The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI #5)(103)

Nicholas read some of the labels. “Hydrazine, hydrochloric acid, sodium nitrate—yes, they were manufacturing LSD. All of the components necessary for the epibatidine are here, too.”

“It’s going to take hours to catalog all of this.” She put a hand against his cheek. His face was still smudged with smoke, and his hair had dust and bits of debris in it from the roof. She leaned up and wiped her finger across his nose. “Ah, that’s better. I’ve really smeared it now. Your dad’s truly okay?”

“Yes. Adam found out Ardelean stayed overnight at the Savoy, but he’s gone to ground. You’ll like this—Barstow was apparently using a hacker who worked for Ardelean before they had a falling-out. Barstow used him to try and dismantle Radulav. We’re going to go talk to him—name’s Caleb Temora—as soon as you’re finished.”

“Oh, I’m done. Nothing more I can do here. Just curious why LSD, of all things.” She cocked her head, “The two drugs we know they were making do have something common—they were both tested for mood stabilization and pain relief in the sixties. And microdosing is popular again, small doses stabilize your mood.”

Nicholas said, “Evidently Ardelean was using more and more.”

“From what I’ve read, too much and he’d go off the rails, lose objectivity, lose sight of what was real and what wasn’t. And paranoia, to list only a few things that could happen.”

“Isn’t that all we need? A genius who’s gone crazy.” He waved the hard drives at her. “If you’re done here, let me show you something else interesting—a pilot’s nest for the drone system. Then we’ll go talk to this Caleb Temora.”

Ardelean’s homemade air traffic control center was a room at the end of the long hallway. Nicholas pressed some keys, and huge screens whirred to life—aerial maps, weather forecasts, the flight paths of all of London, lit up in reds and greens. There was a cockpit, as well, facing the screens, with a huge gearshift. He said, “This is how they were flying the drones. Remote access—they can fly one from the other side of the world with this setup. It’s military-grade, like our folks have. At least we know where the drones were being piloted from, and how.”

Mike could only marvel. “To think this was in the hands of a civilian, practically in the middle of London. At least we can feel safe that the drones are grounded.”

Nicholas said, “We can’t know that Ardelean doesn’t have another flight command.” He studied the keyboard, said, “I think their pilot was Radu, and he’s lying dead in the other room. See, all the software is coded to him. Unless Roman pilots them himself, which is obviously possible—” He shrugged. “At least we’ve shut down one level of his operation. Now, let’s get these hard drives to Adam. I’d like a shower and some food. Then we need to go talk to this mystery hacker my father is guarding.”

She followed him, “I want the MI5 physician to check your wound again.”

He shook his head. “Not necessary, don’t you remember? A medic went over me, pronounced me good to go.”

“He did no such thing. He stared at you and shook his head.”

“You know what I really want? A big, juicy American hamburger, maybe with cheddar on top, lots of onions—”

“Oh, be quiet. I know you, you won’t eat or sleep as long as we have a drug-addled genius with a drone army on the loose.”

“Sadly, you’re right.”





CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE


The Federal Aviation Administration projects that by 2020 there will be 7 million small drones occupying U.S. airspace.

—GCN

MI5 Headquarters, Home Office

Thames House

12 Millbank

Westminster, London

Adam bounced up from his seat like a cork when they came into the room. “You guys look like you’ve been in a war. You okay?”

Mike patted his arm. “We’re okay. We promise.”

“Good, because that wasn’t cool. Do you want to see the video of what happened?”

Nicholas nodded. “We missed something rather major on the satellite pass. I’d like to see where the missile battery was hidden.”

Adam had the video queued up. He didn’t tell them he’d already watched it fifty times, heart in his throat every time.

He hit play. “Here’s your chopper, comes in quiet, perfect, hovers. Mike goes down, and, as she does, look here. The surface-to-air missile came out of the chimney. It was disguised to look like a piece of brick. The whole section slides free, and it launches, a direct hit on the windshield of the chopper. We think it was on a motion sensor.”

“Bloody hell.”

“Exactly. Nicholas, there you go. Your jump coincides with the missile launch, and, as you can see, the helicopter goes ass over teakettle, barely misses Mike’s head with the rotors, and flings you into the air as it flips, catapults Gareth to the edge of the roof, where he falls and you catch him, and goes down the building. Serious acrobatics ensue, and then Mike saves you and Gareth.

“I’m so sorry about the pilots. They didn’t know what hit them, literally didn’t change their speech patterns. It was so quick.” His voice cracked, and Nicholas put a hand on Adam’s shoulder.