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“Drummond, we have a problem. Another murder. No, not a drone murder with poison fired into the neck, but listen to this. When our people interviewed all the neighbors, an older man reported seeing a falcon perched on the windowsill of the apartment. He thinks it’s the same apartment where the murder occurred. I didn’t like the sound of it. The murdered man is an American. The manner in which he was killed, it is unusual. You’ll see when you arrive. I have a very bad feeling about this.”
Nicholas looked back into the conference room. Adam would locate Ardelean, his father would deal with Barstow. “A falcon? The man was sure?”
“Yes, he was.
”
“We’re coming. Where shall I meet you?”
“Dawson Place, Notting Hill, W2. Oh, Drummond? Have you got the murders sorted yet?”
“Yes, sir, I believe so.”
“Ah, excellent. Oh yes, DCI Gareth Scott is the lead.”
He punched off to see Mike beside him, a brow raised. “What was that?”
“Are you in the mood to divide and conquer? Because Penderley needs us, says an American has been murdered in Notting Hill. A falcon was reported sitting on the windowsill. Penderley thought we’d like to get involved. He said something about the manner of the murder was unusual.”
“There’s no ‘we’ in this. I’ll go. You are going to the hospital. No, no arguments.”
He started to argue, but a fierce shaft of pain went through his side. “You’re sure? This could be big, Mike. I really don’t need a doctor—”
“No arguments, or I’ll tell your father.”
“Come back as soon as you can.”
“You promise you’ll go get checked out at the hospital?”
“Actually, there’s usually a physician here.”
“All right, I believe you. Don’t make me hurt you, Nicholas. Now, I’ll catch a cab. How far is it from here to Notting Hill?”
Ian had stepped out of the conference room and had obviously overheard the discussion. “Mike, I’ll drive you. It will be faster. Really, a falcon?”
“Yes, I appreciate that. We should go.” She gave Nicholas’s hand a warning squeeze. “Physician, now. Oh, and Nicholas, don’t shoot Barstow—excuse me—his lordship.”
“That I can’t promise I won’t do.”
“Then do it so we won’t be caught.” And she and Ian were gone.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
The quality of decision is like the well-timed swoop of a falcon, which enables it to strike and destroy its victim.
—Sun Tzu, The Art of War
The Old Garden
Twickenham
Richmond upon Thames, London
Roman soothed Arlington, lightly rubbing her feathers, which he knew the falcon loved. He hated having to need anyone, but he knew he needed this woman who lay terrified, her stomach bleeding. He set Arlington on her perch and turned back to her. “You are Romanian.”
“Yes, you know that.”
“Your mother?”
