The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI #5)(119)

The small drone moved into position by Ardelean’s shoulder, but before it could fire, Nicholas shouted a command at the falcon, a word he’d overheard Ardelean scream to his falcon that made it attack Mike.

“Ob?ine! Ob?ine!”

The falcon wheeled in midair and went after the small drone, shrieking, talons out. She whipped the drone to the floor, then flew after another, then another, before dropping to the stone floor, exhausted wings spread. She looked to her master for a reward, confused when there was no fresh meat coming.

Instead, Ardelean screamed in rage. “No!” He yelled for the falcon to attack, but the bird faltered, confused by two masters yelling at her.

Ardelean pulled a stiletto and hurled it at Nicholas, but Mike shoved Nicholas hard. The knife struck deep into the wall an inch from his head.

“No!” Roman screamed again, a death cry, and came at them.

“Stop!” Mike yelled at him.

But he didn’t. He was no longer thinking, he was a missile set on his course.

Nicholas fired, catching Roman in the throat. He spun in place, then crumpled to the ground almost at Nicholas’s feet.

Nicholas yanked the wrist communicator off Roman’s arm and smashed it to the ground, stomping on it for good measure.

The drone army dropped to the floor.

“Arlington,” Roman whispered, the name slurred in blood frothing from his mouth. The bird flew to his side, cheeping, hovering over him. His arm lifted, and Arlington stepped onto her master’s fist for the last time. He stroked the bird once, then his hand fell to his side. His head fell backward, his sightless eyes staring at the ceiling.

No one moved as the bird began to keen, a sound that made the hair on their necks stand up. They watched silently as the bird hopped on her master’s body, paced up and down, nudged his head, his arm, flapping her great wings, as if to protect him. She looked back at Nicholas for a moment, and he would swear he saw something primal and vicious in her eyes before she hopped forward, and her sharp talons ripped a chunk out of Ardelean’s throat.





EPILOGUE


One Week Later

Mike suffered the boot, no choice. Her ankle was fractured, not badly, they said, only a hairline crack. But it still hurt like blue blazes to walk on, so they gave her a pair of crutches. How long for her ankle to heal? Not all that long, they said, and after telling her to keep weight off it, sent her on her way—released her into the wild, Nigel said, when he saw the ridiculous boot that marched up nearly to her knee.

It hurt to look at herself in the full-length mirror in Nicholas’s bedroom because all she could see was the boot, black as her dress, so that was something, certainly better than candy pink. No, she wasn’t a pretty sight.

Nicholas and Nigel came into the room. Nigel stopped in his tracks. “Ah, you look fetching, Mike.”

Fetching? She’d like to smack him, but, with the boot, she couldn’t move fast enough. “I look like an idiot. Come on, Nicholas, you need to man up and tell the truth.”

Nicholas said simply, “You look like a hero.”

“That’s correct, Mike, your badge of honor,” Nigel said as he handed Nicholas his jacket.

No, not a jacket, a morning coat. Nigel patted down his shoulders, stepped back. “Very nice indeed.”

Nicholas gave him an incredulous look, shot his cuffs, and walked to stand beside her. Together they studied their fading bruises.

“It’s the Arnica balm,” Nigel said. “The bruises are nearly gone.”

True enough, but the bruises were the least of it. It was the lingering nightmares, Mike knew, filled with mechanical birds shrieking, their razor talons ready to strip off her face.

At least the real falcons had been sent from both of Roman’s estates and given to a falconer in the Lake District, who was reprogramming them. They were far, far away. Even so, she shuddered. “I’m going to have bird phobia for a while.”

“It will pass.” Nicholas kissed her temple. “As for myself, I can’t seem to step outside without studying the sky for drones. Still in all, we survived. We’re quite the team, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” she said. She eyed him up and down. “I’m thinking you could introduce your morning coat to the New York field office, set a new style.”

“My Glock wouldn’t fit well under it, alas. Now, Agent Caine, I lie not. You do look lovely.”

She licked her lips, stopped, she didn’t want to ruin her lipstick. “Well, okay, I’ll admit it, I’m nervous.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “The Queen already loves you for saving her life, and the PM, and the president, not to mention Parliament. It’s a great honor, Mike. And it’s important for the country for us to be acknowledged. My father has been informed by Her Majesty’s secretary that she is very pleased to knight me and dame you. He said the investiture had already been set up, but Her Majesty insisted we be added.”

“Do I have to be a dame? What does that even mean?”

“You’ll make a great dame.”

She punched him in the belly, and he obligingly grunted. He saw her color rise. Excellent, she’d forget her nerves soon enough.

He swept her up into his arms and carried her down the stairs, Nigel following with her crutches.

No nerves now, she was poking his shoulder and laughing, and so was he.