followed down the corridor, gradually taking off their topcoats and scarves as they went. It was an imposing place—all polished wood, mullioned windows and ancient, heavy furniture. Simon half-expected a wizened retainer in a tux to step out from behind the array.
The library was almost a parody of the book-lined studies seen in a thousand BBC dramas, stacked floor to ceiling with shelves completely filled with dusty tomes no one had opened in a generation, overcrowded with comfy chairs and discreet reading lamps. As he peeled off his coat, he said, “Ryan, we’re in a bit of a situation here. We need to talk.” He leaned close to his friend and spoke so no one else could hear, “And we don’t want to alarm Sabrina.”
Simon had to give Ryan credit: he didn’t gape at the mere mention of a crisis. He cast a guarded, concerned look at his impeccable bride-to-be, who—to her credit—noticed the expression and read it perfectly.
“Well, all,” she said with a little smile, “I know this is important, and I’m quite sure I won’t understand a word of it. So, I think I will leave you to it for the evening.” She paused briefly, as if searching for words. “Whatever it is…I wish you the best of luck.”
With that, she stepped backwards through the double doors and slid them shut, leaving the rest of them alone.
The silence in the room was deep and deafening. Simon was the first to break it. “Do you have an AI active in here?”
Ryan, who was staring distractedly at the door where his fiancée had disappeared, shook himself awake. “Of course.” Simon looked over to Andrew who was already playing with his gadgets to scramble and confuse the AI in the room. Simon pulled the memory card with Oliver’s message imprinted on it from his breast pocket and laid it on the table.
Andrew cocked an eye at him. “We all good in the big ears department?” he asked obscurely.
Simon tapped the same breast pocket, where he held Andrew’s device. “Never leave home without it,” he said, smiling grimly. A roiling black cube appeared above the end table as the data from the card loaded. “I could try and explain all this to you,” he said. “And I will. But I need to show this to you first. Just…watch.” He tapped the card, muttered, “Play,” and his father’s eerily smiling face appeared.
No one spoke while the message played through, and no one spoke for a long time after.
Samantha, who had heard the story already, was still having a hard time taking it all in. “That…that doesn’t seem like him at all.”
“What was with that laugh?” Andrew said, strangely subdued for the moment. “I never heard Oliver Fitzpatrick laugh like that.”
Ryan had worked with father and son for years. He knew both of them exceedingly well. Now he just shook his head. “He was lying,” he said bitterly. “Clearly. Obviously. Anyone who had ever worked with the man would know that.”
“Absolutely,” Hayden said. He was leaning against the bookcase, arms folded, a look of outrage and deep concern on his lined face.
Simon felt the tension flow from his body. “Then it’s not just me,” he said.
“Not at all,” Sammy said, utterly in shock from what she had witnessed.
Ryan turned and faced his old friend with an unaccustomed intensity. “Simon, listen to me. We have to get to the bottom of this. Whatever you need—connections, media, bribes, I don’t care—it’s yours. All of it. We have to locate Oliver and bring him home.”
Simon looked at the others. “The rest of you?”
“I’m there,” Andrew said, his voice uncharacteristically rough. “Whatever you need.”
Hayden snorted. “What do you think?” he said.
Sam gave him the ghost of a smile. “You already know my answer, Simon.”
Simon took a breath. The relief that flowed through him was a palpable, physical sensation. He smiled completely, sincerely, for the first time in days. “That is exactly what I wanted to hear,” he said.
Ryan frowned, thinking furiously. “Have you contacted the authorities?”
“No. What would I tell them? ‘Good lord, Inspector, I received a message from my father and he’s alive and well and seems quite happy! Help me!’”
Andrew snorted. “Besides, the ‘authorities’ have been lying to you all along, haven’t they? They’re the ones who told you he was dead. ‘Oh, ever so sorry, do forgive us, b’bye now.’”
Simon nodded. “Exactly.” He reached into the other pocket of his jacket. “And there’s more.”
“More?” Andrew crowed.
“Good,” Ryan said.
Simon pulled out the hand-bound book and put