The Sixth Day

by Catherine Coulter

  A small red light was flashing on his computer screen. He bumped the mouse and saw camera footage, knew immediately it was the flat in Belgravia. The flat’s perimeter sensors were activated. Someone had gone inside.

  Something else to make him crazy. He calmed himself, scanned the flat but saw nothing. A system failure, a short circuit? No, he knew better. He flashed to the external cameras. There were two men in a black SUV sitting across from the entrance.

  He said aloud, “Barstow. What are you up to?”

  The light flashed on his desk phone, the speaker turning on with a gentle click. His brother said, “Where are you?”

  “I’m coming.” He turned off his computer screen. If what Radu said was true, it didn’t matter what Barstow was planning. Roman had plans for this man he’d once believed was a patriot, like himself. A man, he’d realized too late, who had drawn him to a vast humanitarian project that was all based on lies. A billion pounds, that was Barstow’s only goal. He rather hoped Barstow would kill Temora, save him the trouble.

  As he left his office, he saw the shadows flitting through the sky. The cast was returning.

  He detoured up the stairs to the falconry, waited for his brethren to land back in their places, claws and beaks red with blood, then closed the roof and went to give his brother the potion, then Isabella’s blood. Two strong brothers, not one strong and one weak. Not after tonight.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  MI5 Headquarters, Home Office

  Thames House

  12 Millbank

  Westminster, London

  The satellite is going overhead right now. We will capture as many shots as we can.”

  Harry’s technical team was top-notch. Nicholas enjoyed listening to them run through the satellite imagery. When they had it all uploaded, they started tearing it apart.

  “We have a helipad up there, not a huge surprise for a house of this size.”

  “I’m not seeing any antiaircraft battery—that would be bad news. So we should be able to fly in, but we’ll have to shut down the security systems first. Knock out their power grid. Though I’m sure they have generators, we might have a few seconds opportunity when the power goes down before the backup turns on.”

  Gareth pointed to two rectangular openings. “Are those skylights? Can you get closer?”

  The satellite imagery enlarged. “Definitely glass. Even if it is ballistic-grade, do you see those hinges?” He circled the two spots with a red laser pointer. “If we hit it right, it will pop. Nicholas, remember the house in Cambridge we infiltrated from the roof? We could do it again, the same way.”

  “I remember. You hit it with a depth charge, and we fast-roped in. That would work. But in case it doesn’t, we need another ingress. Find us one, Adam.”

  “Working on it. Hey, look at this huge concrete building over here. It has the massive security, too, but it’s all external. Might be a safe room on steroids.”

  “Or he’s keeping something nasty inside.”

  Adam ran through what he had found of the house’s schematics. He would kill for a decent set of blueprints, was searching online the whole while, but hadn’t found the right ones yet.

  “Nicholas, I’m not seeing any other ingress, but the estate is huge. Seventeen acres of land around it, too. We don’t have enough time to map it all if we want to go in tonight.”

  “What’s this, right here? Freeze frame, please.”

  Nicholas pointed to an area to the right of the helipad. “There are edges here. Uniform edges. What is this? Can we get the cameras to pan in?”

  Gareth said, “Wait, wait, wait, it’s opening. The roof is opening.”

  They watched in silence as a section of the roof slid back. In the eerie silence of the massive screens, a black rectangular hole gaped open, and birds began flying out of the roof.

  Nicholas asked, “Bloody hell. What is this?”

  Mike grinned. “They’re falcons. The ones that have been watching us, I’ll bet, and one of them carried that drone away.”

  They watched the screen as it cleared. The roof stayed open.

  Adam said, “So there is another way in.”

  “Better yet,” Nicholas said, “it’s another way out. That bird roof could be on some sort of automated switch. If it’s a timer, we’re royally screwed, but if it’s something we can control, we can get out through there. The roof it is.” He looked at Mike. “You ready to go for a ride?”

  She grinned at him. “Always. This is a walk in the park compared to dropping onto a ship deck in the North Sea.”

  Harry said, “I want to try and confirm one hundred percent this is his home. Get Barstow in here. Let’s have him try to make the call again, see if we can pull Ardelean out of the house. We can arrest him off-site and, with any luck, the house—and the falcons—won’t fight back.”

  * * *

  Barstow was alone in the library next to the command center, his wrist handcuffed to a heavy brown leather couch arm. When Nicholas and Harry came in, Barstow looked up. With his free hand he took off his glasses, held up a slim volume showing an oil painting of a house. “Churchill wasted his time on painting. But his book about his passion is quite charming.”

  Harry looked down at him. He looked older, somehow less substantial, his good-old-boy attempt at normalcy pathetic, really. He said, “We need to find Ardelean immediately. He’s murdered a civilian and kidnapped a woman. We have to get her back.”

  Barstow laughed. “So, he’s finally gone barking mad, has he?”

  Nicholas said, “He’s probably been killing for years. We need to bring him in now. We believe we’ve found his estate, and we believe he’s taken the woman there. It’s well fortified, and we are going in to rescue her. But we need him out of the house. We don’t need the complication of trying to take him down and saving her. If he’s completely off the rail, as you believe, he might simply kill her to spite us. We want her alive. We want him alive, too.”

  Harry said, “Try again, Corry. Call him now.”

  Barstow pulled out his mobile. “You know he hasn’t been answering . . .” But he put his mobile on speaker and hit a few numbers with his free hand. They waited while the phone rang and rang. Barstow shook his head and turned it off. Moments later, a text appeared.

  I’m busy.

  Barstow lit up. “Got him.”

  Nicholas said, “Tell him you have the money, and you’ll meet him at the flat in Belgravia.”

  I have the money. Meet me in usual place.

  Someone is watching the usual place. What have you done, Barstow? Who have you talked to?

  I’ve done nothing. I give up. You’ve made your point. I have your money. The wire transfers will be completed within the hour, but you have to accept them yourself, in person. I need a thumbprint. You know how this works. Let’s be done with this, Roman. Take your money and give me my army.

  There was nothing. Nicholas said, “We lost him.”

  But the screen lit up again.

  I won’t meet for wire transfers. You get me money, and we’ll talk. Call me when you have the cash.

  Another pause, then:

  And, Barstow, no more games. I know what you’ve done.

  Nicholas said, “What does he mean, he knows what you’ve done?”

  Barstow shrugged. “I don’t know. But he’ll come if I promise him cash. We can meet at the theater.”

  Nicholas asked, “What theater?”

  “The Prince Edward. Hamlet is playing.”

  Harry’s eyes narrowed. “How much money are we talking about?”

  “You heard me, I promised him the full amount.” Barstow shrugged again. “But it doesn’t matter. You’ll take him, and the money won’t matter.”

  “I suppose you have the one billion pounds, Corry, stashed in accounts out of the country?”

  “No, of course not. I told you, the investors hadn’t paid up. I did keep a bit from their first payment, only fair. Again, I am not the criminal in this. I
am a patriot who wanted only to fight terrorism. It is Ardelean.”

  Nicholas looked at his father. His face was expressionless. No, there was something else—it was disappointment. In this man he’d known most of his life.

  Harry looked away from Barstow. “Nicholas, we’ll split the teams. You’re on the rescue squad. I’ll go with Barstow and another team to take Ardelean into custody. And Nicholas?”

  “Sir?”

  “Be careful. You’ve already been shot in the side. I know, you’re fine, you’re always fine, but we have no idea what might be waiting for you inside that house. I—be careful, Nicholas.” Harry cleared his throat, said to Barstow, “Send the text to Ardelean. The theater it is.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  The Old Garden

  Twickenham

  Richmond upon Thames, London

  Isabella didn’t know if it was night or day, nor did she care. The drug they’d given her had sent her into a surreal landscape made up of Voynichese language, but somehow perverted so she couldn’t read it. And the drawings, the green women and constellations and bizarre plants, what were they? She faded away, in and out.

  Nor did she know how much time had passed, but now she was awake, clearheaded, and being wheeled into a stark white room that felt almost like a hospital suite by an older man, white white skin, his hair pale blond mixed with silver, no expression on his seamed face. She was tied down to the gurney in webbing—arms, legs, and neck. She knew what was going to happen. They were going to take her blood. How much? She saw Roman come toward her and wanted to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth. He leaned over her, lightly patted her face.

  “You’ll be happy to hear all the tests came back, and yes, you are a perfect match for Radu. He tells me you are his life’s blood. Now, relax, this won’t hurt a bit.”

  She felt cold, wet gauze swab over the vein in the crook of her arm. He jammed in a cannula. It felt like a railroad spike. Of course it hurt, but she didn’t make a sound.

  “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

  The older man wheeled in a second gurney. Radu was on it—not strapped down like she was, but sitting up, looking excited, like a child. He was clean as a whistle, too—hair freshly washed, wearing a white gown. She could smell something antiseptic, like medical soap.

  Roman smiled. “You’re our blood sister. And you brought us the pages. Radu has drunk the potion, and now he awaits the life that should have always been his.”

  She started to struggle against the webbing. She twisted and turned, nearly displacing the cannula in her arm.

  She heard him say, “I should have done this earlier.” He leaned over her again. “Here, a little something to make you calm.” He injected a needle into her arm. Almost instantly, she felt the fear fade. There was no pain in her arm, no sense of what was going to happen. He was saying, “I hope you can still understand me. We’re going to have to take a great deal of your blood, and probably do this two or three times, but the manuscript’s directions are clear. If we follow these steps, he will be cured, and you shouldn’t be dead.”

  She looked up at him, blurred now, but she still saw a handsome man, a genius, it was said. She admired genius. She whispered, “All right, but you know, I really don’t want to die.”

  “You spoke to me in Voynichese, did you realize that? Well, I gave you something quite pleasant. Sorry I can’t play music for you, Radu doesn’t like it. Perhaps he will once he has your blood coursing through his veins. Do you want to hum?”

  “Yes, I want to hum.” And she started humming, an old Romanian ballad sung by her mother and her mother before her, all the way back to who knew? A sad song about a man and a maid and how they were betrayed and both died. Who cared? She kept humming.

  She thought she heard him laugh. Was that Radu’s excited voice?

  He was leaning over her again, and lightly laid a finger over her mouth. “You’re humming too loud. I don’t want Radu to get too excited. Transfusions are difficult for him, and we must be so careful. Even the tiniest bit of jostling while the needle is in place could be the death of him.”

  She whispered her hum, more the sound of a bee now, but she didn’t want to jostle Radu.

  “It’s time. Radu, are you ready?”

  “I am. Oh, Isabella. My dearest sister. I am very excited to have you inside of me.”

  Iago leaned over to insert the needle into Radu’s arm, but Roman stepped to his side and took the cannula away. “Iago, I will do that. I don’t want any mistakes now.”

  “As you wish.” And she saw the man Iago step out of the way, his face still expressionless.

  Iago. Was he named after Shakespeare’s Iago? A bad man he’d been. She whispered his name.

  A phone started ringing.

  Roman cursed.

  “Iago. Tend to that.”

  Tend to what? Oh yes, the phone. Was his sweetheart calling him? No, Iago was a betrayer, he didn’t love, couldn’t love. She started humming again. She heard Roman murmuring something. To Radu?

  No, to her. “It’s only the needle,” Roman said. “Hold still, and yes, keep humming. It’s in place now.”

  Almost immediately, she had the strangest sensation. She saw a vacuum, and it was attached to her arm, and she could feel the blood being pulled out. Somewhere deep inside, she knew she should be screaming, but she didn’t. She closed her eyes and hummed. Was that her mother standing over her? Why was she crying?

  She heard Iago’s voice, a whisper, yet it sounded loud in her ears. “Roman, you must take this call. It’s Lord Barstow. He’s texted a number of times and continues to call.”

  “What does he want?”

  “He says it’s urgent. He says you must get on the phone immediately.”

  “Give me that.”

  Isabella heard a faint snap over her humming and knew it was Roman ripping sterile gloves off his hands.

  He sounded angry—why was that? He was going to drain her blood into Radu. Would she die? He said, “What do you want now, Barstow?”

  Barstow. She hadn’t ever heard that name before. She wondered why Roman was so angry at him.

  “Yes, I’ll come. I will meet you at the theater. If you don’t have the entire amount in cash, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

  He hung up, and Isabella saw through a pleasant haze that he was smiling. And then, “Radu, the bastard finally took me seriously and is paying up. All of it. It’s a great day, Brother. You will be healthy, and the drones will go to Africa. Iago, supervise the remainder of the blood transfer. I must go meet Barstow.”

  He laughed again, and both Radu and Iago laughed, too. She wondered about the money. Why give it to him? Barstow, who was he? She wanted to laugh, too, but all she could do was hum.

  She saw a shadow out of the corner of her eye. It was Roman, and he was leaving. Well, that was all right, wasn’t it? She started humming again, and the world was vague and quite lovely.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  MI5 Headquarters, Home Office

  Thames House

  12 Millbank

  Westminster, London

  The team was soon in black tactical gear, strapping on Kevlar vests and securing M4 assault rifles to their backs.

  Once Mike was fully armed, she tucked a pair of sticky gloves in her tactical belt, then stashed both a small first aid pack and three extra thirty-round magazines into her bag. No one knew what they were jumping into, so they were prepared for everything. She felt focused, calm, adrenaline on a low simmer. She was saving the big burst of energy for the jump. She was ready to get Isabella back. Mike prayed she was still alive.

  Once everyone was geared up, they gathered around Adam for a briefing.

  “I found the plans from Ardelean’s last renovation. The lab is on the third floor. There’s an attic that opens onto the roof on the fourth. If that’s where the falcons flew from, I suppose it’s the aviary. There is an entire suite of rooms on the second floor, I can’t tell if it’s a
guest suite, or this is where the mythical brother lives. Maybe servants, too, it’s roomy. The first floor is reception, kitchen, dining room, and several large, open spaces, living room, den, I suppose. The backyard opens to a pool and gardens. The path down to the river comes off the east side of the house.”

  Gareth picked it up. “Should something happen, bolt for the river. We’ll have Zodiacs waiting. Air reconnaissance will be monitoring for drones and those birds, too. They aren’t back yet. The sky door is still open. The chopper is at Battersea heliport and ready when you are. Faster than taking you out to Northolt. We’re going to put you in a Gazelle—it’s quieter, less chance of being spotted too early. They’ve plotted a path down the H4 to the house that keeps them in the London heli lanes but allows for a last-second deviation out toward Twickenham. Heathrow ATC has been notified we’re doing a training exercise.”

  Nicholas said, “Too bad it’s dark. Flying a helicopter down the Thames can be quite romantic.”

  Mike rolled her eyes. “You have a bandage over a gunshot wound in your side and you’re thinking about romance? Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go do it.”

  Nicholas and Gareth burst out laughing.

  “I meant, let’s go get Isabella, you idiots.”

  Adam called out, “I’ve sent the schematics to your comms. You’ll be able to see what’s what on your wrist cams, and I’ll be here with Ian—we’ll be in your ears. Good luck.”

  * * *

  The Gazelle was cramped compared to other choppers she’d been in. Only the two pilots and Mike, Nicholas, and Gareth could fit. But the benefit was the Gazelle was indeed substantially quieter, as advertised.

  Since they were wearing helmets with headphones, she could hear the pilots’ technical talk as they lifted off and started their run down the Thames. She tuned them out, tuned in her father’s deep, calm voice. You know what you’re doing, you’re ready to move. Now make sure you’re ready mentally. Focus, Mike, make sure you’re focused. She didn’t tune in what her mother, the Gorgeous Rebecca, would say.