake. This wasn’t good news. Mike hadn’t stirred, still asleep on her back on the couch, an arm thrown over her eyes.

He shook his head to clear out the last two bumblebees as he answered. “Sir?”

“Drummond, I need you here immediately. You and Agent Caine. You’re being reinstated right now.”

He jerked to attention. “Reinstated?”

“Yes. Now, get your butt in here, double time. We have a big problem.”

“Sir, what’s happened?”

Zachery sighed into the phone. “Sophie Pearce has been kidnapped, right out of the private garage at the UN last night.”

Nicholas was on his feet. “But she was under our surveillance, wasn’t she?”

“Digitally, yes. There was nothing amiss with her phone. We found it in the UN garage. Get in here, and I’ll brief you. I don’t suppose Agent Caine is with you?”

Yes, but it’s not what you think. “She’s asleep on the couch. After our visitor last night, I thought it best she stay here where I could keep an eye on her. I’ll wake her.”

“Hurry, Nicholas, they’re hours ahead of us.”

He hung up, and Nicholas slipped his mobile in his pocket.

“Mike, wake up.” She rolled and stretched, then opened her eyes. The look on his face brought her upright fast. “What’s wrong?”

“Sophie’s been taken.”

“How? We were watching her, weren’t we?”

“Clearly not closely enough. How’s your jaw?”

“I’m good,” she said and stood, looking for her Glock.

He said, “It’s on the table. You looked uncomfortable, so I took it off you.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks. Tell me you didn’t keep working all night?”

“No, no, I slept a few hours.”

She clipped the Glock to her waistband. “What color am I this morning?”

“Your bruise has faded to a nice lavender, probably quite fetching with the right accessories.”

“Yeah, yeah, make me laugh. What are we supposed to do about this?”

“It appears I’ve been reinstated. Zachery wants us downtown, fast.”

Mike’s blood stirred, she felt energized, as did Nicholas, she thought, as they hurried down the stairs, past the landing where the NYPD had decided Grossman had entered the house. Through the windows, Nicholas could see it was still dark out, the sky an inky black edged in silver, the darkest hour before the dawn.

“Hold on a moment. I need to check on Nigel.”

His worry was unfounded. He found Nigel sitting in an armchair in his living room, reading a book.

Nicholas said, “Needed a wee bit of edification this morning, did you?”

Nigel closed the book and started to his feet. Nicholas gestured for him to stay put. He looked fine, just tired.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes. I couldn’t sleep. Shall I make your breakfast?”

“We’ve been called in. You, stay put and rest. Orders. Understand?”

Nigel saluted smartly, smiled after Nicholas as he ran down the stairs to the foyer, where Mike was waiting, listening to a message on her cell phone. They went out the front door and onto the street.

He said, “I’ll drive, where are the keys?”

Soon he was headed south, through the darkened streets of Manhattan, as Mike listened to her voice mail. She said, “Ben left me a message. He found Adam Pearce on the crime scene video from Wall Street yesterday morning, and again from videocams, at the shoot-out at his girlfriend’s apartment.” She shook her head. “To know both his father and his girlfriend were murdered and not be able to do anything about it—that had to be very hard.”

Nicholas drove around a slow-moving cab trolling for an early-morning fare. “It feels like someone—Havelock, maybe—is systematically driving this kid toward a specific goal, and that’s gotta be this key, which, in turn, leads to some sort of fantastic weapon. He has some seriously bad people sending him hard messages.”

“And now they’ve got his sister, for leverage. I hope we find Sophie with him, and they’re both safe. That’s wishful thinking, isn’t it?”