Griffith waved across the street, where Mike could see the gray wainscoted front of the restaurant; its name, MARIANNE, on a sign hanging over the door. People were huddled along the old redbrick walls, numb and gawking. There were faces staring out of the restaurant windows at the chaos outside.
And Mike saw the shape of a body under a white tarp.
Griffith said, “Mr. Alexander is lying where he fell. Too soon to know exactly what happened, but witnesses say he stopped on the sidewalk right outside the restaurant, to make a call. He slapped a hand to his neck and went down. He was dead before the first emergency calls went out. If we hadn’t had two other influential people die in two days, I don’t think we’d be looking at this as anything other than a heart attack or stroke, but clearly, it’s much more.”
Nicholas asked, “May we see the body, please?”
“Certainly.” Griffith smiled at him, but it was professional this time, cop to cop.
Mike asked, “Were there any drones reported in the area?”
“We haven’t heard of any, and believe me, I’ve told all our officers to ask, given how Mr. Donovan and Mr. Hemmler were murdered.” She led them across the street, where two officers were guarding the body.
Nicholas went down on his haunches and pulled back the sheet.
They looked down at the congested face of the former secretary of defense. His bulging eyes stared back at them.
“Not a peaceful death,” Griffith said.
Nicholas shook his head. “No.” Using his forefinger, he gently moved the head from left to right. “Nothing on his neck I can see. May we roll him over?”
Mike said, “No, wait, Nicholas. Look there, right under his ear. There’s a red spot.”
“Good eyes, Agent Caine. You’re right, there is.” He began scanning the ground. So much dirt, rocks, little bits of litter, detritus on the street.
He grinned up at Mike. “You know what we need, don’t you?”
“Yep. DI Griffith, any chance you have a magnet around?”
“A magnet? I don’t—wait, I do, sort of. The cover of my iPad is magnetized. It’s constantly picking up loose paper clips from my desk. Why?”
Nicholas grinned. “That will work. Can you fetch it, please?”
“Thank goodness Scotland Yard froze the scene,” Mike said, “or we wouldn’t have had a chance of finding it.”
Griffith returned, handed over her red-cased tablet. “Here you go. I also put a call in for someone to bring us a magnet a bit more powerful, just in case.”
He opened the cover. First, he slowly ran it over the body. “I don’t think it’s here.”
“It?”
Mike said to Griffith, “We believe there is a very small needle, or something similar, somewhere nearby.”
Nicholas whooped, stood up. “And here it is, not three feet from the body.” The edge of the case now had a small, thin piece of metal stuck to its edge.
Mike examined it. “Say hello to our murder weapon.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Drones have been around for more than two decades, but their roots date back to World War I when both the U.S. and France worked on developing automatic, unmanned airplanes. But the last few years have been significant in terms of drone adoption, usage expansion across industries, and global awareness.
—Business Insider
The Old Garden
Twickenham
Richmond upon Thames, London
Roman smiled when he saw the name on the caller ID. He said to Radu, “He’s right on time.” He said into his mobile, “Hello, Barstow. I trust you have my money?”
Barstow shouted in his ear, “Are you barking mad? This has to stop! Do you understand me? Once again you’ve acted stupidly, thoughtlessly!” A pause, Barstow sucked in a breath, and he sounded calmer. “All right, tell me why you killed Alexander.”
Roman said, “You told me yourself he wanted out. He cost me another one hundred and fifty million pounds. I trust the others have paid?”
There was a moment of silence.
Roman asked softly, “Who else wants out of our project?”
“No, no one, at least not yet. I’m working on her, she’ll come through.”
“We have two women. Which her?”
“All right, it’s Paulina Vittorini—but, Roman, I can talk her around, but you need to let her see the drone army first. All right?”
“You talk her around, Barstow, and no viewing the army before I’m paid. So how much money do you have for me?”
“They’re still balking. I told you, they want the drone army, then they’ll pay. Think about it, Roman. It doesn’t really matter, does it? I mean, you’ll be paid, and we’ll begin our fight against radical Islam in Africa. Have a little faith, man.”
Roman was silent. Barstow rushed forward. “Listen, you’re going to get yourself caught at this rate, and then where will we be? Too many people are paying attention, and we can’t afford for you to be exposed.
“Roman, I understand your . . . frustration, but I’ve promised our investors the drones will be in their hands as soon as you’re paid. I will convince them to trust me, to trust you.”
“I expect to be paid in full. I also suggest you find two more investors. Do it quickly, Barstow. Do you understand?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll find two more investors to pay the back-end costs. I’ll get as much as I can possibly manage for you tomorrow. You know I must be careful about any large transfers, especially since you’ve brought the Drummonds to breathe down our necks. Why in the name of all that’s holy did you try to take out Harry Drummond’s son?”
Roman smiled into the phone, said softly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, you don’t, do you? Didn’t you know? The Home Office has possession of your drone.”
His heart froze. “What?”
“Ah,” Barstow said, his voice malicious, “You didn’t know? And here I thought you knew everything.”
“But that isn’t possible, the drone has a self-destruct mechanism. We activated it—”
“And it didn’t work. Your little game must end now, Roman. We can’t afford to have any more attention that might lead to the discovery of our project, a discovery that would destroy both of us. If you stop murdering people, I’ll find a way to make sure no one links the drone to you. But, Roman, don’t think I can protect you forever. If you continue to behave in such a reckless manner, I will be forced to intercede in ways you will not like. The prime minister would be most interested in the real reason his defense minister was killed, don’t you think?”
Now this was laughable. “Do you truly think you’re in a position to threaten me, Barstow? Even if the drone failed to self-destruct, no one can trace it back to me. I’ve made sure of that. I’m not as careless as you evidently think. Now, the money, tomorrow, or you really won’t like my next step. As for your telling the prime minister anything at all, think about your own illustrious neck. Now, wouldn’t your ancestors turn over in their graves if the eighth Viscount Barstow was hung for treason?”
He cut Barstow off, turned on Radu.
“What does he mean the self-destruct didn’t activate?”
“Stop yelling, Roman! I don’t know, I don’t know. I did activate it—of course I did. Here, look.” Radu’s fingers moved on the computer’s keyboard, elegant, fast, graceful as a concert pianist. “See? It shows the self-destruct was entered three minutes after the magazine was emptied.” Radu pointed to the schematic. “The system shows it detonated. I don’t understand, the drone should be in a thousand pieces.”
“Well, it’s whole, isn’t it, and it’s your fault.” He felt rage building, building, realized his brother was cowering, obviously frightened. Of him. He took three deep breaths, fingered a microdose into his mouth. He shut his eyes and felt the LSD begin to smooth him out.