The Sixth Day (A Brit in the FBI #5)(90)

A phone started ringing.

Roman cursed.

“Iago. Tend to that.”

Tend to what? Oh yes, the phone. Was his sweetheart calling him? No, Iago was a betrayer, he didn’t love, couldn’t love. She started humming again. She heard Roman murmuring something. To Radu?

No, to her. “It’s only the needle,” Roman said. “Hold still, and yes, keep humming. It’s in place now.”

Almost immediately, she had the strangest sensation. She saw a vacuum, and it was attached to her arm, and she could feel the blood being pulled out. Somewhere deep inside, she knew she should be screaming, but she didn’t. She closed her eyes and hummed. Was that her mother standing over her? Why was she crying?

She heard Iago’s voice, a whisper, yet it sounded loud in her ears. “Roman, you must take this call. It’s Lord Barstow. He’s texted a number of times and continues to call.”

“What does he want?”

“He says it’s urgent. He says you must get on the phone immediately.”

“Give me that.”

Isabella heard a faint snap over her humming and knew it was Roman ripping sterile gloves off his hands.

He sounded angry—why was that? He was going to drain her blood into Radu. Would she die? He said, “What do you want now, Barstow?”

Barstow. She hadn’t ever heard that name before. She wondered why Roman was so angry at him.

“Yes, I’ll come. I will meet you at the theater. If you don’t have the entire amount in cash, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

He hung up, and Isabella saw through a pleasant haze that he was smiling. And then, “Radu, the bastard finally took me seriously and is paying up. All of it. It’s a great day, Brother. You will be healthy, and the drones will go to Africa. Iago, supervise the remainder of the blood transfer. I must go meet Barstow.”

He laughed again, and both Radu and Iago laughed, too. She wondered about the money. Why give it to him? Barstow, who was he? She wanted to laugh, too, but all she could do was hum.

She saw a shadow out of the corner of her eye. It was Roman, and he was leaving. Well, that was all right, wasn’t it? She started humming again, and the world was vague and quite lovely.





CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE


MI5 Headquarters, Home Office

Thames House

12 Millbank

Westminster, London

The team was soon in black tactical gear, strapping on Kevlar vests and securing M4 assault rifles to their backs.

Once Mike was fully armed, she tucked a pair of sticky gloves in her tactical belt, then stashed both a small first aid pack and three extra thirty-round magazines into her bag. No one knew what they were jumping into, so they were prepared for everything. She felt focused, calm, adrenaline on a low simmer. She was saving the big burst of energy for the jump. She was ready to get Isabella back. Mike prayed she was still alive.

Once everyone was geared up, they gathered around Adam for a briefing.

“I found the plans from Ardelean’s last renovation. The lab is on the third floor. There’s an attic that opens onto the roof on the fourth. If that’s where the falcons flew from, I suppose it’s the aviary. There is an entire suite of rooms on the second floor, I can’t tell if it’s a guest suite, or this is where the mythical brother lives. Maybe servants, too, it’s roomy. The first floor is reception, kitchen, dining room, and several large, open spaces, living room, den, I suppose. The backyard opens to a pool and gardens. The path down to the river comes off the east side of the house.”

Gareth picked it up. “Should something happen, bolt for the river. We’ll have Zodiacs waiting. Air reconnaissance will be monitoring for drones and those birds, too. They aren’t back yet. The sky door is still open. The chopper is at Battersea heliport and ready when you are. Faster than taking you out to Northolt. We’re going to put you in a Gazelle—it’s quieter, less chance of being spotted too early. They’ve plotted a path down the H4 to the house that keeps them in the London heli lanes but allows for a last-second deviation out toward Twickenham. Heathrow ATC has been notified we’re doing a training exercise.”

Nicholas said, “Too bad it’s dark. Flying a helicopter down the Thames can be quite romantic.”

Mike rolled her eyes. “You have a bandage over a gunshot wound in your side and you’re thinking about romance? Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go do it.”

Nicholas and Gareth burst out laughing.

“I meant, let’s go get Isabella, you idiots.”

Adam called out, “I’ve sent the schematics to your comms. You’ll be able to see what’s what on your wrist cams, and I’ll be here with Ian—we’ll be in your ears. Good luck.”



* * *



The Gazelle was cramped compared to other choppers she’d been in. Only the two pilots and Mike, Nicholas, and Gareth could fit. But the benefit was the Gazelle was indeed substantially quieter, as advertised.

Since they were wearing helmets with headphones, she could hear the pilots’ technical talk as they lifted off and started their run down the Thames. She tuned them out, tuned in her father’s deep, calm voice. You know what you’re doing, you’re ready to move. Now make sure you’re ready mentally. Focus, Mike, make sure you’re focused. She didn’t tune in what her mother, the Gorgeous Rebecca, would say.