The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI #5)(10)
“It’s the middle of the night in New York.”
“You know Adam does his best work at two in the morning.” Nicholas grinned at her when Adam’s face popped up on the screen immediately. He didn’t seem tired or sleepy, had his earbuds in, a bright blue Star Trek Voyager T-shirt on, and a can of Red Bull in front of him, as always.
Adam said, “Hey, you guys are supposed to be on vacation. Did you get called in on the vice chancellor’s murder or the malware attack?”
Had he ever doubted Adam wouldn’t already know about both? No, he hadn’t. He said, “Both. First, how are your photo-enhancement skills?”
“You wouldn’t ask if you didn’t know I’m about the best on the planet. Sending me a file?”
“Any minute, as soon as Penderley sends it to me.”
Mike said, “Hi, Adam. Would you believe I’m getting a suntan in jolly old England? No? Stop laughing. Is everything okay there?”
“Absolutely. I’m bored to tears, and you know what happens when I get bored.”
Nicholas said, “No, and neither Mike nor I want to know. Tell me you’ve been solving the malware problem.”
“I will say I’m looking into it, but I haven’t solved it yet. I can tell you the initial hack appears to have come out of western Russia, and I’ve been purchasing website domain names, thinking I’ll hit on one that might be able to halt it. On the other hand, the attack could be from Tahiti, with someone really bright at the helm, disguising its point of origin. You want me to keep working on it?”
“Not to play favorites, but my grandfather’s firm has been hit, as well. Feel free to use his site to halt the attack. Giles Fourtnoy is his IT man. I’ll send him a text, tell him to expect your call. I am also sending a wee bit of code you might enjoy deploying when you find the back door.”
He hit send, and a few moments later, Adam’s eyes lit up, and he whistled. “Dude. Where does your brain come up with this nasty stuff?”
“It’s a gift. I have the photo from Penderley, sending it now.” And again, Nicholas pressed send.
Mike could see Adam frowning as he looked at the screen.
“This resolution sucks. Was this shot with a cell phone?”
Nicholas said, “As far as we know, yes.”
“It almost looks like a toy helicopter, doesn’t it? If I have the scale right, based on that window on the right side of the photo, it looks like it could fit in the palm of your hand.”
Nicholas waited, and, sure enough, after only a short pause, Adam said, “If I were a betting man, I’d say it was a military-grade micro UAV—unmanned air vehicle.” Adam clicked a few keys, and the specs came up on the screen. “The small ones like this are almost always either toys or military-grade. This photo matches dimensions with a British military Black Hornet drone. They call it a nanodrone. Four port cameras, battery-powered, it can stay aloft over twenty-five minutes. It can fly pretty quick, too, if someone needed it to make a getaway. Not something you can buy at Radio Shack, even if you can find one nowadays. Who does this belong to?”
Nicholas said, “That’s what we have to find out. It was hovering over the crime scene today. A person in the crowd forwarded the photo to Scotland Yard. I suppose the drone could belong to a member of Downing Street security and it’s all a coincidence—”
“Or someone wanting to do bad things, more likely,” Adam said.
Mike was leaning over Nicholas’s shoulder. “Like murder the vice chancellor.”
“Yes,” Nicholas said. “If it is murder, then this drone could have the capability to deliver some sort of weapon.”
“What kind of weapon? I mean, it’s a super small drone, so the weight of any larger ordinance, a gun or a missile, wouldn’t be sustainable. Drones like this are mainly used for surveillance. What are you thinking?”
“Let’s see.” Nicholas clicked a few times, and Mike watched the screen break into segments—Adam, the drone, the specification blueprints of the official Black Hornet devices, and a close-up shot of the undercarriage of their mystery drone.
Nicholas said, “If this was not a surveillance drone, it must have a delivery mechanism for a weapon that can kill. Hold on, Penderley’s sent us a message. Several attachments.”
Nicholas scanned the contents of the email.
“I’m reading from the files Penderley sent over. This is the first I’ve seen of this, so bear with me—interesting, Chapman Donovan’s death was heart failure brought on by poison. He had something called epibatidine in his system, a neurotoxin derived from a small South American tree frog. According to the report, epibatidine was once explored as a substitute for morphine but was deemed too toxic, too unpredictable.”
Mike asked, “They get this neurotoxin off frigging frogs?”
Adam said, “Epibatidine was originally derived from the Ecuadorian poison-dart frog. Which means whoever’s using it bought it online, because when these particular frogs are bred in captivity they’re almost always nontoxic. Their alkaline levels aren’t the same when they don’t feed on insects in the wild. Whoever killed Donovan either went to Ecuador and harvested the poison from the frogs, or he or she bought or stole it from somewhere. You know you can purchase anything online now, legally or otherwise.”