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“It’s all still running. Gray Wharton has the video feeds uploaded as well.” Zachery glanced at him, one eyebrow hiked. “Once you’re done at the OCME, Drummond, perhaps you can lend a hand there.”
Nicholas smiled. “With pleasure, sir.”
“Good. Before you go uptown, I want a full rundown of everything that happened this morning. I’m beginning to gather we’re dealing with something very complicated, very sticky.”
“Yes, sir,” Nicholas said. “On both counts.”
Mike shot a glance at Nicholas. She knew him well, a surprise since they’d really known each other only a handful of days. Something was cooking, but exactly what, she didn’t know yet.
Zachery had made it clear to her when he’d agreed to pair her with Nicholas that one of her main responsibilities was to manage the Brit, and that meant to make sure Nicholas followed the hallowed rules to the letter. Creativity was welcome; hotdogging was not, although any FBI special agent knew that the New York Field Office was known for its cowboys, particularly under Bo Horsley.
Control Nicholas? She wanted to tell Zachery that would be like trying to control a plume of smoke on a windy day, but she didn’t. One of the reasons she liked working for Zachery was that he was steady, even-keeled. But now he looked strained. Was something else going on, something big? Well, Zachery would tell them in his own good time.
He led them to his office, shut the door, and Mike gave him a moment-by-moment rundown on their morning. He did not interrupt her because she was good, clear, no unnecessary information, always on point. When she’d finished, Zachery said, “Your suspect—this Mr. Olympic—when he unexpectedly died, are you certain, Drummond, that you didn’t hit him in a way that could be misinterpreted?”
“Not at all. I saved his life, pushing him out of the way of the patrol car. He was very much alive when we started to cuff him. He went down, with no warning. It was clear to me he’d activated some sort of poison, and it did its job. We’ll know after he’s autopsied exactly what killed him.”
“There won’t be any video surveillance footage showing your hands anywhere near this man’s face? No witnesses to claim you brutalized him, in fact, caused his death?”
“There won’t be. I did nothing wrong here.”
Zachery held up a finger. “Don’t get riled up. I have to ask. You had your hands on a man as he died in broad daylight on a busy New York street. You know an inquiry is mandated since you are still in your probationary period, and there is no fooling around in these proceedings.
“Agent Caine agrees that you did nothing wrong. If, however, there is anything either of you wish to tell me, now’s the time.”
They both shook their heads.
“All right, then. Before you leave, you have some time to look deeper into Jonathan Pearce. He was clearly not a simple antiquarian bookseller. You said he’d been lured with fake text messages to Wall Street; the computer in Mr. Pearce’s home office had been compromised before you were able to access the files, and there was all the classified material you found with the SD card, and e-mailed to him. Tell me exactly what the classified material was.”
Nicholas said, “He had specs for a military satellite still in the developmental stages, which will be launched in a few months to bolster the Milstar II military communications satellites already in orbit.”
“Not what you’d expect from a bookseller’s files.”
“Especially when sent through an anonymous repeater, so there’s no way to tell who provided the information. That satellite is so top secret no one outside the program and the launch schedule know anything about it. It certainly isn’t something laymen have access to. The SD card Gray is processing was full of files and letters and photographs. I didn’t have time to sort through them all before his daughter, Sophie Pearce, showed up. I need some time to make sense of all of this, but the information was clearly of a secret nature.”
Zachery nodded. “We’ll get to the bottom of it. We always do.” He drew a deep breath. “Now I have some bad news, Drummond. We received word an hour ago that Alfie Stanford has passed away.”
21
Nicholas took the news like a fist to the gut. “You don’t mean Alfie Stanford, the chancellor of the Exchequer?”
Zachery nodded. “From the look on your face, I see he was a friend of your family? I imagined as much. I’m sorry, Drummond.”
Nicholas finally found his voice. “Yes, he is. I went to school with his three grandsons. I’ve known him my whole life.”
“I’m very sorry, Nicholas,” Mike said. She touched his forearm lightly. “Sir, what happened?”
“He collapsed in his office at Eleven Downing Street. It seems to be natural causes, though they don’t know for sure yet. He was eighty-two, so I suppose it makes sense. The media is going to be all over the story, of course, Stanford being who he was. Drummond, if I hear anything more, I’ll let you know. Both of you, keep me posted.”
The audience was over. He gestured toward the door, then reached for his phone. “And Drummond? Do try not to get anyone else dead today, will you?”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
Nicholas looked shell-shocked. He didn’t wait, pulled out his mobile and dialed. Mike said nothing, merely stood close, giving him silent support.
It was only half past six in the evening in England; at least he wasn’t going to wake anyone up.
