Panic (A Leopold Blake Thriller)

by Nick Stephenson

  Leopold stood at the rear of the group as Jerome led the way, treading carefully across the soaking wet carpet and stopping every few steps to listen for movement. It was almost as wet inside as it was outside in the storm. The sprinklers had blown most of the lights on this floor of the house, but it was still possible to make out gray shapes in the gloom, and the heavy rain had faltered a little so the house was quieter than before. He gripped his Glock .45 a little tighter.

  Then the walls exploded. Leopold hit the floor, a split second after the others, covering his head with his hands and screwing his eyes shut as the bullets began to fly, ripping the walls and doors to shreds with a deafening volley of flying lead. He felt a searing flash in his shoulder as debris flew all around him, and opened his eyes to see a thick pool of blood forming where a large splinter of wood had lodged itself. He pulled out the fragment and tossed it to the floor, using a free hand to stem the bleeding. He glanced up at the spot where he had been standing, which had been reduced to a series of gaping holes, and tried to catch a glimpse of the others. As the dust from the ruined walls settled, he saw the outlines of Mary and Jerome. They were crawling flat to the ground, using their elbows for traction in an attempt to reach cover around the corner, where the corridor turned at ninety degrees and offered shelter. Leopold followed, and quickly realized they were being driven down a blind alley, with no escape route in sight.

  As he rounded the corner and caught up to the others, he got to his feet, shaking slightly as he leaned against the wall, and caught his breath. Mary and Jerome stood a few feet away on the other side of the corridor, their breathing a little more controlled than his, but still audible above the noise of the rain outside. He heard footsteps approach from behind them, muffled by the thick carpet but still clear enough. A floorboard creaked, and then there was silence.

  A small metallic object rolled into view, hitting the back wall with a soft thump. After a few seconds, smoke began to pour from it, curling upwards and quickly plunging the corridor into a choking cloud. Eyes stinging, Leopold stumbled forward and felt around with his arms outstretched, trying to catch hold of Jerome or Mary as he heard movement ahead.

  He felt his breath knocked out of him as something hard connected with his gut, and he doubled over, coughing and wheezing, inhaling more of the sour-tasting smoke, and fell backward into one of the doors that lined the hallway. He wrenched at the handle and fell through onto the floor, kicking out with his feet and slamming the door shut. Something heavy collided with it on the other side and Leopold stood and pushed his entire body against the door, using his weight to keep it closed. The door shook on its hinges. He heard a crack as the frame splintered and the door fell through, knocking him backward with enough force to send him rolling across the floor. He collided with a coffee table, knocking his head against the heavy wood.

  Leopold looked up, slightly dazed from the smoke and the impact of the fall, and looked around, trying to gauge his surroundings. He was lying on the floor of what looked like a study, but the lack of light made it difficult to tell. Thanks to the faint glow of the street lamps outside the window, he could just about make out a few tall book cases and a large desk, complete with an ornate high back chair that looked like it was worth a small fortune. Other than the coffee table he had just slammed into, the room was empty and, as far as he could tell, had only one door. There was no way out.

  Leopold sucked in a deep breath and got to his knees as a shadow approached from outside the room. In the doorway stood one of Stark’s men, surrounded by billowing smoke and wearing a gas mask. In the gloom he looked like a demon walking straight out of hell. Leopold blinked hard, getting the last of the smoke out of his eyes, and got to his feet.

  The figure approached slowly, then stopped and pulled off his mask, revealing a maniacal grin and pockmarked face, visible even in the dim light. He stood at least a head taller than Leopold, who recognized the man’s features immediately: Viktor, the unit commander who reported directly to Stark. Leopold clenched his fists and stood ready.

  Viktor tossed his weapon onto the floor and cracked his knuckles. Leopold didn’t wait for an invitation. He rushed forward and aimed a blow at the enormous man’s side, connecting hard with the ribs. He hoped to crack at least one, but if his opponent felt anything he certainly didn’t show it. Instead, Viktor reached out and grabbed Leopold’s throat with two giant hands and squeezed. Under the impossibly strong grip, he felt his head begin to get hot and swell as the oxygen and blood flow to his brain was cut off. The commander’s forearms were straining with the effort, the muscles wrapped together and tensed tight and thick like steel cable.

  As the last reserves of his strength began to fade away, Leopold noticed the rims of his vision begin to darken, a vignette of red that signaled his optic nerves were beginning to fail. His pulse thumped in his ears like a muffled drum. What a curious way to die. Each system slowly shutting down, bit by bit, until there was nothing left. He felt a kind of peace at the inevitability of it all. It didn’t even hurt any more.

  Suddenly a cold rush of air flooded Leopold’s throat and into his lungs. The relief was extraordinary. His vision sharpened again and the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears faded. He looked with curiosity at the man who wanted to kill him.

  “I don’t want you passing out too early,” said Viktor.

  Leopold couldn’t speak, his throat was too swollen and raw. He looked into Viktor’s eyes. They were small and black, but he could just make out a fleck of silver around the iris. It gave Viktor a bestial look, like some kind of creature that could see in the dark. Like a hunter. Leopold knew he wouldn’t get another chance. As the feeling came back into his limbs, he felt his hands tingle behind his back and he began to unfasten the clasp of his watch.

  “What’s the matter? Nothing to say?” Viktor continued, pulling him closer. “Don’t you have some clever plan to get you out of this one?”

  Leopold sucked in another lungful of air and felt the throbbing in his throat ease a little. He managed a raspy whisper in response.

  “What did you say?” said Viktor.

  Leopold opened his mouth to repeat himself. “I said, I might have something up my sleeve.”

  The commander grinned and bared his yellow teeth. Leopold smiled back and unhooked the clasp from his watch with a quiet click, freeing the heavy, metallic piece from his wrist. With his other hand, he grasped the steel strap and brought his fist around quickly, aiming for Viktor’s face.

  The chunky watch acted like a set of brass knuckles, adding considerable force to his blow by concentrating the energy of the punch onto a smaller, harder surface area. As his fist connected with his opponent’s cheek, Leopold felt bone crunch under the watch, which was reinforced with diamond glass, and gasped as white-hot pain flashed in his hand where his knuckles had absorbed the impact. Viktor let go of him and stumbled, reaching out with his huge hands to find support.

  Leopold attacked again, but the giant soldier anticipated the move and blocked his attack without much effort. He whipped around, using his bulk to prevent escape, and lashed out with his right fist, catching Leopold in the solar plexus and knocking the wind out of him for a second time. He hit the floor hard, the impact painful enough to make him cry out as the thrumming pain in his knuckles reached a crescendo.

  Leopold felt himself lifted to his feet again, as Viktor hoisted him off the ground. His vision swam as his opponent pulled him in close, his breath hot on Leopold’s face. He attacked with his good hand, too fast for Viktor to block, and slammed his palm into the sneering commander’s nose, crushing the cartilage. He wrenched himself free of his opponent’s faltering grip and kicked out at his legs, hoping to catch the weak spot behind the knee.

  Viktor must have anticipated the move. Instead of connecting with his target, Leopold’s foot passed through empty air as the giant soldier moved out of the way and responded with a sharp jab to the side of the head. The blow hit home, and Leopold saw stars as he top
pled back to the floor with the force of the impact, his body slamming hard into heavy wooden bookcase standing against the wall.

  The shelves rocked unsteadily from the collision as Leopold shook his head and cleared his vision. His attacker advanced, surprisingly quick for his size, and brought down his heavy right boot, aiming for the face. In desperation, Leopold reached up above his head and fumbled for something he could use to protect himself. His hands grasped hold of something thick and heavy, and he whipped it forward to block Viktor’s blow.

  The soldier’s foot connected with the hardcover edition of Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace, a massive tome that deflected most of the force of the attack to the side, knocking him off balance. Jumping to his feet, Leopold grasped the weighty book with both hands and lashed out at Viktor’s face, slamming the front cover into the soldier’s already broken nose. The commander howled in pain, before stumbling forward, fists raised and ready to strike.

  Leopold dropped the cumbersome book and stepped backward, keeping his eyes fixed on his opponent’s advance, until he reached the desk, where he was forced to stop. Pulse racing, he kept his gaze trained on Viktor, while his right hand moved down to his belt and he began to quietly unhook the metal buckle.

  The attack came faster than he had expected, and Leopold moved too slowly to avoid Viktor’s huge fist as it connected with his cheek. The force of the blow snapped his head to the side, disorienting him and causing him to stumble. He felt the commander’s thick arm wrap around his neck once more, and he gasped in a deep breath of air while he still had the chance. As the soldier’s grip intensified, Leopold again reached for his belt and finally got it free, gripping the expensive leather tight in his hand as he coaxed it out of the hoops in his waistband. With one final burst of effort, he whipped the belt at Viktor’s face, sending the metal buckle hurtling toward the enormous man’s exposed cheek. The heavy clasp hit home, hitting just below the eye with enough force to make the commander loosen his choke hold.

  Fresh oxygen returned to Leopold’s lungs, and he lashed out hard with his right leg as Viktor relaxed his grip, catching him at the knee and toppling the enormous man to the floor.

  Viktor growled and got to his feet. He attacked wildly with both arms, blindly flailing in an attempt to land a lucky hit as one side of his face swelled and obscured his vision. He stepped forward and lashed out, but Leopold sidestepped him and aimed another kick to the back of his leg, forcing the commander to his knees. Leopold summoned the last of his strength and grabbed hold of the heavy desk chair, hoisting the ornate frame above his head before slamming it down hard on to the soldier’s skull. The shock left his arms feeling numb.

  Viktor crumpled to the floor and didn’t move again. Leopold felt his forehead throb, suddenly dizzy. He sat down on the chair he had just used on Viktor. He was surprised it had survived the impact.

  “Leopold!” shouted Mary, stepping through the doorway. “Are you okay?”

  Leopold nodded but didn’t speak. Jerome entered behind Mary and nodded in appreciation at Leopold’s handiwork. The battered consultant groaned and got to his feet, stumbling slightly. Mary caught hold of his arm and steadied him. She looked worried.

  “I’m fine,” croaked Leopold. “Just a little dizzy. We need to keep moving.”

  Mary reluctantly agreed and helped him back out into the hallway, where he began to feel a little steadier. She let go and drew her gun. Jerome did the same.

  “I didn’t hear any shots,” said Leopold. “What happened?”

  “Jerome took his guy out pretty fast,” Mary replied. “After that, it was two against one. No need for guns.”

  “Stark must be upstairs,” said Leopold. “We need to take him out before he realizes he’s outnumbered and does something desperate.”

  Chapter 41

  The next floor was deserted, and Jerome swept through quickly, checking for traps. Nothing. Leopold kept his eyes wide open, now fully adjusted to the dark, and watched for any sign of movement. As they reached the next flight of stairs Leopold felt his pulse quicken. They were nearly there, just a few seconds away from Stark and Christina. The last set of stairs ended at a closed door, the master bedroom. A perfect place from which to run tactical operations and keep Christina close by. Jerome reached for the handle. It was locked.

  Leopold heard a muffled voice, barely audible, coming from inside. It sounded like a woman’s voice. Jerome shook the door but it wouldn’t budge. He told the others to step back, and he used his shoulders to slam the frame, eventually crashing through the door on the third attempt.

  The room was brightly lit and spanned the entire width of the house. The hardwood floors were littered with cables, surveillance equipment, two-way radios, and a myriad of other electronic equipment. There were large cupboards lining the walls, and pressed up against the bay window was a small desk littered with floor plans and blueprints of various buildings Leopold didn’t recognize. At the far end of the room was a double closet. He could hear the muffled voice again.

  Jerome seemed to hear it too, and crossed the room in a few long strides. He attempted to slide the closet door open, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “What’s the problem?” asked Leopold, walking over.

  “There’s something behind here,” replied the bodyguard, checking the seals around the panel with his finger tips. “Something that’s supposed to stay hidden.”

  After a few seconds, Leopold heard a soft clunk as Jerome found a release catch, and the wooden panel slid into the wall, revealing a heavy, metallic door in the space where the closet should have been.

  “What the hell is that?” asked Mary.

  “Looks like a panic room,” replied Jerome, rapping his knuckles against the metal. “Logan had a secret hideout up here. Guess he should have used it a little sooner.”

  “These things are quite common in my circles,” commented Leopold. “Some of the wealthier home owners tend to be a little paranoid, so they have them installed. Most of them never get used.”

  “This one’s been used – I can hear someone in there,” said Mary. “It’s got to be Christina. How are we supposed to get through?”

  “It’s nothing fancy, just a steel shell and a heavy door. These basic models only lock from the inside, so it was probably left open to allow Stark access.”

  “Good,” said Jerome, pulling on the recessed handle. “I’ve seen enough modern technology in the last twenty four hours to last me a lifetime.”

  The bodyguard swung the heavy door open with little effort, and Leopold stepped forward into the darkness. Inside the fortified room, itself the size of a studio apartment, sat a young blonde woman bound to a steel chair. She was naked except for her underwear, which was stained with her blood and sweat. Her mouth was gagged with duct tape but her eyes were wide and alert, screaming out for help and welling with tears. Her skin was slick with perspiration and criss-crossed with cuts and scratches, as well as several deep gashes in her arms and legs that had been stitched up. She had clearly been tortured, then given medical treatment to stop her passing out from blood loss. Someone wanted to keep her awake.

  Jerome untied her and knelt down on the floor. Leopold heard him ask whether her name was Christina, and she nodded weakly. The bodyguard gently removed the tape and helped her to her feet, putting his jacket around her.

  “He isn’t here,” she said, her voice thin and quiet. “I heard him going downstairs. Then you came up.”

  Jerome turned to Leopold, who caught the worry in his eyes. “We must have passed right by him,” said Jerome.

  “Mary, check the stairs,” said Leopold, turning to face her.

  Mary stepped over to the broken door and peered into the gloom. Leopold heard her gasp, and Stark emerged from the doorway, one large hand on her shoulder and the other holding a gun to her head. He was standing behind her, using her body as cover.

  “Don’t move,” said Stark, pressing the gun hard into Mary’s temple.

  Leopold steppe
d to the front slowly, hands up at shoulder-height, palms forward. “It’s over Stark. There’s nowhere to run.”

  He took another step forward, keeping Jerome and Christina behind him and out of harm’s way. He caught the sound of thunder in the distance, as the storm outside intensified. Stark held his hostage tighter and pointed the gun at Leopold. Then he fired.

  The bullet screamed into Leopold’s shoulder, twirling him around and knocking him to the floor. The pain hadn’t hit him yet. The bodyguard drew his own weapon, faster than Leopold could follow, and fired back, shoving Christina to the floor with his free hand. Stark cursed loudly and dropped his gun. Mary dropped to her knees and swiveled, aiming a punch at her attacker’s groin, but he was too fast and landed his right boot heavily onto her face. She hit the ground and Stark rolled, avoiding Jerome’s second shot.

  Leopold caught his breath as the bodyguard crossed the room fast, making a direct line for Stark, who had picked up his gun and was on his feet. The two men brought their weapons around at the same time and fired, each dodging to the side just in time to avoid a bullet. Jerome recovered first and brought his firearm around for a second time, but his opponent caught his wrist and used the bodyguard’s momentum to twist the gun out of his hand. Jerome kicked out and knocked Stark’s own weapon out of his grip. Both firearms were now on the floor, just out of reach.

  Leopold blinked hard. His eyes were beginning to well with tears as the wall of pain hit him all at once. It felt like someone has twisted a superheated poker into his shoulder. If Stark got past Jerome, he wouldn’t have the strength to defend himself. He looked on as the two huge men faced off. Both were a similar height and build, but Leopold hadn’t seen the black ops colonel in action before and didn’t know what to expect. His vision blurred and he began to feel faint. A damp pool of blood had formed on the floor where he had fallen, and Leopold reached for his shoulder in an attempt to stem the flow. As he put pressure on his wound, the agony intensified and sent shocks of white hot pain through his body, making him grunt with exhaustion as he tried not to cry out.