The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI #5)(20)

Roman was at his brother’s side in an instant, his hand on his shoulder to stop his pacing. “Radu, look at me. What is wrong?”

Radu felt his brother’s strong hand on his arm and was reassured. He looked at his brother, saw his worry, his limitless love for him, and wished again Roman could stay with him all the time, though he understood that wasn’t at all possible. Roman was the face of their company, he was seen as the genius of Radulov Industries, the world’s premier cybersecurity firm. Roman was the one who sat down with heads of state, heads of governments, CEOs of companies and explained Radulov’s incredible operating system MATRIX, which not only connected them to the world but also protected them.

Until Temora’s attack this morning.

Roman would laugh as he talked about these meetings and tell him over and over that it was he, Radu, who was Radulov’s heart, its blood, its very life force. He and he alone was the center of Radulov, the creator of MATRIX. It was Radu who wrote the code his brother designed.

Radu felt calm flow through him, and he turned and pointed to the computer screen. “Look, Roman.”

It was then Roman saw a small flashing white skull and bones. It was Radu’s danger signal.

It meant more trouble ahead.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


Ancient artworks illustrating falconry date back at least 3,500 years to ancient Mesopotamia and Mongolia. While historically falconry was an elite and male-dominated activity, we have records of several notable women enjoying the hobby, including Queen Elizabeth I, Catherine the Great of Russia, and Mary, Queen of Scots.

—Smithsonian Magazine

Roman kept his voice low and calm. “What is it, brother? What’s happened?”

“They know,” Radu whispered in their twin tongue. “They know about the drone that killed Hemmler. It was spotted.”

Roman blew out a relieved breath. He’d feared Radu would tell him Temora had managed to do more damage. “Don’t worry, Radu, it’s easily managed. They can’t trace it back to us.”

“You do not understand. I monitored a call to the Metropolitan Police after the attack. One of the policemen there—Penderley is his name—he discussed the case with that Brit FBI agent, Drummond, you know, the one whose father—”

“Drummond? That prick?” Roman felt a punch of anger, then brushed it away like lint from his suit coat. “Be calm. Listen to me: Drummond will not find us. We are safe. You are safe, Radu, I will always keep you safe.”

“I have a very bad feeling, Roman. Send Arlington to follow Drummond. She needs to watch him, see what he does—”

“No, no, there is no need to panic simply because some overgrown schoolboy who thinks he knows how to use a computer is aware of the drone. You know how to shield us from him. There is no reason for Arlington to leave the mews.”

But despite his calm, his reassurance, Radu again began wringing his hands, pulling on his dirty hair, pacing, pacing. Then he whirled around. “Word came to you from Scotland. Raphael pinpointed the location of the attack that stopped the malware hack. It came from Farrow-on-Gray, from Drummond’s house. He is much more than a prick, Roman—he has our scent, he knows about the drone killing Hemmler.”

Roman was shaking his head, but Radu grabbed his arm. “We must eliminate Drummond immediately. He’s going to London today, meeting with his father. If we stop him now, we can stay safe. Promise me, Roman, promise me you’ll deal with him. Now.”

Roman eyed his twin. Dark hair oily, too long, his skin practically translucent from being indoors so much. Was he wearing the same Police Synchronicity tour T-shirt and jeans he’d been wearing for the past several days? Roman would speak with Iago. This wouldn’t do. Iago was indulgent with Radu, too indulgent.

Kill Nicholas Drummond?

It was a good thought. Without Drummond at its head, that ridiculous private team the FBI allowed him to put together would fall apart. But even Roman had to admit having him operating on European soil again was dangerous. And now he’d stopped the malware attack in its tracks, put his own code into the mix, and he was also aware of the drone—Roman leaned on the edge of a cabinet, crossed his arms. “Suppose you’re right,” he said slowly, “how would we do it? Send a Night Hawk?”

Radu’s smile bloomed bright as a child’s. “Wouldn’t you want to do it yourself?”

He hated to dim his brother’s smile, but—“I might draw too much attention, though a few drops of the special medicine in his drink would save us a lot of headaches. No, I’m sorry, Radu, I believe a strike would be easier.”

Radu nodded. “He will not expect an attack. Eliminate him before he reaches London. It is something I feel strongly about.”

Still Roman was undecided.

“Roman, they are closing in. I can feel it here.” He smacked the side of his head. “And there is more. The latest dispatches from the Security Services show all their passwords are being changed hourly. They are putting new firewalls into place because of the ransomware attack this morning.”

Roman shrugged. “It’s not a problem. If I, the head of Radulov, go personally to Security Services and tell them I’ve come to them to install a new patch on their servers because of the malware attack, I will ensure we continue to receive all needful information.”