The Sixth Day

by Catherine Coulter

  Emperor—eagle or vulture

  King—gyrfalcon

  Prince—peregrine falcon

  Duke—Falcon of the Rock (another name for peregrine)

  Knight—saker or sakeret

  Squire—lanner or lanneret

  Lady—merlin

  Young man—hobby

  Yeoman—goshawk

  Priest—sparrow hawk

  Holy water clerk—musket

  Knave/servant—kestrel

  —THE FALCONRY CENTRE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  MI5 Headquarters, Home Office

  Thames House

  12 Millbank

  Westminster, London

  Identification, please.”

  Mike handed over her FBI creds to a security officer who looked bored to her, but then she saw his eyes roving between her and Nicholas and decided no, maybe not so bored after all. She had to admit, going into the vaunted Home Office was a bit of a thrill. The security was similar to theirs at home—tight, biometric, and impenetrable—but to an American ear, there was something special about hearing the British accents.

  She discovered she liked London quite a bit, almost as much as New York. No, that was going too far.

  They were issued badges, and a young man with glasses similar to Mike’s stepped from behind a column.

  Nicholas saw him, smiled, and stuck out his hand. “Ian. Good to see you. Mike, this is Ian Sansom, my father’s right hand. He plays cricket, but don’t hold it against him.”

  “You’re mad I beat you the last time we faced off. You still owe me a pint. Mike, it’s good to meet you. Harry has said nothing but good things about you. Did I hear correctly, you shot down a drone with a Glock?”

  “Lucky shot.”

  “Bollocks,” Nicholas said and punched her arm.

  “I agree,” Ian said, “I hardly think that’s the case. Now, please follow me. Harry is waiting.”

  Harry Drummond’s office was on the fifth floor. When they got out of the elevator, Mike stopped. She saw beautiful dark woods and marble-topped tables in the hallway, all heavy, imposing, and older than the White House.

  People were everywhere, many of them agents, she supposed, but it was strangely silent. The air was charged. Everyone knew something was up, but with typical British restraint, no one was talking openly. It was eerie, seeing a whole floor of agents go silent like that.

  She wasn’t surprised to see Harry’s office was as elegant and understated as the man himself. A massive mahogany Victorian desk, the surface clean except for a leather desk pad and laptop and a discreet banker’s lamp dominated the room. A heavy mahogany credenza behind the desk held photos of Nicholas as a boy, Mitzie as a young woman, and a current shot of the whole Drummond family. And, inexplicably, on the wall, beside the flag of the United Kingdom, a large stuffed trout. She wanted to laugh, but everyone was speaking in low, worried voices. She planned to ask Nicholas later if the stuffed trout was a humorous homage to the castle ghost of Old Farrow Hall, a gentleman she had yet to encounter—the infamous Captain Flounder.

  Harry immediately rose and came forward. “Good morning to you. Do come in, make yourselves at home. You haven’t been in my office for years, have you, Nicholas? Ian, can you bring a tea and two coffees, please?”

  Ian nodded and slipped quietly away, closing the door behind him. When they were alone, Harry slid a note across the desk to Nicholas and Mike. The words made her heart kick up like a mule.

  Found two listening devices in the office. Have swept for more but not sure we’ve found them all. Very sophisticated, very well-placed. Have informed the home secretary. Authorized to use whatever means necessary to rout the suspect.

  When they nodded, Harry put a lighter to it and dropped it in a large brass ashtray. As the acrid smoke curled into the room, he said, voice jovial, “I’d love to show you around the place, Mike. Let’s take a tour.”

  Five minutes later, the three of them were walking up Page Street to St. John’s Gardens. No rain this morning; sun streaked through the green trees onto the paths filled with people bustling about.

  Harry led them to a quiet bench under a birch tree, and they settled themselves. Nicholas saw his father looked haggard in the strong morning sunlight. He looked older. It scared him. His father had always been a rock, impervious to upset or stress, full of strength. This morning, he looked every one of his sixty-two years.

  Nicholas said quietly, “What else have you found?”

  “Outside of the listening devices? Sophisticated buggers, those. They aren’t putting off the normal signatures. I only found them because I started taking apart my office the moment I arrived this morning. We sweep for bugs daily anyway, and they passed a standard sweep, which isn’t very standard. The whole building’s being swept now, and your Adam is set up inside our server mainframes, looking for anomalies. Without a doubt, someone inside has infiltrated us, and now we must discover who it is.”

  Mike asked, “What do you think his end goal is?”

  Harry looked off across the park. “I have no earthly idea. But they want something.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Roman Ardelean is due shortly. Let’s talk to him, see what he can tell us. Radulov Industries has moved quickly to issue patches to the software affected by all the security breaches this past week. Getting past a Radulov firewall takes some talent. To me, this feels like a well-funded, state-sponsored assault. It’s the cyberattack I’ve been fearing, the real deal, not a couple of Russian hackers in a basement in Moscow.

  “Now, we’ve taken apart Chapman Donovan’s life, and I’m sad to say, he was talking to Heinrich Hemmler about a transfer of money. We don’t yet know what it was for, but it certainly reinforces the notion he was up to no good, and someone needed to get both men out of the way. Are the two situations tied together? I don’t know yet, but I’m willing to bet they are.”

  Nicholas said, “So the two were working together and double-crossed a partner, so he had them killed?”

  Harry shrugged, then sat forward, his hand on Nicholas’s arm. “All possible. What really scares me is that you’ve been targeted as well, Nicholas, both you and Michaela. I know you don’t have any ties to Hemmler or Donovan. So why you?”

  Nicholas said, “We hit on something, clearly.”

  “Still nothing useful on the drone, outside of the weapons used. The consensus is you and Michaela are very lucky to be alive.” He rose. “We’re going in circles. Let’s get back. I want to see what Ardelean has to say.”

  The sirens were sudden and close. Mike looked at Nicholas, who had shielded his eyes and was looking back toward the Thames.

  She saw Harry’s assistant running toward them, his jacket flapping.

  Nicholas said, “This doesn’t look good.”

  Ian skidded to a halt, panting. “Sir, please come at once. There’s been another attack.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  FBI Headquarters

  26 Federal Plaza

  22nd Floor, Home of Covert Eyes

  New York City

  New York SAC Milo Zachery was in the office early, enjoying the relative quiet after supervising a “knock,” FBI talk for serving a predawn search warrant on a suspect. The knock had gone well, and he wasn’t needed, so he poured a cup of coffee and was reading the morning briefs when his secretary, Gladys, knocked on the door. “Special delivery for you, sir. From Agent Drummond and Agent Caine.”

  “What’s this all about?” He took the envelope. “An overnight from London? He better not invoice this, do you have any idea how much it cost?”

  The overnight envelope was thin. Zachery ripped it open. Out fell a thick, creamy envelope with Zachery’s name on the front in elegant script. Inside was a three-page handwritten letter.

  Sir,

  We apologize for the subterfuge, but we had no other way to warn you. Our communications have been compromised. Agent Caine and I were attacked yesterday on the way to London to look into the dro
ne murders. Ironically, we were attacked by a drone, which Agent Caine shot down. With a Glock.

  There was no way for anyone to know we were working the drone murders unless they were listening to or watching our communication with Agent Savich. We believe the Home Office has also been compromised.

  We can only assume your communications are compromised, too. I put Adam on a plane to London last night. Tomorow, he and I will try to discover the depth of the breach at MI5 and who is responsible. On your end, I suggest Gray do a full intrusion protocol on every system we utilize. And yes, I know how much overtime that will cost.

  Agent Caine asks me to remind you that Savich is probably in the same boat. We leave it to you as to how you wish to communicate with the CAU going forward—a similar letter has been sent to him as well. You must assume all phones and servers are being monitored. If listening devices are in place, I’d be surprised, but right now, we aren’t ruling out anything. I’d suggest taking a walk—without your phone—with Gray to initiate the protocols necessary to keep us all safe. Any software updates from the past six months need to be checked thoroughly. Anything that resembles the code for the WannaCry malware attack is suspect.

  I’m afraid we’re going to have to communicate the old-fashioned way for the time being until we get a handle on how we’ve been infiltrated, and how deep the breach goes. NO COMPUTERS. We will report in daily by cable or letter, and you can send your replies to Drummond House in Westminster. Oh, yes, Ben is working with us. I trust you can assemble the rest of Covert Eyes and fill them in on the situation. And yes, we will do our best to stay alive and out of trouble.

  Drummond & Caine

  Zachery read the letter once more, then hurried to Gray Wharton’s cubicle one floor below.

  Zachery wasn’t surprised to see Gray rumpled, his suit coat hanging half off the back of his chair, a granola power bar in his hand. Coffee cups littered his desk, and four computer screens were lined up in a curved array, each with a different program running.

  “The breakfast of champions doesn’t come in a wrapping, you know. If you don’t start eating real food, I’ll be forced to hire you a chef. Now, Gray, according to Drummond, we have a problem.” He handed Gray the letter. He read it quickly, whistled.

  “Seems the problem isn’t only with Drummond.” He stood up and grabbed his jacket. “Shall we take a walk, sir?”

  Five minutes later, Zachery and Gray were out the front doors and onto Worth Street. Zachery saw a line forty people deep already winding around the side of the building, most waiting to get into the passport office or apply for citizenship. It might look like a security nightmare, but, in truth, this building was probably the safest place in all of New York City.

  Still unspeaking, they took a right on Lafayette and then veered into Thomas Paine Park. Zachery could see the morning traffic was nose to tail, heard honking and swearing, a typical New York rush hour under way. It made him smile. He loved this city, loved it to his bones.

  They took a bench that faced back toward Federal Plaza, and Zachery found himself wondering if Drummond and Mike, like he and Gray, were utilizing parks for their conversations.

  Gray asked, “What have Nicholas and Mike gotten into? Someone tried to kill them with a drone attack?”

  “Apparently so. I would have liked to see Agent Caine shoot a drone out of the sky. But first things first. We have to take them at their word we’re compromised, too. How can we get secure communications with Washington, and with Drummond?”

  “Letters, cables, dedicated encrypted sat phones. It’s a six-hour flight between here and London—Clancy and Trident can make it in five, so if we’re desperate, we can use them, too.”

  “Flying messages across the Atlantic? I’d love to hear the director’s thoughts on that manner of transmission.”

  “Only until we figure out what’s happening. Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. It’s the safest, most secure method. You know the terrorists move all their high-level information by hand. They aren’t crazy enough to do it electronically anymore. And now we’re in the same boat.”

  “I know that, Gray.”

  “Sir, how anyone could have gotten into our systems is a mystery to me. We are fortified on all levels, and I would think an intrusion would have already shown up in the code. Does Nicholas have any idea who’s behind it?”

  “You read the letter—he says he doesn’t, but you know Drummond, he probably already has four suspects in mind. And he’s hours ahead of us. He’s known this since last night. I would like to touch base with him immediately if you can figure out a way to do so securely.”

  “We should coordinate with Savich and the CAU in D.C. right away. Though I’m not sure the best way to do it. We can simply buy disposable phones on our end, but how will they know to do it themselves?”

  “Burner phones—” He broke off, looked across the park. “Is that Agent Scott?”

  Sure enough, Agent Lia Scott was running across the street with a package in her hand, obviously looking for them. When she saw them, she put on a burst of speed. Gray couldn’t help but admire her latest outfit—conservative blue pantsuit, black low-heeled boots, and, underneath the tailored blue jacket, a Def Leppard concert T-shirt from their Pyromania tour. She never wore a nose ring at work, but her left ear glinted with hardware.

  Even before she stopped, she said, “Sir, a package came a few minutes ago from Agent Savich in D.C. It says emergency on it. I saw you and Gray leave together, so I decided to try to catch you.”

  Zachery took the envelope. “Thank you, Lia. Stay put, we need to get you up to speed.” As he ripped opened the envelope, he said, “In short, we have a comms breach.”

  He laughed when he looked inside. It was a burner cell phone and a note with a phone number on it.

  He dialed the number.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Criminal Apprehension Unit, CAU

  Hoover Building

  Washington, D.C.

  Special Agent Dillon Savich drummed his fingers on the desk, looking out into the empty bullpen. It was early, and only Ruth, yawning, was at her desk, coffee and briefcase in hand.

  He’d come into the office to clear out some paperwork. And there had been Nicholas’s letter waiting for him at the front desk. He’d ripped it open in the elevator, read it, and then turned right back around, went to the nearest 7-Eleven, grabbed a set of burner phones, and walked straight to the courier office on 14th Street. It was 5:00 a.m., and the courier could be in New York by seven thirty, for a price, of course. They were used to doing cross-city runs, but the kid who was there was more than willing to go to New York for the morning. He was at the train station fifteen minutes later, Amtrak chugging him up to the city.

  Savich checked his Mickey Mouse watch again. Almost 8:00 a.m. “Come on, come on.”

  The burner cell phone on his desk buzzed. He snatched it up.

  “Took you long enough.”

  Zachery said, “Are you inside? If so, get outside and call me back.”

  “Give me a minute.” Savich punched off, ran down the stairs and onto the street. He ran south and stopped two blocks from the National Mall, probably the safest place to talk, considering all the joggers and tourists. It would confuse the signals if anyone had already figured them out.

  He found a quiet bench and called back the previous number.

  Zachery sounded almost cheerful. “Glad you anticipated we’d need to have a chat this morning. Made our lives much easier. You’re outside, on the off chance the communications breach includes an audio component?”

  “Yes, even though Nicholas thinks it’s a stretch, but who knows?”

  Zachery said, “Anything’s possible, but burners, outside? We should be okay. The offices, not so much, and email, certainly not.”

  “Are you going to send Covert Eyes to London?”

  “Drummond already has Mike, Ben, and Adam, more than enough boots on the ground, I think, especially if we don’t want them
to know we know we’re onto them. Whoever them is.”

  Savich said, “Hopefully, he’ll know more after a meeting at the Home Office this morning with the head of Radulov, Roman Ardelean himself. They’ll be checking MATRIX together. Let’s speak again at ten a.m. Drummond’s meeting should be done by then, so he’ll have some new information for us.”

  “Copy that. Gray and Lia are going to start running diagnostics here, see what we can find. If anything. Hopefully this is a false alarm on our end and it’s only the Brits who are compromised.”

  “I’ll begin a sweep on my end as well. I trust there’s serious discussion at the White House about the wisdom of the president traveling to England at the end of the week, given the assassination of the vice chancellor of Germany.”

  “You know he’ll dismiss it, claim he won’t be cowed by terrorists.”

  Savich sighed. “You’re probably right. We’ll speak again at ten.” Savich punched off, went back to the office, and opened MAX. He didn’t know exactly what to look for, so he plugged in every parameter he could think of so MAX could search through all the communication systems for the Bureau and pick out anomalies.

  An internal warning banner came across MAX’s screen.

  “Are you right, Nicholas?” Savich switched to the BBC website just in time to see the panicked face of the anchor wrapping the segment. He turned up the volume.

  “We will certainly have more on this shocking attack soon, but for those just joining us, the BBC is reporting that Defense Secretary Sir Terry Alexander has been pronounced dead at the scene.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The Ministry of Defence (MoD or MOD) is the British government department responsible for implementing the defence policy set by Her Majesty’s government and is the headquarters of the British Armed Forces.

  —Wikipedia

  MI5 Headquarters, Home Office

  Thames House

  12 Millbank

  Westminster, London

  Ian filled them in as they rushed back to the Home Office. “Sir Terry Alexander was heading into an early lunch at Marianne in Notting Hill. The car dropped him off, and according to witnesses, he stopped to take a call, then stumbled, went down on the curb.”