The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI #5)(114)

Roman unhooded his falcons. They were hungry; they were ready. He stroked a wing here, a head there, making sure they all felt his touch. Arlington cheeped happily. She was excited, ready, and the rest of the cabal wagged their tail feathers in response.

Roman smiled at them, his beloved children. “It is time, my lovelies. Conserve energy. It will be a long flight. Now, fly.”





CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO


The Connaught Hotel

Carlos Place

Mayfair, London

Nicholas woke with a sense of unease he couldn’t shake. Something was wrong, but what? The sun was up. Mike lay next to him on her back, one arm flung over her head, her beautiful hair spread across the pillow. He lay still, thinking, reassessing everything they’d done.

Mike sighed, rolled over, and saw he was awake. She raised her hand, touched his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Something’s worrying me, and I can’t figure out what it is.”

“We spent half the night warning people and planning for every contingency.”

“We’re missing something, I know it.”

She leaned up to kiss his whiskered cheek. “Every law enforcement official in London will be on high alert today, Nicholas, all eyes focused on the president and the prime minister. Everyone is ready if there’s an assassination attempt.”

“No, no, there’s something we’re missing.”

“We’ll be at Buckingham Palace for the barbecue. They have fighters ready and sharpshooters on the roof to take down any drone that tries to dive-bomb us. Secret Service will be all over the president and the prime minister. We’re only backup today. Now, do you want some breakfast? I saw some waffles on the menu and you know, I’d kill for waffles. Maybe with some strawberries on top.” She touched her fingers to his shoulder. “Nicholas, we do the best we can.” He said nothing. Mike looked around, saw her nightgown draped over the bedpost and pulled it over her head. Still, he looked preoccupied, worried, rather than looking at her, very unlike himself.

“Come on, Nicholas, maybe they can make you a frittata as good as Cook Crumbe’s at Old Farrow Hall. Who knows when we’ll be able to eat again?”

“I don’t want the president at risk at all. I want to find Ardelean before he has a chance to send a drone or one of his falcons.” He shook his head at himself, lifted the phone, and placed a breakfast order, with lots of strong coffee.

When he hung up, Mike had slipped from the bed and was headed to the shower. He watched for a moment, smiled at the incredible wild hair around her head and the rest of her, then got up and walked to the window to stare out at the city. Roman Ardelean was out there somewhere. He’d told them they would die if they didn’t go home.

Nicholas joined Mike in the shower.



* * *



They drove to Buckingham Palace in three separate black Range Rovers. Today Mike saw nothing but bright blue and an incredible shining sun overhead, the cold rain long gone. A perfect day for a barbecue.

She felt a shiver, leaned close. “You were worried this morning we’d missed something. Well, now you’ve got company, I feel it, too. Something isn’t right.”

“I don’t suppose you know what it is?”

Nicholas’s mobile rang. “Melinda, is something wrong?”

“No, no, the schedule changed. No announcement. We’ll be going to Parliament instead of doing the barbecue at Buckingham Palace. The Queen will be there, too. She’ll be speaking to the House of Commons, about Brexit, as well as the president and the PM.”

“When did the schedule change, Melinda?”

“This morning sometime. We were just called to session. I don’t know the details. I’m assuming they finally listened to us, decided to keep everyone indoors instead of parading them out under the clear blue sky for target practice. Or they got a threat, and that caused the change of venue. I don’t know.”

Nicholas looked at Mike. “It’s a right relief. Good for you. We’re on our way.”

The cars did a turn and drove back toward the Thames.

Mike said, “You know what? It would take serious armament to get into Parliament.”

Nicholas said slowly, “True, but I wouldn’t put anything past Ardelean.”

The Carriage Gates, where another attack had taken place, was smothered in security. They weren’t subtle about it, either—no less than twenty SWAT-geared officers, along with a bevy of armed officers and regular Metropolitan Police. Tourists were forming a line across St. Margaret Street, in Parliament Square. Nicholas remembered his first visit to Parliament with his grandfather when he’d been three years old. He’d been overwhelmed by the incredible rooms, one after the other, the sheer opulence, the huge golden building, glistening under a bright sun, just like today. The seat of all that was right and just, his grandfather had told him, and he’d never forgotten. In theory, his grandfather had added. Nicholas hadn’t forgotten that, either.

Nicholas studied the crowd. “Visitors to this city always do have a keen sense of something about to happen.”

“Nowadays everyone is so hypervigilant when they see a bunch of law enforcement, they assume something’s happened or is being prevented from happening.”

“It looks secure. Where do you want to set up? Inside?”