“Nicholas, look.”
They saw flames licking the opening to the basement. “Let’s collect everyone and get out of here.”
Temora was in the hallway between the two guards she’d seen earlier, eyes wide, scared to death.
“What do you want us to do with him, sir?”
Harry managed to say, “We’re all going out the back door, Connor. Bring him along. And take care.”
Temora said more to himself than to them, “Why is Roman attacking me, trying to kill me? I helped him. I let him know Barstow was using him. I sent him the bloody video, showed him what Barstow was really like, that old monster. He should be thanking me, not trying to kill me.”
Nicholas paused only a moment. “You said it yourself, Caleb. With Roman, it’s always personal. You betrayed him, and he never forgot it.”
Nicholas led, holding up his father, the guards followed with Temora, and Mike took up the rear, ears ringing, keeping her weapon up. At the end of the hall was a steel door, and, farther down, another. They secured the doors behind them as they went, and within five minutes, they were stepping up a flight of metal stairs into the garden off Farm Street.
Nicholas said, “Connor, take Temora to Thames House, to MI5. Keep him safe. We’ll take Harry to hospital.”
Mike watched the skies for birds or drones, but it was quiet, business as usual, trees ruffling in the night breeze and pigeons cooing.
The car that had brought Harry was back on the corner, waiting. The driver, a seasoned MI5 agent, didn’t miss a beat as they bundled Harry into the back seat. He said, “Let me tell you it’s good to see you all alive. The house is burning, coppers are all over the scene. Mike, you’re bleeding, too, there’s a kit in the back of the seat. We’re going to get blasted in the news for this one. Where to, Mr. Drummond?”
Harry said, “Take us to Chelsea and Westminster Hospital.”
Mike closed her eyes. Everything hurt, even her eyebrows. She heard Nicholas speaking to his father, assuring himself that he was all right. Then she felt Harry take her hand.
“Thank you, Michaela, for saving my life.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
Chelsea and Westminster Hospital
369 Fulham Road
Chelsea, London
Isabella was drifting off to sleep when a knock sounded on the door.
“No more needles,” she called out.
“How are you, Dr. Marin?”
She opened her eyes to see the female FBI agent who’d come to save her. Her blond hair was in a ratty ponytail, and she wore black-framed glasses. From twelve feet away, Isabella could see dark bruises on her wrists and arms, see how pale she was, the thick white bandage wrapped around her hand.
“What happened?”
Mike knew her voice was too loud because of her eardrums, but who cared? “Well, let’s see. Since I saw you last, a crazy falcon attacked me, Ardelean shot a missile into a house I was in, and I fell down a flight of stairs.” She came forward. “My name’s Michaela Caine, special agent, FBI. But none of this compares to what you’ve been through—may I call you Isabella?”
“Yes, please.”
“I’m Mike. Now, tell me the truth, how are you feeling?”
“I guess I’m okay, really. I keep telling them I’m fine, but they won’t leave me alone. A missile? Like the one they used to shoot down the helicopter?”
“Yes. Don’t worry. No one else was hurt.”
Isabella licked her tongue over her dry lips. “It seems like a nightmare now, like something so horrendous it really couldn’t have happened. But I know Gil is dead—at least in my head—but not here yet.” She touched her heart. “I know Radu is dead, too.” She swallowed tears. “Does Radu’s brother know he’s dead?”
“Yes, he does. And unfortunately, we can’t find him. But we do know he’s a very angry, out-of-control man at what he now sees as absolute betrayal. It doesn’t help he’s probably over the edge on all the LSD he was taking. He’s out for revenge. He blames those in power because they sent a team in a helicopter, namely us, to his home to save you, and Radu died. He blames all of us, really.”
Mike saw Isabella was trembling. She stepped to the hospital bed and touched her shoulder. “All you went through, it was horrible, all of it. I don’t know everything Ardelean did to you, but still, Isabella, you tried to save Radu. No, no, his death wasn’t your fault. You were heroic. But what about the Voynich?”
“It was about a recipe in the Voynich, part of it in the missing pages that I had. And it was about blood and how to combine them. What do you know about the Voynich manuscript?”
“One of my teammates was in art crimes, Agent Ben Houston. He worked the case when the Voynich was stolen from Yale. You met him, I believe. With Melinda St. Germaine?”
“Oh, yes. Was that only a couple of days ago?” She shook her head in wonder. “It seems like a decade. Agent Houston was kind and knowledgeable.”
“I know no one has ever been able to translate it or decode it—so tell me.”
Isabelle nodded. “The Voynich tells the story of the illegitimate line that started with Vlad Dracul’s half brothers. I’ve pieced together what I can and I think one of the twins was ill, an affliction of the blood. They tried to cure him—with herbs, with baths, but they didn’t know how blood worked. And so, when the brother Andrei bled uncontrollably and weakened, they came up with the idea to replace the blood. So Alexandru, the stronger of the two, found him blood to drink. This wasn’t quite that clear in the manuscript, but I believe it’s close enough.
“The Voynich manuscript is a record of their conversations about how the experiments were going. Roman and Radu both read and speak Voynichese. They’ve brought those two long-ago brothers into the present. Radu is—was—a brilliant scientist. Very strange, because of the limitations of his illness, but brilliant. The experiments he was doing were completely out of the box. The equipment—sorry, you already know this. Did Radu want me to give him all my blood? He wanted so much to live, as did Roman. Perhaps I would have survived for a while, depending on how long they would allow me to replenish my blood. Was I the match they’d been searching for? Yes, I believe so. Roman killed so many people, primarily Romanians, searching for a match. I think Roman made Radu into a monster.”
Mike shook her head. “No, he valued himself, his own life, over anyone else’s, including yours. He called you his blood sister, yet, if it came down to it, do you think he would have hesitated to exsanguinate you rather than accept his own death? None of it was right, Isabella. All of it was centuries-old madness.
“Your physician told me they’d drugged you, there were still traces in your blood.”
“Oh yes. After all the initial terror, whatever the drug Roman gave me made me feel wonderful. I wasn’t afraid any longer, even when they wheeled me in and hooked me up. I wasn’t even afraid when I saw my blood flowing through the tube into Radu’s arm.”
Mike said, “Did either of them mention where Roman lived when he wasn’t at the house with Radu?”
“They have some estate up north, where Roman takes his birds.” She shuddered. “He let one of them feed on my stomach. I will have the scars forever.”
Mike couldn’t imagine. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m alive,” Isabella said. “Without you, I’d be dead.”
Mike merely nodded. “Tell me about the missing Voynich pages you found in the British Museum. Isn’t that why Ardelean kidnapped you in the first place? To get those pages, to complete his recipe for Radu?”
Isabella stared at her, then shrugged. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”