In case.
What he saw he couldn’t comprehend, couldn’t accept, but it was true—the lab was in shambles. People—strangers—shifted through the room, in and out of the view of the cameras. Tyvek-clad, they seemed to dip and glide around the space, their dance making it look more like a Level IV biohazard lab, one that dealt with research on hemorrhagic fevers and other extreme-risk biological hazards. They moved as if in outer space, slowly, carefully.
At that moment, he knew he couldn’t handle what he was about to see and slid two more tabs of LSD in his mouth to keep him calm, to keep him centered. To keep him distanced from this horror he was viewing.
He shut his eyes and allowed the drugs to take effect. When he felt his heart slow, and his breathing deepen, he reopened his eyes. Arlington watched him with great curiosity, love in her yellow eyes. As if she knew he needed her strength, she flew to the back of his chair. Her jesses trailed on his shoulder. She stood carefully, not allowing her talons to hurt her master.
Roman swallowed once more and looked.
His brother was small in death, curled on his side, his legs drawn up, like he had slept when they were children. They’d slept that way together each night, with legs drawn up to their stomachs, like two small commas back to back.
Radu was dead, Drummond had murdered him. Where was Isabella? Roman grew light-headed and so cold his teeth began to chatter as if it were he who’d lost his blood, not his brother.
He realized he was keening, like Radu when he was so upset he was beyond control, Arlington beside him, cheeping through her nose. Radu—losing him was something he’d fought against for their whole lives. He’d protected his brother, created a safe space for him, studied everything he could. Harassed, stolen, murdered—no life had been as sacred as Radu’s.
Arlington cheeped again. He swung out his arm, and she went straight to the fist. He pulled her to his chest. His arm was a mass of scars from years of falconry—Roman didn’t like the gauntlet, loved to feel the talons of his birds against his bare skin. But Arlington was gentle. She nestled her beak under his neck, and they stayed together for a very long time, the man lost in misery, the bird his comfort.
In the end, he stood, shut off the cameras so he wouldn’t see them touching his dead twin.
He set Arlington gently back onto the chair and started to plan.
Run?
By himself? But for what? To save and rebuild his company? To grow old alone with only his cast?
Everything he cared about was gone. He was wanted now—he was the hunted.
He’d heard a legend that the lost pages of the Voynich were cursed, and that’s why they were torn out. Did he believe the legend now? He thought again of all the people sacrificed in his search to find a blood match for Radu, all his intellect and enthusiasm he’d brought to bear on building Barstow’s drone army. And now there was nothing left. Nothing at all.
Barstow, so high in the British government, one of their favored sons, had proved himself a self-serving greedy monster. Roman saw all of those arrogant cabinet members gathering together, scheming how to use him, to steal from him. They’d stolen everything from him.
He would not let them win.
Roman stood tall, brought the bird to his fist, looked deep in her yellow eyes. He walked to the window, drew back the blinds. The city sprawled below him.
“Are you ready, Arlington? We are going to burn London to the ground and dance in the ashes.”
Arlington nuzzled his neck and cheeped.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
The Old Garden
Twickenham
Richmond upon Thames, London
Nicholas absently rubbed the wound on his side as he watched the team work. Mike had patched him up again, disinfected and rebandaged him. The first paramedics to come had taken Gareth to the hospital. They’d recommended Nicholas come as well, but he’d only shaken his head.
Isabella hadn’t said much since Radu died. She’d been silent when the paramedics had removed the tubing from her arm, and applied a pressure bandage. She continued silent as they tended to Radu.
Nicholas knew she was in shock, but he wasn’t concerned until she began shaking uncontrollably. He lightly laid his hand on her shoulder, looked up to see the second responding paramedic watching them. “Go with him to the hospital. They’ll take care of you. We’ll speak later, when you’re ready.”
He and Mike watched her be carried out in the arms of the medic, her head on his shoulder. She was accompanied by two Metropolitan Police officers to stand guard, just in case. Knowing Roman’s resources, Nicholas didn’t doubt he now knew his twin had died. And he would blame them. What would he do?
Nicholas immediately called his father’s mobile, and to his profound relief, Harry answered immediately. “I’m all right, Nicholas, only a bit fried at the edges. You probably know what happened: a drone dropped a bomb on the Range Rover, nearly in front of the Prince Edward Theatre. Barstow is dead, and my driver, Higgins, as well. Before you ask, no, we haven’t yet found Roman Ardelean. Tell me what happened at his house.”
After Nicholas was done, his father was silent for a long time. Finally he said, “A tragic conclusion. But Isabella is safe and on her way to hospital. Now, Barstow told me a great deal more before the bomb. He confessed everything, but only because, I think, he knew Ardelean was going to kill him. I’ll tell you the whole of it later, after you finish going through Ardelean’s house.”
“Father, wait. Why did Ardelean kill Barstow before he’d gotten the money?”
“Ardelean isn’t stupid, he knew it was a trap. But the biggest reason? He had to have found out it was Barstow who ruined Radulav.”
“Others are working, Father. Tell me the rest of it. What did Barstow tell you?”
“He said he used a young man named Caleb Temora. You asked for the list of Radulav’s terminated employees? Well, this man was on the list. He and Ardelean had a falling-out—he was recruited to ISIS. Barstow’s people pulled him out a year ago. Barstow forced him to build the hack that spread the ransomware through MATRIX. I tried talking to Temora, but he isn’t willing to play ball, as your mother likes to say. When you’re free, I want you to question him.”
“Where are you holding him?”
“He’s jailed in a black-ops site in Mayfair. Listen, Nicholas, after all that’s happened, and given Ardelean’s increase in drug use, I can’t imagine he’s all that rational at this point. Revenge was more important to him. Wait.” A moment later, his father said, “That was Adam. Evidently Ardelean stayed overnight at the Savoy. He must have conducted the attack on the theater from there. Ian and a team went to the hotel, spoke to the desk, and facial recognition confirmed. Ardelean was wearing a disguise and used a false name. Ian was told he was already gone. They searched his room, but all the team found were a few feathers—so one or more of his birds was there with him. Unfortunately, he’s disappeared again. We have operatives at every known address, but nothing. He’s gone to ground. Nicholas, I think events are moving too fast. Come now, speak to this hacker Temora.”
“Give me an hour, Father. I’m stripping the computers to take to Adam to analyze, then we need to stop by Thames House. Get me the address, and we’ll meet you there. And, Father?”
“Yes?”
He swallowed, cleared his throat. “I am very glad you’re all right. Mum would have killed me if something happened to you.”
“She very likely might have,” Harry said, laughed, and rang off. “Now you know how I felt when Barstow shot you.”
* * *
When Nicholas finished ripping apart the last computer, he joined Mike in the lab suite. “I see a lot of jars and bottles and test tubes. Any idea what it’s all for?”