The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(72)

“So now you know the whole story, and while all of this is fun, we need to find Patel and Byrne, because I’ll bet they have the means to set off this bomb and wreak serious havoc.”

Mike said, “Where’d the money come from to build the nuke?”

Mills looked embarrassed. “Well, a lot of it came from Al-Asaad because the CIA wanted the bomb built so they could nab Patel—or North Korea or whoever. For a while, we suspected Broussard. But of course he was clueless.”

Mike said, “So over the two years, you funneled tons of money to Kiera Byrne and Dr. Nevaeh Patel.”

“Listen, not very much at all came out of the taxpayers’ wallets. You wouldn’t believe how deep the pockets are of those sheikhs who have all the oil. When I told them it was a nuke and I’d blow up something big to cripple the demonic West, I got whatever I asked for.”

Mike and Nicholas looked at each other. Mills hurried into speech. “And then I found out Patel was putting the nuke on a satellite.”

Mike said, sarcasm riding high, “You had the nuke. You had this great plan. Tell us, how did Patel get her hands on the nuke?”

Mills said fast, “By the time we realized Patel was the brain behind the nuke, it was too late. She paid another terrorist group to steal the nuke and then she acted fast, faster than we’d expected, and before we could bring her down, the nuke was launched aboard a Galactus satellite into space. And the bummer is I have no idea where she plans to detonate the bomb. And that’s why I wanted to question Broussard. But hey, we’ll find the satellite and bring both it and the nuke back to Earth. All will be well.”

Mike could only stare at him. “You—the CIA—allowed a nuke to be made. On purpose. Are you a total idiot?”

“Maybe the decision-making along the line wasn’t the best, but that’s in the past. Now is what’s important. We have to find Patel and stop her before a massive nuclear EMP disrupts all our communications, shuts down the electrical grid, and we’re down and in chaos. I don’t want to think about what would happen.”

Nicholas said, “So you people march the world to the bitter edge, then assume you can make everything all right? I can’t believe you—the CIA—pushed it this far. Who cares if there was someone behind Patel, like North Korea? You should have arrested both Patel and Byrne immediately.”

Mills shook his head. “Trust me, in retrospect, we should have, but we wanted more than just Patel and Byrne. Not only did we believe there was a bigger force behind them, we knew there were a half dozen major terrorists groups involved, and we wanted all of them, and that meant waiting.”

Grant spoke for the first time. “The CIA set up this terrorist cover to get their hands on the stolen plutonium?”

“And just who are you, boyo?”

Nicholas said, “You will tell him what he wants to know or I will personally ship you back to Syria or wherever your play-cave is.”

Mills paused a moment, and Mike knew the instant he believed Nicholas. “Oh, all right. Yes, since 2015, as soon as we realized the scope of the theft of the plutonium stolen, and we found out Kiera Byrne was involved, the op went into action. I met Patel a short time later, in Corsica. She’s the brains of the two of them, but don’t get me wrong, Kiera’s tough and street smart, dangerous as a snake, but kinda cute, I thought, and well, hot.”

Mike said, “You’re saying you slept with her?”

“Well, yeah, but come to find out she really doesn’t swing that way. Look, I never meant to hurt you guys, or Broussard. Hey, guys—ah, girl—you do know this is highly classified, need-to-know only.”

Nicholas said in a voice as dry as sand, “Trust me, we have clearance.”

“Yeah, I know who you guys are. But this one? He’s a civilian.”

Mike got in his face. “Agent Drummond is a nice man. Me, not so much. You will tell Mr. Thornton everything he wants to know. You will tell the Easter Bunny everything if I tell you to, or I’ll pull out your tongue.” And she leaned even closer, and whispered, “Fear me.”

Mills believed her. “All right, whatever you say. Listen, I’m really Vince Mills, CIA. My dad’s name is Bob Mills, he’s a straight-up Virginian, a bank manager, but my mother is Pakistani and I inherited both her looks and her language skills. Got recruited by the Company in college and have been in the field undercover pretty much my whole career, working in the Middle East theater. Really, guys, how many times do I have to repeat myself?”

“As many times as we want,” Mike said. “Now, shut up.”

Nicholas studied Vince Mills, nice American name. His story rang true, it did sound like a typical CIA maneuver. He said, “We have to confirm this.”

“We’re running out of time here. Oh, all right, call Langley, talk to my boss, Mr. Grace. Actually, you know him, don’t you?”

A strange European wa-a wa-a siren’s wail began to grow louder. Mike glanced out the window. The Lyon police and first responders were coming up the road toward the drive. Big surprise—it was littered with bodies.

Mills said, “Now, if you don’t mind, I need you to keep the police off my back while I have a chat with Mr. Broussard. He’s got to know where Patel and Byrne have gone.”

Nicholas said, “We already told you, he doesn’t know. And you’re not even going to say hello to him until we confirm your identity. He was shot, needs to go to hospital.”