The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI #5)(108)

Nicholas sprang. Ardelean tossed the bird forward, right at Nicholas, but the falcon didn’t go for Nicholas’s face, it veered off.

Ardelean was ready. He slammed Nicholas’s leg with a roundhouse kick, smooth, fast, deadly.

So he was trained in martial arts. But Nicholas was, as well.

Could Mike get her Glock before the falcon attacked her again? She had to try. She grabbed it off a patch of flowers and turned to shoot, but Nicholas had already fought him back into the trees, his hands a blur, his fists hitting Ardelean’s forearm, his leg striking down toward the man’s thigh with such force he almost lost his balance when Ardelean managed to jerk out of his way. He punched Ardelean in the breastbone with his palm, making the man stagger backward, but he was on Nicholas again, his fist in his kidney.

They were well matched. Mike was afraid to move closer—the bird was perched on a limb right above her head. They were too close: she couldn’t take a chance shooting Nicholas.

Mike suddenly had a clear shot. She brought up the Glock, and the bird, screaming, hit her arm as she fired. The shot went low, splitting a branch from the tree. The bird turned on Nicholas.

Ardelean disappeared into the trees. The bird screeched and flew after him.

“There, there!” Mike called to Nicholas, pointing.

Ardelean was in a full-out sprint, heading west, through the gardens, past iron benches, the bird circling back to cover his retreat. They gained on him. Ardelean suddenly turned and shouted out that strange word again—ob?ine. The falcon whirled into motion in front of them, wings out, attacking with a shriek.

Mike threw up her arms to protect her face and lost sight of Ardelean as she fought off the bird. Nicholas grabbed it by a tail feather, going for its jesses, but its sharp feet were no match for his flesh. The bird dug in, launching herself into the air off Nicholas’s battered hands, wings beating hard as she flew away.

They were suddenly surrounded by silence, the city around them holding its breath. “I don’t know which way he went,” Nicholas said, turning in a full circle, then stopping and listening. Nothing.

Mike was bending over, panting. “I should have shot it, but I just couldn’t make myself do it. I’m an idiot.”

A heartbeat later, a motorcycle roared to life.

“There, he’s on a bike. Go, go.” She started to run, but Nicholas grabbed her arm. “No, Mike, we can’t get him now.” She looked up to see his nose was bleeding, and he had a small cut above his right eye. Mike’s hands were bloody, her arms cut from tree branches and the bird’s talons.

“I should have shot that wretched bird, I should have—”

He lightly touched his finger over her mouth. “It’s all right. Ardelean’s already too far away. We’ll never catch him.”

“Nicholas, what did he mean that this was just a warning because we gave him what he wanted?”

Nicholas felt fear ice his belly. “Listen.”

The unmistakable whir of a drone’s rotors.

Nicholas yelled, “The safe house. He’s going to attack the safe house. He must know about Temora!”



* * *



As Roman sped away, his bruised ribs began to throb. He looked up to see Arlington, flying overhead, always watching him.

“All is well”—and he laughed. He used his headphone to make a call.

“Do it,” he said.





CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX


They hurried back to the safe house, eyes to the sky.

Harry opened the door, stared at them in shock. “What happened? Are you all right?”

“Father, Ardelean wants to kill Temora. He’s going to send a drone to bomb the house. We have to get him out now,” and Nicholas bolted for the basement door. Harry sounded a silent alarm that Mike saw start to flash on the wall, a blinking red light. She could feel the house come to life under her, heard shouts as Nicholas reached the cells.

And then she heard the unmistakable sound of a drone and a loud whoosh.

She threw herself toward the basement stairs, pulling Harry with her, the two of them tumbled down the metal staircase, just as the missile burst through the ballistic glass window and exploded in the sitting room.

The concussion made her eardrums pop. She cried out, felt blood start to trickle from an ear. She realized she and Harry were tangled together at the base of the metal stairs. The flashing red light strobed over Harry’s face. His eyes were closed, blood snaked down his face. “Oh no, Harry!” Vaguely, as if she were underwater, she heard Nicholas shouting for her. “I’m okay! I have your dad. He’s hurt.”

He was there in a heartbeat, first gave her a quick once-over, then touched the blood on his father’s head, over his right ear. “Dad, can you please wake up?”

Harry’s eyelids fluttered, and Nicholas let out a shaky breath. “Tell me you know who I am.”

Amazingly, Harry smiled, not much of one, but it meant everything to Nicholas. “Ah, are you the prime minister? Come, Nicholas, I’ll live to fight another day.”

Nicholas gave a laugh. “Good, but we need to get you out of here. I smell smoke coming from upstairs. There’s a back door. Dad, can you stand?”

Harry managed a nod. “There’s a back door.” He was weaving as Nicholas pulled him up. Mike felt wobbly herself. Her ears hurt, and she had the oddest sensation of vertigo every time she looked to the side. It was odd, but her hands didn’t hurt anymore.