He yanked her ponytail again. She ignored the pain, stumbled to her feet, being as clumsy as possible, shuffling her feet along the wood floor, hoping Nicholas or Nigel would hear. It wasn’t much since she’d taken off her boots, maybe she could kick back and—

“You don’t want to cooperate, do you?” In one fast move, Grossman pressed her face against the wall. He kicked her legs apart and leaned hard against her. She felt a shot of panic.

He said in her ear, “Don’t pull that crap again. I don’t want to kill you, but I will if I have to.” He pulled her away from the wall and shoved her forward, his hand over her mouth. “Now, walk.”

The gun dug deep against her ribs when he forced her into the library. She knew she’d be of no use to Nicholas if he shot her.

Nicholas didn’t look up. “Ben gave me the transcripts of e-mails between EP and Pearce. It took me a while, some real digging, then I found something—I think it’s coordinates, latitude and longitude. The files here say they’re looking for an old U-boat, World War One era. Pearce sent Stanford a message last night saying he’d found it. These coordinates are probably the sub’s location. Adam was using the satellite to look for the sub.”

“Thank you, Agent Drummond.”

He whipped around to see Alex Grossman, his hand over Mike’s mouth, a gun stuck in her ribs. And then Mike was in motion. She bit hard on his hand and he dropped her with a curse. “Nicholas—”

Grossman slammed his fist into her jaw and she went down.

Grossman pointed the weapon at Nicholas. “No, no, don’t move or you’re a dead man. You’re very clever, Agent Drummond. You’re quite good at this.”

Nicholas was already out of his chair, hand reaching for his Glock.

Grossman leaned down and pointed the gun at the back of Mike’s neck.

Nicholas slowly straightened. “What are you playing at, Grossman?”

Grossman’s tone was pleasant, conversational, even. “Stop moving, or I’ll put a bullet into the back of her head. You have something that belongs to me. I need it back. A simple transaction, and no one gets hurt.”

“Except Agent Caine.” Nicholas saw she was pale, not moving. He couldn’t get to her yet, he had to take care of Grossman first. He saw blood on Grossman’s hand. Good, she’d taken quite a bite of him.

Grossman said, “You have a copy of some files you took from Jonathan Pearce’s apartment. I’d like them, if you please.”

He held out his left hand, blood still dripping, palm up.

“And if I don’t comply?”

Grossman didn’t move, but he smiled and nodded toward his finger, which was tightening on the trigger. “I’m not playing. The files or you’ll have to find a new partner. Now.”

Nicholas tapped a couple of keys, ejected the Tardis thumb drive, and tossed it to Grossman. He caught the drive and smiled, eyes never leaving Nicholas. “I’ll need the laptop as well, if you please. And don’t even think of tossing it at me, there’s a good lad. Put it on the floor, kick it over to me.”

Nicholas hit two keys on the laptop as he closed the lid, then used his foot to slide it toward Grossman.

“Thank you. I hope we don’t meet again, Agent Drummond.”

Grossman reached down, grabbed the laptop, and backed out of the room, gun pointed at Mike the whole time. Weston hadn’t expected him to retrieve the files, but he had, he’d gotten everything, and now he would join Sophie on the plane and they’d be on their way to London. What was incredible was that he’d be able to present the Order with the coordinates of the sub.

40

Nicholas hit the intercom. “Nigel, lock down the house!”

He pulled Mike into his lap, and offered up a prayer of thanks when her eyelids started to flutter.

“Nicholas?”

“It’s me, Mike.”

She touched her hand to her jaw, jerked it back. “That jerk hit me with his fist.”

“Believe me, I saw. Let me check.” She yipped when he touched her jaw. “Not broken, but you’re going to have a lovely bruise. Hey, can’t you even take a bathroom break without getting into trouble?”

“Har, har. Did you get Grossman? Nicholas, the files—”

“No, no, stay put, would you? Don’t worry about the files. Before I gave Grossman my laptop I blew both the thumb drive and the hard drive. He’s out of luck. The files are destroyed. But that also means we don’t have the files anymore.” He gently eased her onto the sofa and jumped up to fetch a pen. She saw him write something quickly.

“What?”

“I’m writing down the coordinates to the sub. Don’t want to forget them.”

“And Gray still has the files. I’ve got to tell him.” She got to her feet only to have Nicholas pull her close, for a moment. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. That was twice today she’d had a gun pointed at her head. He pushed it away.

“Look at that bruise starting to grow on your jaw, I’m thinking maybe the shape of India. Who’s the lamebrain now?” He lightly tapped her shoulder. “I mean, why on earth did you have to go to the loo?”

“Again, I say har, har.”

“You stay put, I’ll get Nigel. He’s a bang-up medic. Royal Army Medical Corps, he can make doubly sure your jaw’s okay. When I went into the Foreign Service, he joined me as a medic in the field, believed it would be smart to know how to patch me up, should I ever get myself into trouble.” He walked quickly to the intercom, pressed the button, and called Nigel’s name, then once more. But he knew, of course. “Grossman got to Nigel before he took you down.”

“Go find him. I’ll be okay.”

He ran out of the library, down the stairs. There was a window open on the landing. Grossman’s escape. It was a long drop down to the street. Nicholas looked out, didn’t see anything, save for the large oak tree in the front yard. So he’d stuck the laptop inside his jacket, grabbed a branch, and swung himself to the ground.

Bastard.

Nicholas found Nigel crumpled on the floor by the kitchen door, out cold. His neck pulse was strong and steady, but Nicholas’s fingers came away with a small smear of blood. An injection site, a small lump of fluid under the skin.

Drugged.

He shook Nigel’s shoulder, but no good. He lifted the phone off the wall and called 911.

Nigel had fought him. There were dishes cracked on the floor, remains from their dinner, and a knife on the tiles about three feet from Nigel’s outstretched hand. So, when Nigel saw Grossman, he’d reached for the knife, but Grossman was faster, had the element of surprise, and had managed to stick the needle in Nigel’s neck.

Nicholas felt rage roil in his belly. Grossman had invaded his home, his sanctum, and hurt the two people Nicholas cared most about in this city. His anger mixed with the surge of adrenaline into a wicked cocktail. He straightened Nigel’s bent arm and rose.

Grossman, Havelock, all of them, they’d made it personal. And now there would be hell to pay. Nicholas picked up the kitchen phone and called Zachery.

Hell to pay.

41

Over the Atlantic

British Airways Flight 176

Midnight

The wheels lifted off the tarmac. Adam allowed himself a nice deep breath. It seemed like the first time he’d breathed in hours.

Adam settled back in his big first-class seat. He couldn’t believe he managed to get out of New York with the FBI searching for him. But he was better at hiding than they were at looking. After the disaster at his apartment, with Allie—No, don’t think of her, you’ll fall apart again—he’d fled blindly, caught the first cab he’d seen, and had it take him across the bridge into Brooklyn.

There he stopped at an Internet café, went to the British Airways database, and booked himself a ticket to Heathrow under the name Thomas Wren, a completely clean legend he’d built for himself. Wren was one of four new identities he’d created in the past month. Adam was paranoid to a fault, and constantly developed new safeguards to cover his back.