The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI #5)(50)

Roman hugged his brother to him, felt his heart pounding against his. “I want you to be cured, and that means we have to have the pages.” He set his brother away from him, placed his hands on Radu’s shoulders. “I want you well, a whole man. I want the world to see your brilliance, your incredible skill. I want you by my side, and that means I must deal with the woman as soon as possible. Tonight.” He paused, looked back at the schematic of the drone. “You will eliminate the threat, and I will take care of everything else.”

Radu had seen him take a third microdose in a matter of minutes. He knew Roman was becoming more and more attached to his LSD, and he was afraid that instead of helping him channel the brilliance, tether it, so it didn’t fly away like his cabal, the microdoses were making his behavior more and more erratic, affecting his moods, his reasoning, making him more unpredictable. Radu understood the benefits to the microdoses, but now, what Roman was becoming scared him.

He thought of all the drugs he’d been given since birth, for both his Asperger’s and autism, or whatever it was, and his rare form of hemophilia and how none had helped him. He knew that too much of any drug was dangerous, and too much of the LSD? Even with the modifications he’d made? Would it eventually tip Roman over the edge? Make him mad?

Soothe him, soothe him. “Don’t worry, Roman, I will take care of Drummond. Please, trust me.”

I trusted you before to self-destruct the bloody drone! Rage flashed, then sank back below the surface. “I know you will, Radu. You need to trust me, as well. Once we have the woman and the pages, we will work to cure you. You will kill Drummond, Barstow will give us the money, and I have an idea how to crush Temora once and for all. Never again will that traitor infiltrate MATRIX. I will personally kill him, perhaps strangle him as he stares up at me. Yes, all will work.” And he rubbed his hands together, frowned a moment, thumbed another microdose onto his tongue, then strode from the room. Radu watched his strong, brilliant brother, so robust, so full of life and purpose and love for him. What would happen now? Radu slowly walked to the control panel and cooed softly into the microphone that fed directly into the falcons’ mews. His voice woke the remainder of the cast, who were sleeping. It was too dangerous for him to handle the birds himself—even with Roman’s protective gear, a small nick from a talon or beak would cause a bleed that couldn’t be controlled—so all his directions had to come from afar. Like his directions to the drones. Like everything Radu was forced to do. Never touching. Never connecting. Except with his brother. His heart quickened. He didn’t want to believe it, but maybe, maybe, the woman and the pages would lead to a cure for him. And he would walk free in the world. Perhaps he would learn to play cricket.

He sent Ashley and Lauderdale the coordinates in their collars, then sat carefully in his specially made chair, putting his hands on the controls for the drone, but he worried. So much chaos swirling about, so many problems, so many irons in the fire, a phrase he’d heard Iago once say. And Roman, the other half of him, becoming so volatile. What would happen?





CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE


Notting Hill, London

Nicholas and Mike watched Detective Inspector Griffith gently place the needle into an evidence bag.

Nicholas said, “We need it tested straightaway, but I imagine it’s the same poison—epibatidine.”

“Yes, I agree. I’ll oversee it myself. Our lab will analyze it immediately, and I’ll be in touch with you the moment we know for sure.”

“Could you also have someone take a look at Alexander’s computers? Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to look at his computer, and we need the hard drives for Hemmler and Donovan as well. Even a copied hard drive will work. But send it to me by courier, and do it quietly. We’re all still compromised, as far as we know, and we certainly don’t want whoever is behind this to catch wind of what we’re doing.”

Griffith nodded. “I’ll make sure this is handled discreetly.”

“We need to head out now. Oh, Griffith? You do good work. Thank you for all your help.”

Again, DI Griffith bloomed under that smile. “Ah, happy to help, Nicholas, Mike.”

Mike grinned, but it fell off her face in an instant. She saw a flash of brown—there one moment, gone the next.

She grabbed his arm. “Nicholas, did you see that?”

“See what?”

“Remember the bird you thought was watching us last night? I think I’ve seen another.”

A small brown feather floated down in front of them.

“Nicholas, I—”

“Wait. Listen. Do you hear that?”

All Mike could hear was the city—moving, breathing, cars flowing along the nearby streets, the murmurs and calls of the crime-scene crew. She shook her head.

“A high-pitched whir.”

Mike’s adrenaline spiked. She looked up. “A drone? I can’t see it. Where, where?”

“There,” Nicholas shouted, pointing to the eastern edge of Marianne’s roof.

They saw the drone rise gracefully into the sky. Mike ducked behind the crime-scene van, and Nicholas took up point at the hood.

He pulled his Glock, thankfully returned by Penderley.

She heard the barrage of bullets, too close, and drew the small Glock 27 from her ankle holster. The drone was darting left, then right, through the sky overhead, firing.