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“He was going to call me. I suppose you left my phone behind in New York?”
“Yes, but I spoofed it first before I kicked it under a car in the UN garage. I was hoping he was going to call.” He handed her a new phone, similar to hers. “This one’s clean, a burner. When he does call, it will scramble the signal, moving from your number through multiple servers to this one. It’s the most secure way I could come up with on short notice.”
“And the FBI won’t be able to track it?”
“They might, but we’re far enough ahead of them it won’t matter. We’re about to land.”
47
Nicholas’s brownstone
5:00 a.m.
He had strange dreams of being locked away in a tiny cage, being dive-bombed by killer bumblebees. How ironic—death by bumblebee. He flicked a hand to make them go away, but they flew closer, and they were loud, right in his face now—the bumblebees morphed into his phone, vibrating on the table next to him.
He fumbled for his mobile, saw the time—5:05 a.m.—and who was calling. Zachery. That brought him instantly awake. This wasn’t good news. Mike hadn’t stirred, still asleep on her back on the couch, an arm thrown over her eyes.
He shook his head to clear out the last two bumblebees as he answered. “Sir?”
“Drummond, I need you here immediately. You and Agent Caine. You’re being reinstated right now.”
He jerked to attention. “Reinstated?”
“Yes. Now, get your butt in here, double time. We have a big problem.”
“Sir, what’s happened?”
Zachery sighed into the phone. “Sophie Pearce has been kidnapped, right out of the private garage at the UN last night.”
Nicholas was on his feet. “But she was under our surveillance, wasn’t she?”
“Digitally, yes. There was nothing amiss with her phone. We found it in the UN garage. Get in here, and I’ll brief you. I don’t suppose Agent Caine is with you?”
Yes, but it’s not what you think. “She’s asleep on the couch. After our visitor last night, I thought it best she stay here where I could keep an eye on her. I’ll wake her.”
“Hurry, Nicholas, they’re hours ahead of us.”
He hung up, and Nicholas slipped his mobile in his pocket.
“Mike, wake up.” She rolled and stretched, then opened her eyes. The look on his face brought her upright fast. “What’s wrong?”
“Sophie’s been taken.”
“How? We were watching her, weren’t we?”
“Clearly not closely enough. How’s your jaw?”
“I’m good,” she said and stood, looking for her Glock.
He said, “It’s on the table. You looked uncomfortable, so I took it off you.”
She smiled at him. “Thanks. Tell me you didn’t keep working all night?”
“No, no, I slept a few hours.”
She clipped the Glock to her waistband. “What color am I this morning?”
“Your bruise has faded to a nice lavender, probably quite fetching with the right accessories.”
