CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
MI5 Headquarters, Home Office
Thames House
12 Millbank
Westminster, London
Seven in the morning. The team, with the exception of Adam, sat around the private conference room with cups of hot black coffee in their hands. Except Harry Drummond, who was drinking his favored oolong.
Nicholas sat forward. “Father, Ian, sorry it’s so early, but this is critical. Mike found a common time and location on each victim’s calendar, and we spent the night pulling it all together.”
Mike said, “We think it’s more than a theory, sir. Look at this.” The screen filled with a series of letters and numbers.
Mike took another sip of her coffee. “As you can see, these are GPS coordinates. 21.0976° North, 33.7965° East. They correlate to the Nubian Desert in Sudan, south of the Egyptian border. The coordinates show in every victim’s calendar on the same date, seven months ago, December. We looked at the recent history of the area, and there’s been nothing in the news, nothing happening, no attacks, no people. It’s sand.”
Nicholas said, “So we accessed the satellite footage from that day, for those specific coordinates.”
“Do I want to know how?” Harry asked.
“Quite aboveboard, Father, don’t worry. We sent an emergency request to the NSA—Adam has a friend there.” He gave his father a sleepy grin. “We didn’t hack them.”
“I’m glad to hear it. So what did the satellites show?”
Ben forwarded the slides. “This is the area represented by the coordinates the morning of December second. You can see a small village on the dunes. It’s not on any maps we could access, but this is a desert area, things shift and change. Nomads set up shops. Sandstorms blow through. It’s an ever-changing environment. Lidar, short for light detection and ranging, that allows for measurements below the land’s surface area, doesn’t show any permanent structures, no deep foundations. This was all on the surface, temporary. The satellite itself wasn’t trained on it—it simply flew over that area once a day. We’re lucky it was nearby.
“Now, this is the morning of December third.”
Harry could see the village was no longer standing. There were pieces of it in different places, though, scattered like toothpicks across the reddish sand.
“Storm blew through?”
Nicholas said, “No, sir, we think this was manmade destruction. We think this was a proving ground for a weapons test. We checked with all the services we could and no one had any assets in this area. There’s no knowing exactly what happened between the second and the third of December. But—”
Ben flashed up another slide. “Here we have a shot from two weeks earlier. There’s nothing. Now, watch the progression.”
They watched a village slowly take shape, day by day, rising from the desert sand. The footage was clear, easy to pick out the details.
Ian said slowly, “So someone builds a village only to blow it apart. Who does that?”
Mike said, “Someone who had a show to give.”
Harry sipped at his oolong. “And with what sort of weapons?”
Nicholas flipped closed his laptop. “I’m going to bet it was drones. We know whoever is behind this has an army—from tiny drones that can shoot poisoned needles into people’s necks to large ones that can drop bombs on trains. I think this was the demonstration to the people they wanted to fund the drone army, to get them on board. It might be legitimate, it might be off-book. I don’t know. I would assume the victims were a party to this, though if they were funding it, I don’t know why they’d be murdered. Father, have you heard anything about the victims’ possible involvement in building an army of drones?”
“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.