Barstow started to laugh, a strained laugh, an ugly laugh. He laughed so hard he nearly choked. “You think he isn’t a part of this? You stupid girl, you—”
Nicholas was ready to jump at Barstow and beat him to a pulp. Barstow’s eyes grew wild, and in a flash, he’d drawn the gun and was pointing it at Nicholas.
The room erupted in shouts.
Nicholas ignored the yelling, felt his father’s elbow gently nudge his arm, saw the slight nod of his head. Nicholas in turn nudged Ben with his knee. Harry dove to one side, Ben ducked away, and Nicholas kicked out of his chair and launched himself at Barstow.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Barstow saw Nicholas move a second too late. He fired as Nicholas crashed into him, knocking him over backward.
Nicholas felt the sting of a bullet against his side, right above his belt, heard the shouts, but ignored everything, flipped Barstow over on his stomach and pinned his arms behind his back. He knew he was bleeding, prayed it wasn’t too bad, and then Mike was there with the handcuffs she always had latched to her belt. She clapped them around Barstow’s wrists.
“Cover me,” Mike shouted to Ben, darting into the hall. Ben was right behind her. They were back in a moment, Mike panting. “Looks like he came alone.” Then she saw Harry kneeling beside Nicholas. He’d pulled his shirt up and pressed his handkerchief against his side. “Harry, is it bad?”
“I can speak, Mike. No, it’s not bad, is it, Father?”
Harry looked up. “I think he missed the important bits.”
“Why is Barstow unconscious?”
Harry said, “I hit him in the jaw for shooting my son.”
There was shouting from outside the conference room, and Ben ran out. Nicholas started to follow, but Mike and Harry held him down. “Listen to me, lamebrain, all you have to do is stop yourself bleeding, all right?”
“You said that perfectly, Michaela.”
“Don’t worry, Ben’s in control. He’ll call if he needs us. He can handle things while we check you out.” Harry lifted the handkerchief, and she lightly probed the wound, then sat back on her heels.
Barstow groaned.
Mike tapped him on the side of the head with the heel of her hand. “Stop making noise. We’ll get to you in a minute.”
And to Nicholas, “As for you, it’s a nasty scrape, but it won’t need stitches. Through and through, lucky you. I really don’t like this, Nicholas, curse you. It could have been another of your nine lives down the tubes.”
Harry rose, looked down at his bloody hands. His heart was pounding and he knew such fear and rage, it was hard not to kill Barstow with his bare hands. So close, too close. He managed to get out “one moment”—and he disappeared into the bathroom adjacent to the conference room.
Harry came out, handed Mike a hand towel and three washcloths. Thankfully, he had himself in control again. “These should do it.” Together they bound him up. She said, “There, better, we’ll get you to the ER later.”
Mike helped him up, and he pulled her close for a moment. She squeezed his back, whispered, “Stop being a frigging hero, okay, James Bond?”
“A statistical impossibility, Agent Caine. I can’t seem to stop showing off for you.”
Barstow moaned again. Mike said, “Good, his lordship is with us. Time to see what he has to say.”
* * *
They settled Barstow in a chair in the command center, hands cuffed behind him. Harry got right in his face and shouted, “Tell us what you’ve done, you old fool.” Nicholas didn’t think he’d ever seen his father so angry before. Harry Drummond had a long fuse, and Nicholas rarely saw it lit. It was lit now.
Nicholas asked, his voice calmer than his father’s, “Yes, tell us what you’ve done.”
“What have I done? I’m trying to save lives, you idiots. I’ve had a plan on the table for more than a year, a plan to help arm the patriots in Africa who are trying to fight the incursion of terrorism. And it’s been going gangbusters until you lot got involved.”
“Tell us who you talked into building the drones for you.”
Barstow yelled, his face now alarmingly red, “How dare you treat me like this?”
“Talk now or I’ll call the home secretary, tell him I have you here in handcuffs ready for a march through Fleet Street.”
“All right, curse you. We hired a man to build us a drone army. Six patriots gave him a total of one billion to start, one billion on delivery. Then they refused to make the final payment until he delivered the drones. He refused. We were at a standoff. That’s why people are dead. He’s furious and killing every investor who hasn’t given their money.” He sucked in a breath. “I’m next, maybe June, my children. He’ll kill all of us.”
Mike said quietly, “Who is he, Lord Barstow?”
Barstow sneered. “The lot of you think you’re so bloody smart. He’s fooled you like he’s fooled the world. He’s ruthless, a psychopath, and the LSD he’s taking has pushed him over the edge. Still don’t know? The wunderkind of technology, the only man in England capable of building a drone army.”
Nicholas stared at him. “Roman Ardelean? He’s been building an army for you?”
“Yes, thousands of drones to kill the bloody terrorists. I believed the man a true patriot, but he’s not. He’s a common murderer—my wrists hurt. I need some water.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
It was obvious to all of them that Barstow was scared to his soul of Roman Ardelean, but something wasn’t right. Even though Nicholas’s side ached, he wasn’t about to admit it to Mike, who gave him the eye every couple of minutes.
“This is everything, Corry? You’ve told us the entire truth? Roman Ardelean has killed these people because they refused to pay him their final payment for the drone army?”
“Yes.”
Harry motioned them into the hall. “Ben, Ian, I trust you’ve located him?”
Ian said, “Actually, sir, we can’t find him. No one’s answering at his home, his mobile is off, and his offices claim they haven’t seen him. His jet is at Northolt, in the hangar, unused. But Ardelean himself, we don’t know.”
Mike said, “Ardelean wants his final payment. I’m thinking Barstow can get him to come out if he offers to pay him.”
Harry rubbed his chin. “I daresay you’re right, Michaela. Let’s approach him.”
Barstow looked exhausted. He was no longer handcuffed, but they knew he wouldn’t try to run. That wasn’t an option.
Harry asked, “Where is Ardelean?”
“I don’t know. I told you the truth, he’s gone mad, uses LSD like I told you, at very low levels to keep himself in check, a special formula he mentioned once. I think he’s now become dependent on the drug, and it’s making him extremely reckless. He must be stopped. You must stop him. If I could, I would.”
“How do you propose we do this?” Mike asked him.
“Kill him. We have to kill him. It’s the only way.”
Nicholas said, “We’re not assassins.”
“You were,” Barstow said, a sneer marring his mouth. “And quite good at it, if I recall.”
Harry leaned over Barstow, his voice quiet and deadly. “Listen to me, Barstow, one more accusation out of you about my son’s past and when I find Ardelean I’ll feed you to him.”
Mike wanted to kick this miserable immoral ass into the wainscoting. Nicholas stared at his father, saw his rage at Barstow—and it was for him. He swallowed.
Nicholas laid his hand on his father’s arm, said, “We won’t execute your problem for you. But we will arrest him, make him pay for the four people he’s murdered. Ah, and the Eurostar he bombed with one of his drones. Two Australian tourists died.”
“Yes, yes, he did that, too, to put the screws to me more, that, and I’m sure he wanted to distract you. Harry, listen to me, if you eliminate Ardelean, the drone army he’s built can go to Her Majesty’s government. He’s the head of the hydra. Kill him and the whole nightmare comes to an end, and perhaps, since I’ve told you everything, there will be leniency for me.”
“One more chance, Corry. Where might we find Roman Ardelean?”