Havelock prided himself on being a measured man; he realized neither panic nor celebration was in order. While the news from America hadn’t been perfect, it had not disrupted the plan entirely. Even knowing who he was up against, and how things would go down if he didn’t find the sub in time, he remained calm and focused.

But he did pump his fist in the air when he saw the body of Alfie Stanford exiting 11 Downing Street feet-first, encased in a black body bag.

Guess who will hold the power now? And that made him smile.

A knock sounded at the door. He called, “Come,” and hit mute on the television.

März entered, holding a tablet computer, looking pissed, which was unusual, since that pale face of his was usually without expression. Something major had happened.

“What’s wrong? Out with it, März. You look like someone’s died. Which, of course, they have.” The maniacal grin was back, he couldn’t help himself. “Have you ever seen anything so wonderful? The FBI are looking left, while we feint right, Scotland Yard believes Stanford passed to the hereafter from a heart attack, and before the week is out, we will have everything we’ve always wanted. Now, tell me, has the Order called?”

“No, sir.”

“Oh, no matter, no matter. We shall call them. Now tell me, März, what terrible event has upset you?”

März knew he was being mocked, knew Havelock was the only man on the planet who could get away with it. Because, simply, Havelock was the only man März feared in the world.

His kept his voice calm, icy calm. “I have learned that one of the top medical examiners is shortly to perform Mr. X’s autopsy. He will not fail to find the implant. It won’t be long before they trace it to you.”

Havelock shook his head. “They won’t trace it to me in time, März. This is why we created the shell company, and I had it shut down five minutes after Mr. X drew his last breath. It will stall the FBI long enough for us to find the sub and retrieve the key. Now, get Mr. Weston on the phone. It’s time I gave him instructions.”

März nodded, turned to go.

“Oh, März? Do tell me, where is Adam Pearce?”

März turned back slowly, not reacting. “As you instructed, we are looking for him, sir. All of his accounts have been silent. We are still working on the files uploaded from Pearce’s computer—so far, nothing in them gives the exact location of the sub. But we know Adam Pearce had narrowed it down to northern Scotland.”

Havelock jumped to his feet. “Why didn’t you say so? Move the Gravitania into position now! We’ll be within a few hours’ sail when we locate the final position. I always thought they’d gone to ground near the Hebrides.”

“I’ve already had the ship notified. They are under way to the closest coordinates we’ve found. Also, I have sent the assets we discussed earlier to Adam Pearce’s last known address in New York.”

“An address? After all this time? How did you find it?”

März gave an eerie smile. “When Mr. X spoofed Pearce’s phone, we were able to download all the data and back-trace the text messages. There were a variety of phone numbers from which the texts were sent, but we were able to identify more than one instance of a single GPS coordinate where the texts were sent from. Mr. W and Mr. Y were sent there to reconnoiter the position. Adam Pearce has a girlfriend living there; he bought her an apartment last year. With all that has happened today in his world, he will go back to her, for safety, perhaps. And when he does, we will take him.”

“Make it happen faster. I very much dislike waiting. Now get me Weston.”

März left, then a few moments later, the phone on Havelock’s desk buzzed.

“Yes?” Weston sounded harried and annoyed at the interruption. Well, the poor man was quite busy now, after all, what with Stanford’s sudden death.

“Hello, Edward. It’s me.”

“Manfred, now is not the time.”

Weston was already trying to act like the leader of the Order. It was charming. “On the contrary, my dear Edward, I think now is the perfect time.”

“I have guests arriving in half an hour.”

“This is very good news. The Order is moving quickly, as it should. You are to be congratulated. Do tell them I’m so very anxious to step in and help. What with my father’s untimely passing, and the sudden horrors this lovely day has brought, it would be my honor to continue his legacy. I can be there at a moment’s notice, to serve at their pleasure.”

Weston was quiet for a minute. “It will happen, I’ll see to it. There has been no luck finding Adam Pearce?”

“Not yet, not yet, but all the pieces are coming together. Soon we will have the exact location of the sub.”

Weston said, “In that case, I think you should come as soon as possible. I’ve ordered Alex Grossman to bring Sophie Pearce to London tonight. If we can’t find Adam Pearce, she’s the lever we need to make him come to us.”

“I’m impressed, Edward. Well done.”

A moment of uncertain silence, then Weston said, “It’s added insurance, in case your plans fail—and they already have today, Manfred, don’t think I’m not entirely aware of how badly your boys screwed up this morning. Damn it all, that idiot killed Pearce! Of all the people, he’s the one we needed the most.”

Havelock said, “Pearce refused to cooperate; his death was an accident. But it’s no matter, Edward. Adam is the key, not his father. He has all the data we need, locked up tight in his brilliant little brain. Yes, yes, I see having Sophie Pearce under our control could be very helpful. Yes, that is very good thinking.”

“I also told Alex not to worry about Pearce’s SD card, since we have the other one, from Alfie’s safe. But I do worry. The FBI have it and they are not stupid.”

Havelock only smiled into the phone. “Do not worry about Drummond. He is nothing.”

“Well, are you coming, then?”

“I will be there by morning. When is the meeting?”

“Noon tomorrow.”

“Excellent, capital, well done. By then, if we don’t have Adam Pearce and the location of the sub, we’ll at least have Sophia Pearce in our hands. Until then, dear Edward.”

Havelock placed the phone in its cradle, a smile still playing on his lips.

He hit his intercom button. “Elise? Begin packing. We are going to London.”

23

26 Federal Plaza

1:45 p.m.

While Nicholas was on the phone to his family, Mike took a quick look at some of the information Agent Gray Wharton had taken from Pearce’s computers. She glanced at Pearce’s client list, stopped cold—she saw names she recognized—an international who’s who of power and wealth. Sophie had said her father’s business was global; she certainly hadn’t been kidding.

Mike scanned the list, seeing name after familiar name, and knew from experience that there was something more here. She glanced at her watch; it was nearly two and they had to get to the OCME for Mr. Olympic’s autopsy. She started to close the file when she saw a name that really stood out. She read it over a few times, then closed the file and ejected the thumb drive. Nicholas needed to see this. She didn’t know what it meant, but he might.

She grabbed two bottles of water and two apples from the small fridge she kept under her desk. She was hungry; they hadn’t had time for lunch. The apples would have to do for now. They could stop and eat on their way back downtown. A full stomach before an autopsy wasn’t a smart move, in any case.

She looked up to see Nicholas standing in the door to her cube. “Are you ready to go?”

“I am.” She handed him a bottle of water and an apple. “I know we have to hurry, but you need to see this before we go.”

She inserted the thumb drive back into the secure, red partitioned side of her FBI computer and opened the mirrored hard drive. She clicked on the file labeled CLIENTS. Hundreds of blue folders came up on the screen, neat and orderly.