A chance. Sophie burst into the hallway. Not six feet away stood a large man. He wasted no time and was on her in an instant. “Get back in there, stupid bitch.” He grabbed her arm and pushed her back into the room. She stumbled against a wall as he slammed the door, locked it.

He was armed, she’d seen the large gun at his belt. An armed guard, in the middle of nowhere.

If Alex Shepherd had walked into the room at that moment, she would have tried to tear his throat out with her teeth.

She was a prisoner, but Alex wasn’t. Even as she prayed, she knew this was not going to end well.

54

Over the Atlantic

Harry Drummond answered the phone on the first ring. “Nicholas. Calling me twice in two days. If you keep this up I might think you’re doubting your decision to move to America.”

“I’m glad you can still joke, Dad.” But he’d heard the tension in his father’s voice. Something was happening and his father knew what it was.

Harry paused. “Is everything all right?”

“No, I’m sorry to say it isn’t. I’m on a secure satphone on a plane on my way to London. I need you to be honest with me. I need you to tell me what’s going on over there.”

“Nicholas, I told you we have Alfie’s murder well in hand. Why are you coming to London? You’re FBI now. You have no business here.”

“On the contrary, I do. Which is why I’m calling, to tell you what’s bringing me to London with an official invitation from New Scotland Yard, as a matter of fact. A principal in my case was kidnapped and we know she’s been taken to England.” And he told his father all of it, including the break-in. “As if this weren’t enough, Dad, have you ever heard of a group in England called the Highest Order? Or simply the Order?”

Absolute silence. “Dad? Are you still there?”

“Where, exactly, did you hear the name Highest Order?”

“So it does exist?”

“The Order is a very secret organization, Nicholas. It’s not something bandied about in polite conversation. Where’d you see the name, Jonathan Pearce’s files?”

“An old FBI dossier, actually.”

Harry Drummond cursed.

His father never cursed. “Dad, isn’t it time to tell me what’s going on over there? I’m coming. I’m going to be in the middle of it. Don’t make me come in blind. I’m on a line as secure as is humanly possible, and it’s scrambling from your end as well. We couldn’t be more private if we were sitting in the center of the labyrinth out back. So out with it. Please. Sir.”

Harry said, “I must caution you, Nicholas, what I’m going to tell you, you must keep it between us. Do you agree?” He paused. “Of course I don’t want you blind, Nicholas.”

“Yes, sir, of course I agree.”

“Very well. The Order has been around hundreds of years. They’ve gone global now, and honestly, all I truly know for certain is it’s an organization of powerful men dedicated to keeping the world as safe as possible, which isn’t saying much, is it, given the violence in every part of the globe?”

“Above the governments, above the people? How does that work?”

“The Order has always worked for the common good. At first, admittedly, its purpose was to keep the English throne Protestant to avoid bloody war. It changed, of course, but still, the common good continued to benefit England only. That’s really all I can say, Nicholas. You have to trust me here, this isn’t the kind of conversation we want to be having on the phone, regardless of how secure it is.”

“Dad, have you heard of a man named Manfred Havelock?”

Dead-cold silence, then, his voice heavy, his father said, “I knew his father, Wolfgang. He passed away recently.”

“I know that. I saw it when I was looking into Havelock the younger last night.”

Now Nicholas heard urgency in his father’s voice. “May I ask why you were looking into Manfred Havelock?”

“We believe he’s directly tied to the murder of Jonathan Pearce. We’ve also learned he’s been quietly gathering polonium from the black markets. The assassin he sent to kill Pearce had a brain implant which worked as a type of recording device. The man’s mad, it seems, a genius who’s toppled over the edge. We’re looking for him, beating all the bushes. His last known location was Berlin, but we believe he may be heading to Scotland. He’s looking for a submarine called Victoria, which went down in 1917.”

“Nicholas.”

Nicholas heard the alarm, the urgency in his father’s voice. “What is it?”

“How far out are you?”

“We should be on the ground in two hours. Dad, what’s going on?”

“When you arrive, you need to see Oliver Leyland. Go directly to his home in Mayfair. Do not stop anywhere else. Do you understand?”

“The head of the Bank of England? That Oliver Leyland?”

“Yes. I will tell him you’re coming.”

“Dad, what is going on?”

Harry said, “Wolfgang Havelock was a member of the Order, too. High-ranking.”

“Too?”

“Alfie Stanford, Nicholas. He was the head of the Highest Order, their leader for many years. And now Manfred Havelock’s been inducted. This is bad, very bad. Get to Leyland, Nicholas. He’ll tell you what’s happened. I do know the Order is under attack. Nicholas? Be careful, be very, very careful.”

Harry hung up, and Nicholas stared at the phone. He didn’t like this, didn’t like it at all. Oliver Leyland, then. Very well.

Mike was leaning toward him. “What in the world was all that?”

Nicholas placed the phone back in the armrest. “All I’m sure of at the moment is that the first person we’re to see in London is the head of the Bank of England, Oliver Leyland,” and he told her what his father said.

When he finished, she said slowly, “Alfie Stanford, Wolfgang Havelock, and Jonathan Pearce, all members of the Order, all murdered. I’d say they’re under attack.”

“Yes, remember the diplomat’s dossier warned that the Order was changing, and not for the better. My father agrees. I think Alex Shepherd is now working for Havelock against the Order. That’s why he’s kidnapped Sophie, as leverage against Adam to get the final coordinates of the sub. I think it’s time we call Hamish Penderley, see if they’ve sussed out anything important.”

But Mike wasn’t listening anymore. She was sifting through the files, tossing pages to find what she needed.

“What are you doing?” Nicholas asked.

“I saw something a few minutes before you called your dad. Give me a second, I’ll find it. Here it is. Now, it was reported that Wolfgang Havelock supposedly died of a stroke, following an aneurysm repair, right?”

“That’s what Savich said. Why?”

“His autopsy report is in here. Gray found it. I can’t believe I didn’t put it together sooner.”

“Mike, take a breath and tell me what you’re thinking.”

She shoved the paper at him. “Wolfgang Havelock didn’t have a repaired aneurysm. He had a brain implant. He had one of his son’s brain implants in his head.”

55

London

1:00 p.m.

Once all the members of the Order had departed, Weston hurried to the flat he’d secured for Havelock in the building.

He didn’t knock, simply opened the door, walked in, and stopped cold. Havelock was standing spread-eagle in the window, his shirt off. His woman, Elise, held a cat-o’-nine-tails in her left hand. When Weston entered the room, Elise turned and saw him, bent her head in a silent nod of greeting, then hauled off and whacked Havelock square in the back. Havelock jumped with the force of the blow and strained against the ropes that held his wrists bound to the window frame, but he didn’t make a sound.

Weston stared, disbelieving, horrified. “Stop this now! Havelock, what are you doing?”