The Sixth Day

by Catherine Coulter

  “I haven’t, but we can look deeper, ask around. Perhaps Barstow knows. He stopped by yesterday, seemed like he wanted to talk, but that didn’t happen. I’ll call him after this meeting.”

  Mike sat forward. “This isn’t only about drones. Paulina Vittorini had a warehouse of weaponry, enough to arm a small country. Someone’s created their own private army.”

  Harry said, “All right, all right, say this is a black-ops program. Who were they planning to attack?”

  Nicholas’s phone rang. “A moment, Father. It’s Adam. Adam? You’re on speaker. What’s up?”

  “I’ve found another link between the victims. You aren’t going to like it.”

  Mike called out, “Come on, Adam, we can take it. I hope.”

  “Okay. Not surprisingly, all of the computers use MATRIX. But they all also have an encrypted email system with its own private VPN, housed in a separate portion of their hard drive, where MATRIX can’t access. The four victims were communicating in a completely secret, bespoke private system. It’s built on a new computer language.”

  “Ardelean’s, I presume?”

  “Yes. It’s not exactly the same, some parts have newer language, but his markers are there, those same numbers as the base code, four-zero-eight. That’s not all—the victims were all talking to the same person. Lord Barstow.”

  Harry felt a punch of adrenaline. “Go on, Adam.”

  “It looks like they were funding him. Barstow is the one who is behind building this army.”

  Harry closed his eyes against the enormity of it. “Oh, Corry, what have you done?”

  Nicholas said, “Adam, was the bespoke email for this group designed specifically by Ardelean? As in he was hired to find them a secure way to communicate?”

  “I’d say so, yes. It makes the most sense.”

  Harry said, “So he may know more about this than he claims. Good work, Adam. We need to get Ardelean back into the office and have another chat. I certainly hope he was only hired to build a secure communications system for this team of renegades, and nothing more.”

  A voice came from the corridor. “There won’t be any need. I’ll be happy to explain what’s happening.”

  The man Nicholas knew as his father’s friend and his counterpart at MI6—Corinthian Jones, Lord Barstow—stood in the door of his father’s office.

  Harry slowly stood. Mike saw his hands were clenched at his sides.

  “Corry, what the bloody hell are you thinking, man? Raising funds for a private army?”

  Barstow shrugged. “Since you’ve stuck your nose in, Harry, I’m forced to explain. This is a black-ops program run by MI6. I am overseeing it. That is all you need to know. I need you and your team to stand down. I have this situation well in hand. Don’t stand down, and we will have a serious problem.”

  Nicholas said very quietly, “People are dead, and we’ve been tasked with uncovering the truth behind their murders. If your off-book drone army has gone rogue, we need to know.”

  Barstow heaved a sigh, and Nicholas saw a bulge under his coat.

  He slowly rose. “Why are you wearing a weapon? I thought you had lackeys to kill for you.”

  “Nicholas,” Mike said, a hand on his arm.

  Barstow said, “Yes, Nicholas, listen to your partner. Sit down and shut up. You’ve caused me a great deal of grief these past two days. You would have done well to stay in America. We don’t want or need you here. I’d have thought Afghanistan made that clear enough.”

  Harry said quietly, “Yes, sit down, Nicholas.” And to Barstow, he said, his voice formal, “Corry, are you admitting to killing the people who helped you build your private army? I assume you couldn’t get the funding from Her Majesty and had to find your own sources of income? Is that how you managed to get tied up with Heinrich Hemmler? Was Paulina Vittorini running the guns for you? And Chapman Donovan, you’ve never been a fan of his, but Terry Alexander, man. He was your oldest friend.”

  Barstow said through gritted teeth, “I didn’t kill them, none of them. I’m trying to make sure no one else is murdered, which is why I need you to back off.”

  Mike saw his hands were trembling. He was frightened, understandably so. He was in a room of sharks. Make him lose it. She gave him a push, put some bitch in her voice. “Why should we back off? Can’t you tell whoever’s been killing those funding you to stop? Or are we next? How are we to know you don’t have one of your drones positioned outside, or the birds you’ve been using to spy on us? How did you manage to corrupt MATRIX? You don’t seem smart enough for that. If Roman Ardelean doesn’t know you were behind the breach, he soon will, you know it.” She added extra bitch, “You’re finished, sir, it’s only a matter of time, very little time—”

  Barstow started to laugh, a strained laugh, an ugly laugh. He laughed so hard he nearly choked. “You think he isn’t a part of this? You stupid girl, you—”

  Nicholas was ready to jump at Barstow and beat him to a pulp. Barstow’s eyes grew wild, and in a flash, he’d drawn the gun and was pointing it at Nicholas.

  The room erupted in shouts.

  Nicholas ignored the yelling, felt his father’s elbow gently nudge his arm, saw the slight nod of his head. Nicholas in turn nudged Ben with his knee. Harry dove to one side, Ben ducked away, and Nicholas kicked out of his chair and launched himself at Barstow.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Barstow saw Nicholas move a second too late. He fired as Nicholas crashed into him, knocking him over backward.

  Nicholas felt the sting of a bullet against his side, right above his belt, heard the shouts, but ignored everything, flipped Barstow over on his stomach and pinned his arms behind his back. He knew he was bleeding, prayed it wasn’t too bad, and then Mike was there with the handcuffs she always had latched to her belt. She clapped them around Barstow’s wrists.

  “Cover me,” Mike shouted to Ben, darting into the hall. Ben was right behind her. They were back in a moment, Mike panting. “Looks like he came alone.” Then she saw Harry kneeling beside Nicholas. He’d pulled his shirt up and pressed his handkerchief against his side. “Harry, is it bad?”

  “I can speak, Mike. No, it’s not bad, is it, Father?”

  Harry looked up. “I think he missed the important bits.”

  “Why is Barstow unconscious?”

  Harry said, “I hit him in the jaw for shooting my son.”

  There was shouting from outside the conference room, and Ben ran out. Nicholas started to follow, but Mike and Harry held him down. “Listen to me, lamebrain, all you have to do is stop yourself bleeding, all right?”

  “You said that perfectly, Michaela.”

  “Don’t worry, Ben’s in control. He’ll call if he needs us. He can handle things while we check you out.” Harry lifted the handkerchief, and she lightly probed the wound, then sat back on her heels.

  Barstow groaned.

  Mike tapped him on the side of the head with the heel of her hand. “Stop making noise. We’ll get to you in a minute.”

  And to Nicholas, “As for you, it’s a nasty scrape, but it won’t need stitches. Through and through, lucky you. I really don’t like this, Nicholas, curse you. It could have been another of your nine lives down the tubes.”

  Harry rose, looked down at his bloody hands. His heart was pounding and he knew such fear and rage, it was hard not to kill Barstow with his bare hands. So close, too close. He managed to get out “one moment”—and he disappeared into the bathroom adjacent to the conference room.

  Harry came out, handed Mike a hand towel and three washcloths. Thankfully, he had himself in control again. “These should do it.” Together they bound him up. She said, “There, better, we’ll get you to the ER later.”

  Mike helped him up, and he pulled her close for a moment. She squeezed his back, whispered, “Stop being a frigging hero, okay, James Bond?”

  “A statistical impossibility, Agent Caine. I can’t seem to stop showing off for you.”

  Barstow
moaned again. Mike said, “Good, his lordship is with us. Time to see what he has to say.”

  * * *

  They settled Barstow in a chair in the command center, hands cuffed behind him. Harry got right in his face and shouted, “Tell us what you’ve done, you old fool.” Nicholas didn’t think he’d ever seen his father so angry before. Harry Drummond had a long fuse, and Nicholas rarely saw it lit. It was lit now.

  Nicholas asked, his voice calmer than his father’s, “Yes, tell us what you’ve done.”

  “What have I done? I’m trying to save lives, you idiots. I’ve had a plan on the table for more than a year, a plan to help arm the patriots in Africa who are trying to fight the incursion of terrorism. And it’s been going gangbusters until you lot got involved.”

  “Tell us who you talked into building the drones for you.”

  Barstow yelled, his face now alarmingly red, “How dare you treat me like this?”

  “Talk now or I’ll call the home secretary, tell him I have you here in handcuffs ready for a march through Fleet Street.”

  “All right, curse you. We hired a man to build us a drone army. Six patriots gave him a total of one billion to start, one billion on delivery. Then they refused to make the final payment until he delivered the drones. He refused. We were at a standoff. That’s why people are dead. He’s furious and killing every investor who hasn’t given their money.” He sucked in a breath. “I’m next, maybe June, my children. He’ll kill all of us.”

  Mike said quietly, “Who is he, Lord Barstow?”

  Barstow sneered. “The lot of you think you’re so bloody smart. He’s fooled you like he’s fooled the world. He’s ruthless, a psychopath, and the LSD he’s taking has pushed him over the edge. Still don’t know? The wunderkind of technology, the only man in England capable of building a drone army.”

  Nicholas stared at him. “Roman Ardelean? He’s been building an army for you?”

  “Yes, thousands of drones to kill the bloody terrorists. I believed the man a true patriot, but he’s not. He’s a common murderer—my wrists hurt. I need some water.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  It was obvious to all of them that Barstow was scared to his soul of Roman Ardelean, but something wasn’t right. Even though Nicholas’s side ached, he wasn’t about to admit it to Mike, who gave him the eye every couple of minutes.

  “This is everything, Corry? You’ve told us the entire truth? Roman Ardelean has killed these people because they refused to pay him their final payment for the drone army?”

  “Yes.”

  Harry motioned them into the hall. “Ben, Ian, I trust you’ve located him?”

  Ian said, “Actually, sir, we can’t find him. No one’s answering at his home, his mobile is off, and his offices claim they haven’t seen him. His jet is at Northolt, in the hangar, unused. But Ardelean himself, we don’t know.”

  Mike said, “Ardelean wants his final payment. I’m thinking Barstow can get him to come out if he offers to pay him.”

  Harry rubbed his chin. “I daresay you’re right, Michaela. Let’s approach him.”

  Barstow looked exhausted. He was no longer handcuffed, but they knew he wouldn’t try to run. That wasn’t an option.

  Harry asked, “Where is Ardelean?”

  “I don’t know. I told you the truth, he’s gone mad, uses LSD like I told you, at very low levels to keep himself in check, a special formula he mentioned once. I think he’s now become dependent on the drug, and it’s making him extremely reckless. He must be stopped. You must stop him. If I could, I would.”

  “How do you propose we do this?” Mike asked him.

  “Kill him. We have to kill him. It’s the only way.”

  Nicholas said, “We’re not assassins.”

  “You were,” Barstow said, a sneer marring his mouth. “And quite good at it, if I recall.”

  Harry leaned over Barstow, his voice quiet and deadly. “Listen to me, Barstow, one more accusation out of you about my son’s past and when I find Ardelean I’ll feed you to him.”

  Mike wanted to kick this miserable immoral ass into the wainscoting. Nicholas stared at his father, saw his rage at Barstow—and it was for him. He swallowed.

  Nicholas laid his hand on his father’s arm, said, “We won’t execute your problem for you. But we will arrest him, make him pay for the four people he’s murdered. Ah, and the Eurostar he bombed with one of his drones. Two Australian tourists died.”

  “Yes, yes, he did that, too, to put the screws to me more, that, and I’m sure he wanted to distract you. Harry, listen to me, if you eliminate Ardelean, the drone army he’s built can go to Her Majesty’s government. He’s the head of the hydra. Kill him and the whole nightmare comes to an end, and perhaps, since I’ve told you everything, there will be leniency for me.”

  “One more chance, Corry. Where might we find Roman Ardelean?”

  Barstow said, “I didn’t lie. I know he has a flat in Belgravia. Search there. There’s where I usually met him, before.”

  Ben spoke up for the first time. “Belgravia? I thought he had a country estate north of London, that’s where all the articles say he lives.”

  “He owns multiple homes.”

  Nicholas said, “Ben, please get Adam on it.”

  Harry asked, “And what of the one billion pounds you owe him for building your army?”

  “I couldn’t put him off any longer. To buy time, I told him I would pay him today. I realized it wouldn’t work, that he would kill me next. You have to kill him.”

  Mike said slowly, “You said you aren’t able to pay him the rest of his money because the investors haven’t paid you? Or him? It’s you, isn’t it? They were to pay you, and you were to pay Ardelean.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m running the program.”

  It was then everything clicked into place. Nicholas said, “No wonder you want us to kill Ardelean. You can’t do it yourself.” Nicholas leaned over right in his face, his hands on the chair arms just as his father had done. “You know what I think? You decided to screw him out of his final payment. You kept his one billion pounds.”

  “Of course not! The investors refused to pay, they—” Barstow stopped cold when Nicholas laughed at him, straightened and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “You’re a paltry human being, my lord. Did you ever have a grand notion of saving the nations of Africa, of shipping them arms and a drone army to fight off radical Islam? ISIS? Or was it always about getting yourself really, really rich? One billion pounds is a lot of money.”

  “Don’t you dare speak to me like that! I wanted the drone army! Do you hear me, I’m a patriot. I love my country, all my ancestors have loved England, served England. My family is in all the history books. I wanted to join them—I would have been the best of them. I would have saved a country! None of this is my fault. Ardelean is the one, the only one!”

  He was heaving. Harry said, “You’re going to call him, Corry. You’re going to reaffirm your promise to pay him. You’ll set it up for tonight. And we’re going to arrest him, not execute him.”

  Barstow, calmer now, said, “He’s probably with his brother, but not at the flat in Belgravia. From what I gather, the brother, his twin, has some sort of rare disease. Roman won’t ever say, but I know his twin never leaves the house.”

  Harry said, “His twin brother? I didn’t know Ardelean had a brother.”

  Nicholas said, “Adam will find Ardelean, and he’ll find his brother, too.” His mobile rang. It was Penderley.

  “Sir?”

  “Drummond, we have a problem. Another murder. No, not a drone murder with poison fired into the neck, but listen to this. When our people interviewed all the neighbors, an older man reported seeing a falcon perched on the windowsill of the apartment. He thinks it’s the same apartment where the murder occurred. I didn’t like the sound of it. The murdered man is an American. The manner in which he was killed, it is unusual. You’ll see when you arrive. I have a very bad feelin
g about this.”

  Nicholas looked back into the conference room. Adam would locate Ardelean, his father would deal with Barstow. “A falcon? The man was sure?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “We’re coming. Where shall I meet you?”

  “Dawson Place, Notting Hill, W2. Oh, Drummond? Have you got the murders sorted yet?”

  “Yes, sir, I believe so.”

  “Ah, excellent. Oh yes, DCI Gareth Scott is the lead.”

  He punched off to see Mike beside him, a brow raised. “What was that?”

  “Are you in the mood to divide and conquer? Because Penderley needs us, says an American has been murdered in Notting Hill. A falcon was reported sitting on the windowsill. Penderley thought we’d like to get involved. He said something about the manner of the murder was unusual.”

  “There’s no ‘we’ in this. I’ll go. You are going to the hospital. No, no arguments.”

  He started to argue, but a fierce shaft of pain went through his side. “You’re sure? This could be big, Mike. I really don’t need a doctor—”

  “No arguments, or I’ll tell your father.”

  “Come back as soon as you can.”

  “You promise you’ll go get checked out at the hospital?”

  “Actually, there’s usually a physician here.”

  “All right, I believe you. Don’t make me hurt you, Nicholas. Now, I’ll catch a cab. How far is it from here to Notting Hill?”

  Ian had stepped out of the conference room and had obviously overheard the discussion. “Mike, I’ll drive you. It will be faster. Really, a falcon?”