‘I’m having trouble picturing this.’ Luke shook his head. ‘My dad was a history professor. Tweed jackets, and obscure books crammed in every space, and chalk dusting his fingers. Now you say he was some sort of counter-terrorist?’
‘One of the best. You don’t realize how good they were.’
Luke sat back down. It felt like the air had vanished from the room. ‘That’s why he had so many visiting professorships. Europe, Asia, Africa. It wasn’t about being a teacher, or research. It was about… spying.’
‘Yes.’
‘Did my mother know?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Don’t lie. Did she know?’
‘No,’ Drummond said after a moment. ‘Most of us weren’t married. Only your dad was. He kept it from her. Orders.’
Orders. His father had been an operative for a secret group. How many secrets had been hidden behind Warren Dantry’s smile? Tears pricked Luke’s eyes and he blinked them back. ‘And my stepfather?’
‘The same.’
He glanced around the room, trying to see where the other cameras might be. It was strange how claustrophobic you could feel in a room full of windows.
‘Yes. But of course, when your father and everyone on the plane died, the Book Club died. He’d wanted to start a new group in the weeks before; the Book Club had problems. Your father and your stepfather disagreed fairly often. Henry wanted to lobby for more money, more attention inside State; your dad wanted to keep a low profile, just get the work done.’
‘And Quicksilver is the heir apparent to the Book Club.’
Drummond rubbed his face. ‘Yes, we started Quicksilver. Your father died before he could see it take shape. Quicksilver grew out of our earlier work, a new way to fight the bad guys, to stop terrorism before it starts, to bring new strategies to the problem.’
A new way. He wondered where the money came from, for this building, for the security, for the private jet, for all the resources that Quicksilver had. ‘Are you still part of the State Department?’
He gave a jagged laugh, shook his head. ‘We started Quicksilver, and in a wonderful symmetry, you helped start the Night Road.’ Sweat was on Drummond’s face, as though the silent listeners would be measuring him, watching him.
The phone began to ring, a soft, repetitive warble. Drummond didn’t move.
‘I’m not going to answer it,’ Drummond said. ‘Because I’m going to tell you why I want to keep you safe. Your father saved me once, and I’m repaying the karma best way I can. I’m going to get you out of the way of a war.’
‘War.’
‘There is a war beginning. A secret war.’
The silence hung between them like a mist. ‘You can’t fight a war in secret. People tend to notice armies and bullets and missiles.’ Luke shook his head.
‘That sort of war is dying. This war started a long time ago. Skirmishes, and in both cases each side used governments as their proxies. Their pawns. Influence was their currency, and then there were only two sides, not a thousand like now – and each was able to say that their concerns matched those of their governments. That these interests were aligned, and the governments believed it.’ Drummond sounded for a moment like he couldn’t continue. The phone’s buzzing began again. ‘But – the governments – they didn’t stop 9/11. Or the Bali or Madrid or London or Jordan bombings. Do you know how much they cost?’
‘Thousands of lives.’
‘Yes. Of course, and that’s incalculable, but think: how much they cost? The economic damage. Who suffers economic damage?’
‘Well, everyone.’
‘Everyone?’ Drummond’s voice oozed contempt.
The phone stopped ringing.
‘Okay. Then I guess governments and big companies lost the most. Then it trickles down.’
‘Then it trickles down, Luke. Yes. And after those attacks, we are simply supposed to trust that government will do its job. Protect us. That the various governments of the world, and their multitude of agencies, with their well-intentioned but million moving parts, handcuffed by rules and bureaucracy, will shift into efficiency and suddenly develop all the human capital and infrastructure to’ – he paused – ‘fight and eliminate every shadow and nutcase, every asshole with a laptop and an agenda? You know what kind of people you found for the Night Road. How they can vanish like smoke, how badly they can hurt the world with a small investment and their own fanaticism. The playing field must be even.’ The glare in his eyes grew cold. ‘Now. I am here to protect you. But you give me this fifty million, Luke. You tell me everything you know about Hellfire.’
‘I don’t even know what kind of attack Hellfire is.’ It frightened him that Drummond knew the name. The thought flooded him: what did the Saint Michael’s medal prove? Nothing. Medals could be copied to win trust. Lies could be told. There was nothing to prove what Drummond had said was the truth.
‘Think. It’s coming out of the Night Road; all those thousands of postings you made, you must know what they would target if they made a big hit. What would be their dream attack, one they could actually execute?’
‘They’re already executing attacks.’ Luke paused. ‘But I think these attacks, they’re not Hellfire. Hellfire is bigger. On their website they are chattering about the attacks, but there’s no word on Hellfire. Hellfire has got to be something distinct from this group of small attacks; it’s much more tied to this money they want. It’s not unusual in terrorist psychology to consider smaller jobs as dry runs, or as qualifiers for more dangerous work.’
‘You’re right. As awful as they are, these attacks are too small. Too localized.’ Drummond frowned. ‘Maybe they need that fifty million to finance a huge new series of operations, and you not giving it to us is leaving open the chance that the Night Road will get their hands on the money.’
‘If someone else is listening to or watching us,’ Luke shouted at the ceiling, ‘if they have Aubrey, I want to talk to them. Please.’
Drummond made a choked laugh. ‘You’re a smart kid. You figured it out we were under a camera. I’m pleased.’
The phone began to ring again. Drummond answered it. He listened and then said, ‘For God’s sakes. He gives us what he knows first, then we decide.’
Drummond turned away to go into the other room, as if to finish his discussion.
Luke stood and picked up the chair and the voice on the phone must have warned him because Drummond turned. Luke swung the chair with all his might and it crashed and splintered into Drummond’s head. He didn’t pause. He hit him again and Drummond went down.
Drummond groaned, the back of his head bloodied, his eyelids at half-mast. The phone lay on the floor.
Luke picked it up. ‘Hello? Did you see Drummond’s taking a nap?’
Silence. The line was dead. He dropped the phone and looked up again where he thought the hidden cameras might be. ‘I’m not playing your game. All right?’ he yelled to the air. ‘I want Aubrey back. I’ll give you all the information on the Night Road, the accounts, everything I know, but you give me Aubrey and you tell me who you people are. Do you hear me?’
Drummond groaned. ‘I’m sorry,’ Luke said. He dragged Drummond into the walk-in pantry, slammed the door, and jammed the other kitchen chair under the knob. Leaving Drummond with the cake mixes and the bottles of beer, he turned back toward where the cameras might be hidden.
‘Hey! Why are you hiding behind an old man?’ Luke taunted.
The phone rang. He answered it.
‘Let Drummond out of the pantry.’ It was Aubrey. ‘They have me. You have to let him out.’
‘Aubrey. Are you okay?’
‘I’m all right. They haven’t hurt me, Luke, I think these are the good guys.’
‘Let me talk to whoever’s in charge.’
A few moments passed. For a moment the silence made Luke think they’d been disconnected. A man’s voice came on the line, one he didn’t recognize. ‘Release Mr Drummond. You must get out of the building. Now.’ The accent was French – slight but noticeable.