Adam said, “Who is Paulina Vittorini?”
Nicholas said, “She’s one of the foremost shipbuilders in the world. I believe her shipyard is currently building the latest warships for the British navy.”
Mike leaned forward toward Harry. “Sir, does she have ties to Terry Alexander?”
Harry nodded. “He was the Secretary of Defense. No way she wouldn’t have had contact with him since the naval contract was awarded. The media isn’t stupid. They’re going to go ballistic.”
Like Mike, Nicholas leaned toward his father, his voice low, “Did Heinrich Hemmler or Donovan Chapman have anything to do with the British military?”
“I don’t know,” Harry said. “But we’ll certainly have to find out.”
Adam chewed on his samosa. “Sir, this is very good. I don’t guess we’ll be having more lunch now, will we?”
* * *
Nicholas rose. “Everyone stay and eat. I’ve got to call Penderley. Don’t eat it all, Adam.”
Penderley answered immediately. “I know why you’re calling, and I don’t know. This belongs to the CID blokes in Glasgow. If you can get on-site quicker than my people, let me know.”
Nicholas said, “Copy that,” and hung up. To his father, he said, “Any chance you can get us on a chopper to Glasgow?”
“I can. Is that the best use of your time, though?”
“I’ll go,” Mike said. “You and Adam need to work on fixing the code.”
“I’ve got the code,” Adam said, forking down a prawn. “You two can head north. Trident and Clancy are still at Northolt. They were going to stick around in case we needed to send messages back to New York, but I think Trident really wanted to visit the Tower of London. The G5 will be faster than a chopper.”
“Mike’s right, Adam, this job needs both of us. We’ve got to restore secure comms to Security Services, and that will take a while.” He sent a quick text to Clancy. It was Trident who texted back immediately:
We’re still here, we’re gassing up.
“Mike, they’re with the plane, not off at the Tower of London. Take Ben, I’ll have him meet you at RAF Northolt.”
“If I recall, the last time we flew to Scotland, we had to take the prime minister’s Hawker.”
Nicholas gave her a smile. “As I recall, we had quite an adventure,” which made her roll her eyes.
She looked at the television again. “Whoever is doing this is showing off, or it’s a massive payback.”
“Payback?” Harry repeated. “Why do you think that?”
She shook her head. “It just popped out.”
“Or maybe revenge,” Adam said, and ate another prawn. “If it is revenge, it’s mighty harsh.”
“Well, whatever,” Mike said, “it’s high time to stop them.”
Harry said, “Michaela, you must promise to be careful. Scarves around your neck, no exposed skin. And I want you in protective gear. Please make sure the pilots have everything before you take off.”
“Don’t worry, Harry. I’m not in the mood to be attacked again. I could go the rest of my life without seeing another drone. But we do have all the proper gear on the plane. As for you, Nicholas, finish your lunch, and as Superintendent Penderley says, you and your dad get this sorted. I’m calling Ben, time to get him in on all this.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
RAF Northolt
London
Forty-five minutes later, Mike met Ben at the private terminal at Northolt. Ben was admiring the lineup of jets on the tarmac. “This place is certainly convenient. They fly private jets and their military Typhoons out of here?”
“They do. They keep the Royal Squadron here, too, to fly the Queen and other VVIPS.”
“VVIPs?”
“Very, very important people.”
Ben laughed. “Fitting.” Across the tarmac Mike saw Trident walking around their G5 with its American flag on the tail. Clancy was inside, sunglasses on, readying the flight plan.
Mike gave Ben a hug. “Sorry to pull you away from vacation. Melinda doing well?”
“No worries. She said four assassinations in three days justifies it, so I’m here with her blessing and her warning I’m not to get myself dead. Seriously, she’s really worried about what’s happening. Do we know what the link is between the victims, yet? And how this Vittorini woman in Glasgow fits?”
“No, not yet. I’m hoping we will have a better sense of what’s happening once we get up there. Someone’s trying to spy on MI5, and it has to be connected to all of these murders. I’ll brief you on the plane.”
Trident met them at the bottom of the stairs. “Good timing. I’m finished up. We’ll have you to Glasgow in a heartbeat. Climb aboard.”
* * *
The shipyards reminded Mike of the Brooklyn Navy Yard, one of her favorite distance running paths. She loved running through the yards, looking over the river, at Manhattan. But it had been decommissioned for actual shipbuilding sometime in the sixties, she knew, while the Govan Shipyards was one of the premier shipbuilders in the world.
A partially assembled Type 26 frigate sat in dry dock, cranes draped over it like metal blankets. The entire shipyard felt empty and quiet, eerily so. Mike knew they’d closed down to honor their owner, and she could see the devastation on the faces of the workers as they hung together in quiet knots.
She also saw a similar group of people twenty feet away, on the edge of the water, outfitted in the now-familiar fluorescent yellow POLICE reflective vests. Two plainclothes cops stood with notebooks open. A crime-scene photographer snapped shots from all angles, and, unlike the scene in Notting Hill, Mike could easily see the long hair of their victim spread across the dirty ground.
They walked to the detectives focused on a young woman who was crying. As they approached, Mike heard the detective saying to her, “Ms. Coes, run us through it again, if you please.”
She said low to Ben, “Let’s listen.”
The young woman’s voice was high-pitched and shaky, her accent deeply Scottish. “She—Mrs. Vittorini—was standing there on the edge of the dock with her eyes shaded, looking at the naval ship we were building. I had to remind her it was time to leave for a luncheon. We started toward the car, and—” Her voice broke. She shook her head, gulped. “She went down. It’s so windy today, well it usually is here, and I saw the wind had tossed her hair across her face. I didn’t know what had happened, so I went down on my knees beside her. I pulled her hair back, and I saw the froth on her mouth. She was dead.” She drew a breath, and tears trickled down her face. “I don’t know what happened. I didn’t see anything, hear anything, but it’s loud here, as you can imagine. Who’s that now?”
The group turned to see Mike and Ben standing some six feet away, listening. A young detective stepped toward them.
“Ah, you must be the folks from Scotland Yard. Got here quick. I’m Chief Inspector Graham Mackenzie, head of CID for Glasgow.”
Ben stuck out his and Mike’s creds. “Special Agent Ben Houston and Special Agent Michaela Caine, American FBI. Superintendent Penderley sent us here. We’re working the case with a special team.”
“You’re Yanks then. Well now, we’re not adverse to having Yanks on our soil. Welcome aboard. We hope you know something we don’t.”
Mike said, “Chief Inspector, we need everyone to stop exactly where they are. We need a magnet.” She saw him blink and added quickly, “We’re looking for a needlelike object. We believe this murder is tied to three others in London over the past couple of days.”
Mackenzie said, “Let me find a runner, have them bring a magnet.”
“There’s no need for a magnet,” Sabriel Coes called. “I saw something metal in her scarf.”
Mackenzie said, “Shall we have a look? We’re still waiting on the coroner.”