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We’re coming.
“Mike, are you seeing this?”
“I am. Ask him where he is.”
Where are you? We need to speak in person.
Meet you at Leyland’s.
You’re already in London? We’ll send the Metropolitan Police to pick you up. My people. They’ll keep you safe.
No. Havelock has people everywhere. When you get to Leyland’s I’ll tell you everything. We must stop Havelock. Promise me you’ll save Sophie.
That’s the plan. You must come in.
Will you expunge my record? I got an offer from the wrong side to do that in exchange for info on where to retrieve the key.
What’s more important to you? Your sister or saving your own hide?
Both. I want to be on the right side of this. My father would want me to. We can’t allow Havelock to win. Have to go. This channel has been open too long. Leyland’s ASAP.
And the chat box disappeared.
57
Notting Hill
1:00 p.m.
Leyland had left Adam a key. He’d come in and eaten his way through the fridge and found some of the weird fizzy lemonade they passed off as soda. Then he’d gone outside with his laptop and reached Drummond. And now here he sat on a bench behind Leyland’s house, looking out at the beautiful, peaceful gardens, everything opposite of how he felt right now.
Where was Leyland? The house was too quiet, too empty. Adam was getting spooked.
Oliver Leyland, his godfather, had been a good friend to him and it wasn’t the first time he had stayed in his house, in what was considered his own room, hiding out from one government or another after him at the time. Adam was a white hat hacker, breaking into secure systems to show them their security flaws. He never profited from his hacking, though he certainly did make a great deal of money designing the code on the front end. And when he discovered the weaknesses, he didn’t sell that information to the highest bidder like most of the other hackers he knew. He wasn’t interested in taking down governments or anarchy, he wanted adventure, the chase, the excitement of changing the world, one keystroke at a time.
As tense and uncertain as this situation was becoming, Adam had to admit he liked the FBI agents on this case. Especially the Drummond guy, the big Brit. He was smart, and a computer geek, like Adam. Maybe when all this was over, he could sit down with him and they could talk.
It hit him like a punch to his stomach—the deadening pain made him gasp aloud. He hadn’t allowed himself to grieve, not for Allie, not for his dad. But now he shook with pain. Smart, sweet Allie, his friend for two years, his girlfriend for less than six months. Now she was gone and it was all his fault.
He saw his dad, bleeding out on the street twenty feet away, and he knew he’d never get that image out of his head. He hadn’t told Sophie, couldn’t, the pain of it was too deep, too raw.
He felt tears sting his eyes, swiped them away. He wouldn’t break down, not with that crazy bastard Havelock after the key. He realized with sudden clarity that he was willing to die if necessary to make sure it didn’t happen.
He said aloud, “You’re nineteen and you’re ready to throw yourself under the bus? You’re an idiot.”
“No, not an idiot unless you want to throw yourself under the wrong bus.”
Oliver Leyland stood in the doorway, a big man, a strong man, with a lion’s mane of thick white hair, now smiling at him, welcoming him, his arms held wide. Adam burrowed against him, and let the grief pour out of him. His godfather held him, saying nothing, simply letting him grieve, giving him what comfort he could. The boy was only nineteen and his world was tilting. As for his world, it didn’t look much better. He said, “I am so sorry, Adam. So very sorry.”
Adam nodded, finally drew away, and once again swiped his hand over his eyes. “What are we going to do?”
“Honestly?” Leyland streaked a big hand through his hair. “At this point we’re going to have to pull in some of our contacts in the Security Service. Havelock’s too far ahead of us on this. He’s been voted into the Order, Weston saw to that, and there are others. Havelock had Stanford and your father killed to precipitate this crisis so he could be voted into the Order. He probably killed his own father, too. Three seats open, he gets one, arranges for his own people to take the other two, and he and his people swing the vote. It’s as simple, and as complicated, as that.
“First, I need a cup of tea. As for you, I assume you’d like a real meal?”
“Well, I did eat all the jelly and bread. I guess I could eat something more.”
“Ah, to be young,” Leyland said, hugged him again, then set off for the kitchen.
