He said, as he looked down at the news flash on his mobile, “As you said, it’s not only Delphi. Hundreds of companies were hit in this latest ransomware attack. You have the finest security in place, which means the hacker is very good.”
“Tell me you and this Adam are better.”
“We are. If my interruption works the way I hope, my program will install a patch on your servers so no one will be able to get in again.” He paused, frowned. “I’m surprised Radulov’s software could be circumvented like this, but then again, even the best computer programs aren’t immune to a skilled hacker with malfeasance on his mind.”
Ah, that serious look, so like his father’s, but with Nicholas, there was always another level to his smiles, like some mad adventure brewing with the devil lurking about. And trust Nicholas to find the devil and kick him in the hindquarters.
The baron was pleased to see the Drummond spark living on in his grandson, ah, so like himself when he was younger. Well, much younger. Odd how it had skipped Harry and bloomed wildly in Harry’s only son. And yet Nicholas knew how to make a computer sing and dance according to his whim. He’d heard his IT man, Giles, say Nicholas’s skills were beyond any he’d ever seen. The baron liked that, didn’t think Giles was bootlicking.
So many years, and where had they all gone? The baron said to Nicholas, “Excellent. I’ll phone Giles as soon as I finish breakfast—he’ll probably pop off firecrackers he’ll be so relieved. These bastards need to be taken down a notch. I’m glad you’ll be the one to do it. Eat your porridge, then you can get on the ransomware attack.”
Nicholas scooped up a spoonful of Cook Crumbe’s bland porridge, filled with lumps, just the way his grandfather had consumed and loved it for thirty years. He swallowed down a bit, chased it with orange juice. He needed to get Mike some pancakes and bacon, something substantial, to recharge her after the run. Her recovery was going well, but he felt she was pushing herself too hard. It still made his blood run cold to remember her near drowning in Lake Trasimeno.
Nicholas was about to ring the bell, to order the eggs and bacon, when Lenny Kravitz’s “American Woman” burst out of his pants pocket. His grandfather, who normally hated mobiles at the table, said, “Is it about the ransomware attacks?”
“I don’t know yet. It’s the FBI in Washington. I’ll take it outside.” He was already walking out of the breakfast room, his mobile to his ear.
“Drummond here. Sherlock? Is everything all right?”
“It’s Savich. I borrowed Sherlock’s phone. Sean dropped mine in the toilet. No, don’t go there.”
Sherlock called from the background, “Sean fished it out and brought to me. I’m giving it a quick bath. Sean wants to know when you’re coming over so he can beat you at his current video game. Sorry, the name of this one escapes me.”
“Tell him maybe next week and no matter what sort of wild aliens he has in store, I’ll bury him. Now, what’s happening?”
Savich said, “I take it you don’t have the television on?”
“No, I was breakfasting with my grandfather. We have ransomware attacks going on over here, one against his company. I’m going to try to reach Adam. What’s happened?”
“The vice chancellor of Germany was assassinated minutes ago on the steps of 10 Downing Street.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Bloody hell.”
Nicholas strode across the foyer to the kitchen, the closest television. The staff was watching the BBC, even Cook Crumbe, her eyes narrowed, her apron clutched in her strong hands. They started to leave when they saw him, but Nicholas waved them back. All gathered again around the television, with Nigel, Nicholas’s butler, and Nigel’s father, Horne, the Drummond butler since the flood, the baron was fond of saying, and Nicholas standing behind them.
Nigel turned up the volume and said in his clipped voice, “Another bloody terrorist attack, and that’s what it was. I know it.”
“Our continuing coverage of what might be yet another assassination of a leading political figure on our soil. First was Chapman Donovan’s sudden collapse and death outside his home in Chelsea yesterday. Now the vice chancellor’s death outside 10 Downing Street. We are awaiting a press update from New Scotland Yard. To recap what we know so far, the vice chancellor of Germany, Heinrich Hemmler, has died after collapsing outside of 10 Downing Street—”
Nicholas stepped away from the group and said to Savich, “This is worrisome. I’ll call Penderley at Scotland Yard, see what I can learn. Two high-profile deaths in two days? I know the folk in Northern Ireland have to be up in arms over Chapman’s death, and now the German vice chancellor is dead, as well? Both supposedly natural deaths? It doesn’t feel right, does it?”
“No, and we must know as soon as possible if the deaths are assassinations, and related. As you might know, President Bradley is scheduled to meet with the P.M. in London on Sunday to discuss how the U.S. can assist in dealing with possible consequences of Brexit.”
“Not much time,” Nicholas said, “but I’ll get right on it. It’s time to talk to the Security Services. I’ll be discreet. I’ll call you when I have something.”
“Thank you. I hate to cut your vacation short, Nicholas, but Vice President Sloan agrees with me. She knew you and Mike were in England, knew you could get information for the Secret Service so they could determine if the trip is still advisable. I’d like to be able to tell her we have this situation well in hand. Let me know if I need to jump on a call with you when you speak to Security Services. Your dad is involved with them, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he’s back with them as a consultant. I imagine he’s up to his neck, what with these two deaths.”
Sherlock said, “We’ll let Zachery know you’ll be looking into this for us. You and Mike be careful—no more near drownings for Mike, and no more nearly falling into volcano craters for you.”
Nicholas swallowed. “No more deep water, no more volcanoes, I promise.”
Nicholas punched off and immediately dialed his old boss at New Scotland Yard, Hamish Penderley, the big gun with a title to match: chief superintendent of the Operational Command Unit.
“Drummond? I’m not surprised. I suppose you already know we’re rather busy this morning.”
“Sir, this is about the death of the vice chancellor at 10 Downing Street a few minutes ago.”
“And you want to know because . . . ? You, I understand, are here with your partner to relax and to soak up the rays, as the Yanks say, if there ever are any rays to be found in England. How did you get involved in this mess?”
“Agent Dillon Savich called me, asked me to lend a hand because the president is due to arrive on Sunday to meet with the PM And that’s why I’m calling you, sir. I must know what’s happening, or my hands are tied.”
Penderley sighed. “Honestly, we don’t know anything for sure about the vice chancellor. They have to do a postmortem first. For the time being, the public will be told Hemmler had a heart attack, just as we’ve done with Donovan.
“Don’t get me wrong, Drummond, I do not miss you, but there are times I could use your brain. And now is one of them.”
Nicholas frowned. He heard stress and fatigue in Penderley’s voice, a sure sign of how serious the situation was. “I’m happy to help, sir. We’ll put the full strength of Covert Eyes at your disposal. Have you completed the autopsy on Donovan? How did he die?”
“We don’t know yet, but as soon as I find out, I will call you. As you know, Donovan collapsed outside his house and was dead nearly instantly. Here’s the truth: no one saw anything, no one touched him, nothing. And now Heinrich Hemmler collapses right outside 10 Downing Street? Yesterday and today, we’ve had two major political figures drop dead on our soil with no good reason.”