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How did a parent always know? “Dad, what is your role in the Highest Order?”
“You know this isn’t a conversation to be had over the phone.”
“I need to know. Please, don’t put me off. Tell me.”
“All right. Alfie named me to replace him. It was in his will, a private one, meant for me and the other members of the Order. And I’ve accepted. We’ve lost so many people, and several more are corrupt. I will see to it they are rousted, and the Order’s ranks are filled with men and women who want the best for their countries, who won’t pervert the power given them by wealth and privilege and society.”
“In that case, Dad, I have something for you, something I know the Order didn’t ever want found because no person or government should ever have this sort of power.”
Harry sucked in a breath. “I will send someone for it immediately. As far as the world is concerned, no one will ever know it even existed. Now that you’ve destroyed Havelock, the Order can refocus. Do what’s right for the world. When it’s time, Nicholas, I trust I’ll be able to count on you to do the same.”
“Me?”
“It is a hereditary organization, when possible. Alfie’s eldest grandson will be stepping in when he’s finished his tour of duty. When it is my turn to leave the group, you will take my place.”
Him, part of the Highest Order? “But I have no influence.”
Harry Drummond laughed. “You have more than you know, Nicholas. More than you know.”
EPILOGUE
Two weeks later
New York
Alex Shepherd’s shoulder still pulled and ached. It would be another two weeks, the surgeon told him, before he could consider lifting even a three-pound weight. But he was here, at last, in New York, resigned from MI5, and now exactly where he wanted to be, in Sophie Pearce’s living room. Today was the reading of her father’s will and she wanted him there.
She appeared in the doorway, standing straight once more, her back mostly healed now. She looked absolutely beautiful, her dark hair loose around her face, and she wore not a black dress, but a soft yellow, her father’s favorite color. Alex walked to her, lightly took her arms in his hands, and told her the news. “The Order has asked me to replace your father as the Messenger. I accepted the offer and resigned from MI Five. My cover remains the same. A full-time barkeep and restaurant owner. What do you think?”
She cocked her head to one side and considered. “I think you need a new chef. I really didn’t like my spaghetti the last time I ate there.” And she leaned up and kissed him, whispered in his ear, “Yes, oh, yes, it’s perfect. Dad would have been so pleased.”
They stood awkwardly facing each other, since he was afraid to put his arms around her still-tender back and she was afraid to hug him because of his shoulder. He kissed her again, and sighed. “Actually, it was Agent Drummond’s father, Harry, now the head of the Order, who asked me to continue in your father’s place. Isn’t it a small world?”
“If his father hasn’t already told him, you can tell Nicholas today at the reading. I asked both him and Mike Caine to be there. It seemed only right since they—”
“Yes, since they went through everything with us.”
As they walked out of Sophie’s building into an incredible June day, Sophie saw the forty-two-point headline of the New York Post: Treasure in the Tu
“Another true story,” Alex said, and they simply shook their heads. Both knew the media would continue having a field day for months to come. The layer of tu
Once in a taxi, Sophie said, “How I wish Adam could be with us. They’re doing a video feed from the prison.”
Alex took her hand, rubbed his fingers over her knuckles. “Last time I spoke to Drummond, he said the prosecutor was recommending only six months.” He gri
Sophie laughed. “And then when he comes out of the slammer, he works for the Man. He’ll still be only nineteen when he gets out.”
The taxi pulled up five minutes late to the Elcott Building on Seventy-first Street. The building was old, but the plumbing and wiring had been updated and it was an excellent address. The sixteenth floor was a modern oasis with beautiful high ceilings and molding painted in soft cream. They were shown into a large conference room, a long glass table ru
Sophie accepted a cup of coffee, went to the windows, stared out over Central Park, a stu
Alex said, “All three of us will go.”
They turned from the window when Nicholas Drummond and Mike Caine arrived, both looking vital, in charge of their world, a handsome couple. No, not couple, Sophie thought, they were partners, FBI agents. Still—Sophie hadn’t seen them since they’d returned to the States, on the prime minister of England’s jet, Alex had told her, and how had they managed that?
Mike joined Sophie at the window. “I won’t hug you, not yet. How are you, Sophie?”
“I’m good,” she said, then sighed. “It’s a difficult day. But Alex is here and you’re here and we’ll soon see Adam on video.”
Mike touched her on the shoulder. “I know I’ve said this probably half a dozen times before, Sophie, but what you went through, it was tough, but you did it, saved all of us from Havelock.”
“The nightmares,” Sophie said, never looking away from the view, “the nightmares hurt more than my back ever did.” She raised her hand. There was a small scar where the drop of muriatic acid had touched her skin. “I didn’t really believe what I’d read about muriatic acid, but it was true. His face melted off his bones. I see his face in my dreams, hear his screams.”
Mike was silent a moment. “As you know, Nicholas and I spent only the one night in Paris. I woke up to hear his yells from the other room. He was dreaming about that fight with März in Loch Eriboll. He never told me exactly what happened, but I know it was bad, and it was close.” Mike smiled. “The nightmares will go away, Sophie. What’s important is you’re the one who saved us all. You’re the heroine. That’s what I told Nicholas as well—you won, he won, we all won.”
Sophie drew a deep breath. Mike was right. It was over, they’d won. But she didn’t mention that her other nightmare was when she believed Alex Shepherd was dead. Nor did she mention the raw ache in her chest whenever she thought of her father.
An assistant came in to set up the video feed with Adam, followed by Jonathan Pearce’s longtime friend and lawyer, Franklin Jones.
“He looks happy,” Sophie said, when Adam came on.
He was going to serve six months in a minimum-security prison, fixing the prison’s computer system, and, he’d told her, the warden wasn’t a bad guy at all. And when he came out he was going to be a part-time consultant for the FBI while he finished college, and then what? Who knew?
Franklin Jones cleared his throat, nodded to Adam. “Jonathan’s will is straightforward. All his property is split evenly between his two children, you and Adam. Sophie, you are the executrix. You are responsible for his far-reaching financial holdings, he always wanted you to keep Ariston’s alive.” He paused a moment, looked over at her. “Do you plan to do this, keep Ariston’s thriving?”