The Lost Key (20 page)

Over the Atlantic

The sun hit Sophie's face. But that couldn't be right. Then she heard an odd, low background purr and was suddenly jostled a bit.

A plane. She was on a plane. She had an ache in her neck, and felt the slightest bit hungover. Grossman had stuck a needle in her.

She whipped around to see Alex Grossman sleeping on the seats opposite her, a small table in between them.

All she wanted to do was kill him, but he must have cat senses, because as she threw off her seat belt to attack him, his eyes flew open and he caught her arms midair.

He couldn't push her back into her seat because the table was in the way. He held her locked motionless for a moment, looking at her, just looking. “Don't be afraid, Sophie, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm trying to protect you.”

“Yeah, right. Protect me? By kidnapping me?” She jerked her arms free and punched him in the face, but he caught her wrists this time, wouldn't let her move. They were still leaning toward each other, close, the table between them.

“Good shot.”

“Give me a gun and I'll show you a good shot.”

“Sit down now and we'll talk. I'll tell you everything, okay?”

What choice did she have? She nodded and he lightly shoved her back into her chair. The plane hit another pocket of turbulence. “Put on your seat belt.”

She did, then watched him fasten his. “Where are you taking me? Where is this plane going?”

He glanced at the flight path on the screen in the table. “To London. We're about an hour from the London City Airport. After we land, we're headed north, to a safe house, where you'll be protected by the Order until we get our hands on the key and the book.”

“Don't forget the millions of dollars in gold bars. And after Adam tells you the exact location of the sub, I'll be free to go?”

“Of course.”

“Where is Adam?”
You bastard
was unspoken but clear.

Grossman frowned a bit, stroked his chin. “I was hoping you knew. He called you last night, gave you instructions to run. Where were you heading, when I met you in the garage?”

“France.”

“Well, no matter, now you're in England. Your disguise was top-notch, your passport as well. I was impressed. Adam does good work. He was going to meet you in France?”

“That's none of your business. Who are you, really?”

“I work for the Order, it's the truth.”

“That book I wrapped for you this morning, there was something inside, wasn't there?”

“The SD card with the exact location of the sub, among other things. Your father was supposed to have it waiting for me.”

“What do you mean? It wasn't in the book? Then where is it?”

“That big son of a bitch British FBI agent took it from your father's apartment before he had a chance to put it in the book. I
took the liberty of getting the files back. They do belong to us, after all.” He pulled Dr. Who's Tardis thumb drive out of his pocket and waved it, nodded toward the laptop on the chair beside him.

“Where did that ridiculous Tardis come from?”

“Drummond had already uploaded all the information from the SD card onto this nifty thumb drive, easier to deal with.”

“Did Agent Drummond see your face?”

“Yes. There was the FBI woman as well, a good dirty fighter, but not good enough.”

Sophie lowered her head in her hands. “Great. The FBI had me under surveillance, and you stole the info from them. You know they're going to come after us. How did you get me out of the garage without their seeing us?”

“In a diplomatic car, you were tucked nice and snug in the trunk. As for the FBI, we're in England now. They won't come here. You'll be safe. Sophie, please, I'm telling you the truth.”

“Your American accent slipped. You're British, aren't you?”

“Yes. I'm from Cambridge originally, but my folks moved to London when I was a boy.”

“All right, keep talking.”

He sat forward, his hands clasped together on the small table. “Your father was the Messenger for the Order for years, as you well know. He was responsible for moving delicate information around to the members. However, as of yesterday, everything's changed. Three members of the Order are suddenly dead, and our channels were compromised beyond repair. Here's the bottom line. It's up to us now. You and me, and Adam. You know what's in the missing sub, don't you?”

“Gold, a key, Marie Curie's books, instructions, I heard Dad say.”

“The key is to a very powerful weapon, a weapon we can't allow out into the world. No government can be trusted with it.” He thought of Manfred Havelock. “Nor any single individual. We must find the key and the book and destroy them.”

How could a weapon created by Marie Curie a hundred years ago be of any use today? Radium, yes, she and her husband had discovered both radium and something else—polonium. But what good would either do today? But she didn't ask. She saw Grossman was still looking at her, studying her face. Did she believe him?

“You've known me for a couple of years, Sophie. You know your father trusted me. And now that he's dead, my only purpose is to keep you and Adam safe and to protect the Order and what we stand for.”

When she remained silent, he pushed a can of orange juice her way. She cracked it and took a big sip.

“The drug I gave you, it makes you thirsty, so drink up.”

She finished the can. She pushed her hair back, realized he'd taken her wig. “You said three people in the Order died? Who besides my father?”

“Wolfgang Havelock—he had a stroke last month. On the surface, it looked like natural causes; he'd had an aneurysm clipped the year before, but after what's happened today, I've changed my mind. This morning, about the same time your father was killed on Wall Street, Alfie Stanford, the leader of the Order, was murdered as well, here in London, and the contents of his safe, with all our fail-safes and the other SD card, were taken.”

Alfie Stanford dead? She hadn't heard. It didn't seem possible. Both Stanford and her father. They'd been close friends since before she'd been born. “That's crazy, it sounds like a B movie.”

Alex leaned back in the chair, his eyes on her face. “B or C, doesn't
matter. The fact is, the Order is under attack. It's Edward Weston who is now the acting leader. Do I trust him? He has been a member for over thirty years, so yes, I suppose I do. But our files have been compromised, both by Mr. Stanford's murderer and by the FBI. Sophie, I'm afraid, for the Order, for the future of mankind.”

Did she believe him? “Who
are
you?”

He crossed his arms on his chest. “Alexander Shepherd, at your service.”

“So you're like a super-secret double agent or something?”

He smiled, and his face changed utterly. He no longer looked terrifyingly brutal, not with that white-toothed smile. He was wearing a gray jacket over a white button-down and jeans. She'd never noticed him dress like that before. She'd always seen him in casual gear, chef's gear, perfect for running his restaurant.

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.”

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?”

He nodded.

She said, “It strikes me we missed something at Allie's apartment. Neither of the Germans had the files on them. So who took it?”

“Adam. Clearly.”

“Maybe that's why he was on the video. He was at Allie McGee's apartment to get the files, but he was obviously followed. They probably also followed him to Ariston's yesterday morning too, wanting to get their hands on the SD card.”

“Sounds good to me.” He pulled around a garbage truck, got the finger from a driver.

“We need to get eyes on this Havelock character. Let's be sure to call Menard after we're briefed on Sophie.” She punched his arm. “Hey, no SIRT for you.”

“Unless there's some rule I don't know about,” he said as he turned into the garage under Federal Plaza.

When the doors opened on the twenty-third floor, Mike slapped her access card against the reader and the door unlocked. They went straight into the senior staff hallway.

The offices were already a hive of activity, people hustling about, hurrying down the halls. It was not an atypical scene. The New York Field Office routinely did 5:00 a.m. “knocks,” serving warrants to criminals. These knocks were witnessed by the team in a control room, with multiple wide screens on the walls. Almost as good as being there themselves.

But there wasn't a knock this morning, and the people who were here had only one thing on their minds: finding and saving Sophie Pearce.

When they came into Zachery's office, he rose to stand behind his desk. “Come, come.” Zachery looked utterly whacked, Nicholas thought, his eyes bloodshot, his fine suit on the bitter edge. At least he'd been able to put on a fresh white shirt and shave.

Zachery said, “You made good time. Follow me.”

He led them to the control room one floor down, where Ben, Gray Wharton, and Louisa Barry were already assembled.

The wall of screens was up and running as well. Mike took one look and said, “That's the front of the United Nations. They took her from the UN? It's one of the most protected spots in New York.”

“Watch the tape,” Zachery said.

Gray Wharton looked even worse than Zachery, clothes wrinkled, his salt-and-pepper hair sticking straight up, bags under his eyes. “Here we go,” he said and queued up the scene for them. He hit play and the feeds began to roll.

Zachery said, “So the United Nations security people knew Sophie's father had been killed. She came in yesterday afternoon—after you interrogated her—and stayed until after eight-thirty p.m. They saw her leave. Gray?”

Gray moved the tape forward a few minutes, and Sophie Pearce walked down the grand glass stairs in the UN's front lobby.

“So far, so good,” Zachery said. “But when the security team recycled the feed for the day, one of them spotted Sophie again. She hadn't left after all; she'd just ducked into a doorway. One that leads down to a private garage below the building.”

The view on the wall changed.

They were now inside a well-lit parking garage. The view was of the door to the space. A woman with black bobbed hair and dark sunglasses stepped out of the door.

Mike leaned closed. “Freeze that, and blow it up. Are you sure it's Sophie? It doesn't look anything like her.”

Gray said, “Watch.” He hit a few buttons and another screen popped up with a picture of Sophie Pearce on one side, and the half-silhouette from the garage on the other. “I ran facial recognition on the feeds as soon as we got them. It's her, all right.” He hit the button, and the parameters started to align. Mike watched the red triangles layer over both faces until they flashed green. He was right, this was Sophie Pearce.

“And who's our friend there?” Nicholas asked, pointing toward the main screen where a man wearing a baseball cap was leaning against a car, slightly out of view of the camera.

Gray said, “He stays out of the frames, but I caught a jawline profile, and it was enough to make a match in the system. The guy in the garage is the same one who visited Ariston's yesterday.”

Gray pressed another button, and a different series of pictures flashed up onto the screen. Mike was shocked when the photos aligned.

The man they showed wasn't wearing a hat. He had a closely shaved head, and stared out at them, ready, focused, eyes on Sophie Pearce.

She said, “Alex Grossman. He's the son of a bitch who broke into Nicholas's place last night and clocked me on the jaw.”

Nicholas said, “He took Sophie first, then came to my house. Show us the rest, Gray.”

They watched the short fight, the needle in the neck, Grossman laying her in the trunk of a diplomatic car.

Nicholas said, “Very fast, very smooth. What's his involvement here? Is Grossman his real name?”

Gray shook his head, a small frown playing on his lips. “Not according to Interpol. It took some back-end work, but I identified him. Grossman is an alias. His real name is Alexander Shepherd. And he works for MI Five. British intelligence,” he added. “He's been on special assignment for the past three years, reporting directly to the Exchequer, Alfie Stanford.”

Nicholas started laughing, shaking his head and laughing. He said, “You mean to tell me the bastard's on our side?”