The camouflaged giant walked casually over and drew the handgun from his belt. He pulled the consultant to his feet with one hand and brought the butt of the gun across his skull with the other. Leopold felt like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer. Stark lashed out twice more, and the gun came away dripping with blood. Leopold felt hot liquid dripping down the side of his face and felt dizzy. His legs gave out underneath him, but his opponent’s impossibly strong grip kept him held up. He knew it wouldn’t be long now. There was only one more move to try.
He reached into his jacket pocket, fumbling awkwardly and trying to buy some time. Stark drew closer, his hot breath pounding against Leopold’s face, not noticing what the consultant was doing with his hands. He was staring directly into Leopold’s eyes. The huge assassin pushed his quarry up against the trunk of the tree and pulled out a large, curved knife from a sheath he had strapped to his shin, concealed underneath his clothes. From the many zip pockets Leopold could see, Stark could have any kind of arsenal hidden on his person. He held the knife to Leopold’s left eye, bringing the tip of the blade close enough so that the consultant saw double. Stark sneered.
“If only we had a little more time on our hands, I’d like to have some more fun with you.”
He edged the knife closer. It was touching the eyeball now. Leopold could feel the steel scratching against his cornea and tried not to flinch.
“Unfortunately,” Stark continued, “I really do have to be on my way soon.”
“I have a question for you,” said Leopold, trying not to move.
His opponent paused, contemplating a response. Eventually, he relaxed the hand holding the knife and smiled. “I don’t suppose it will make any difference now. Be quick.”
“How did you manage it?” said Leopold, taking the opportunity to take a deep breath. “All the planning. All the political connections you would have needed. The money. How did you pull it off?”
Stark relaxed his grip a little further and pulled back the knife. Then he threw back his enormous shoulders and laughed.
“You honestly think I’m the biggest problem this country has to worry about? I’m just the tip of the iceberg.”
“So it was someone else pulling the strings the whole time?” said Leopold.
“Just be thankful you’ll never have the chance to find out.”
“Give me a name,” said the consultant, looking straight into Stark’s eyes.
“Why? It won’t matter. Nothing will save you now.”
“I just want to die knowing who beat me.”
Stark paused for a moment. “I don’t suppose it’ll make any difference,” he said, bringing the knife up to Leopold’s throat. “And it’s always good to know when you are bested.”
“Tell me.”
The soldier leant forward and whispered a name into Leopold’s ear. When he had finished, he drew away and tightened his grip.
“Now. How do you want to die?” asked Stark, holding up the steel blade. “Knife or bullet?”
“Bullet. Through the heart.”
“Very well. At least you’ll die with some honor.”
Stark threw the consultant to the ground at his feet and kicked him in the ribs, rolling him a few feet back toward the clearing.
“Now, stand up,” said the assassin, grinning as he pulled out his handgun.
Leopold complied, concealing his cell phone in the palm of his hand as he did so.
“Any last words?”
“Just one,” said Leopold. “Duck.”
Stark looked confused. Leopold dropped to the floor and hit the send button on his cell phone. The soldier’s eyes widened in panic as he realized what had happened, frantically patting down the zip pockets that lined the front of his fatigues.
“What have you –” Stark began, but he never got to finish.
The two micro-explosives that Leopold had planted on Stark when he had been forced up against the tree received the signal from his cell phone and detonated. The consultant felt hot air blow against his face and he screwed up his eyes as the blast hit him, shielding himself with his hands and dropping to the ground as the shockwave hit. His ears rang from the noise, a wet thunderclap that was much louder than he had expected.
He looked up. Stark was still standing, a frozen look of surprise on his face. The colonel glanced down at his chest. Most of it was missing, exposing raw, dripping flesh and charred bone. Leopold could see where the man’s rib cage and lungs had once been. He could make out the lower intestines, which had been ripped apart and were leaking a thick, yellow liquid.
Stark opened his mouth in a futile attempt to breathe before his eyes rolled back into his head and he crumpled to his knees, where he stayed for a few seconds until his dead muscles relaxed and he fell onto his front. His leg twitched and he lay still.
Cold air hit Leopold’s lungs as he finally took a breath. His ribs flared in pain and he felt his head throb from where Stark had hit him. But he was alive. The ringing in his ears began to subside, and he could make out the sound of footsteps approaching through the woodland. Lots of footsteps.
He felt his vision began to darken and he knew he would pass out any second. His eyelids flickered. He could make out flashes of movement and noise and what he thought sounded like people talking. All of a sudden he was on his feet, hoisted up by an unknown force. Then the pain hit him again and his eyes snapped open, the world shifted into focus and his brain figured out what was going on.
“Leopold, can you hear me?” Jerome shouted into his ear.
The consultant grunted and looked around him. Six police officers and three Secret Service agents stood nearby, guns drawn, checking for danger. One of the police officers checked Stark’s pulse, a futile exercise considering that most of the pulmonary system was missing, but protocol nonetheless. Another officer checked the colonel’s body for any hidden weapons. The three Secret Service agents looked at Leopold with curiosity and holstered their firearms.
“What you two did was pretty stupid,” said one of the agents. “But I’ve got to give you credit for getting the job done.”
Leopold stared at the agent. Now was the time for damage control. The Secret Service would brief the FBI, who would quickly put up a cover story in case any of the details went public. Leopold doubted he would come off well in the report.
“Area secure,” one of the police officers shouted.
The agent nodded and ordered one of the others to call in the medical and forensic teams. Then all three agents stalked off in the direction of the funeral procession. Jerome wrapped Leopold’s arm around his shoulder and began walking after them. The police officers busied themselves with cordoning off the scene.
“What happened?” asked Jerome.
“After the Secret Service took you out, I went to find Stark. I wanted to trail him. Unfortunately, he saw me coming.”
“How did you manage to cause so much damage?”
“I was able to plant the remaining explosives on him while he was preoccupied. Then I just had to hope I’d get the opportunity to get far enough back to detonate them.”
“Risky move.”
Leopold nodded and felt the bodyguard pick up the slack as more of the strength in his legs left him.
“Mary called,” said Jerome. “She’s on her way in one of the ambulances. I texted her to say you were okay once I eventually found my cell. Had to pry it out of Christina’s hands.”
“There was one other thing,” said the consultant, weakly.
“What’s that?”
Leopold told him what Stark had said during their encounter.
“Someone else was calling the shots?” said the bodyguard, once his employer had finished. “Did you get a name?”
“Yes. And it’s not a name I ever thought I would hear again.”
Leopold felt his legs buckle again. He managed to summon enough strength to keep from collapsing and told Jerome the name the colonel had whispered into his ear.
“That’s imp
ossible. He’s lying. He must be.”
“Why would he lie? He was just about to kill me.”
“Maybe he just felt like messing with you one last time.”
“No. I heard it in his voice. He was telling the truth.”
Jerome didn’t press the point any further, but Leopold could tell he was worried. A few minutes later they reached the funeral procession. The President had gone, rushed away by the Secret Service, and the rest of the mourners were now back on their feet, many of them wearing confused and worried expressions. They eventually found Christina, who had claimed a seat near her father’s casket. She looked up as they approached.
“My father always told me that the legacy a person leaves is the only inheritance that matters,” said Christina, tears welling in her eyes. “But he’s left me nothing but pain and humiliation. How can I ever forgive him?”
“Maybe you don’t need to,” said Leopold, sitting down next to Christina. “Your father’s legacy will hang over your head for the rest of your life. It will shape you and your family forever. And, more importantly, your father’s legacy will make you work harder than ever to prove to the world that you are not like him. You can achieve amazing things with the right motivation, Christina. I have a feeling we can expect great things from you.”
She smiled weakly and began to sob. He put his arm around her, and the three of them sat in silence. After a few minutes, Leopold heard ambulance sirens approaching from a distance and got to his feet.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Leopold. “I don’t have the energy to answer questions. We’ve got enough medical supplies at home to fix me up.”
“What about Mary?” said Jerome.
“I’ll call her later. I’ve got work to do.”
The consultant stood and began to walk shakily away, in the opposite direction to the sound of the sirens. Jerome said goodbye to Christina and followed close behind. He called for a car to pick them up from the west entrance.
“What if Stark was just messing with you?” said the bodyguard, catching up.
“What if he wasn’t? Only a handful of people on the planet know that name and what it means. And if it is true, we’ve got a lot more trouble coming our way. This won’t be the last of it.”
The bodyguard put his heavy hand on Leopold’s shoulder and turned him around. “Don’t let this get to you. Whatever happens, we’ll be ready.”
Leopold nodded. He knew his old friend was right. There was very little he could do for the moment. He could make out the cemetery gates now; just a few more minutes of excruciating pain and he wouldn’t have to walk anywhere again for a while. When he was feeling up to it, he might even give Mary a call and see if she wanted to have dinner, assuming she forgave him for ditching her. He gave himself even odds.
In the meantime, there was a soft bed and hard liquor waiting for him at home, a tried and tested cure for broken bones and head trauma. The thought of spending some time off the grid brought a smile to Leopold’s face, despite the pain in his ribs and the throbbing in his head. He was looking forward to a well-earned rest; but in the back of his mind he knew it wouldn’t last long.
Epilogue
His real name was a secret that many had died to protect. And he was furious. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this; there was no room for failure. He could feel the anger welling in his stomach, he could feel his jaw clench and his teeth grind as his fists shook with uncontrollable rage.
All the planning. All the money. Stealing state secrets and military prototypes was not an activity undertaken without serious commitment. All the time spent perfecting the plan for every contingency, and he had failed in one thing. He had underestimated the enemy. This was not a mistake that he would make again.
He drew a deep breath and let the anger leave his body. It wasn’t a productive response right now. He remembered Sun Tzu and repeated the lesson over and over in his mind. The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.
He felt his pulse slow and his breathing return to normal. Now was not the time for anger. Now was the time to press his advantage. He went to his desk and sat down at the computer, finding the telephone number he needed in seconds. He dialed the number and the call went through. He heard someone answer on the third ring.
“Leopold Blake speaking,” said the voice on the other end of the phone.
He paused before replying, letting the moment sink in. Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories. He lifted the receiver closer to his lips and spoke, deep and clear.
“Hello, son.”
THE END
PANIC
A Leopold Blake Thriller
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Turn the page for a sneak preview of the next Leopold Blake thriller: Departed.
DEPARTED A Leopold Blake Thriller
By Nick Stephenson
SAMPLE CHAPTERS
Chapter 1
A human body plummeting from a cruising altitude of thirty-five thousand feet takes three minutes to hit the ground. The low pressure and lack of oxygen causes loss of consciousness for most of the fall, with the average person waking up just a minute or so before smashing into the ground at over one hundred and twenty miles per hour. Not a pleasant way to die.
Leopold’s mind swam with a variety of horrific scenarios as he squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and gripped the arm rest of his seat. The flight had been largely uneventful, but the recent bout of rough turbulence over Newfoundland had shaken his reserve.
“Are you okay?” a soft, calm voice asked.
Leopold opened his eyes and glared at Mary, who hadn’t stopped fussing over him since they had sat down. He regretted not seating her in coach.
“I’ll be fine,” said Leopold, harshly. “When you’re as familiar with aerospace engineering as I am, it’s impossible not to be concerned about the thousands of tiny things that could go wrong and drop us out of the sky.”
“Fine, be like that,” said Mary, turning back to her magazine. “But we’ve got another five hours before we land in London, and I’d rather not spend the entire flight with you in this mood.”
Leopold grunted and gripped the armrest a little tighter. The first class cabin of the brand new Dreamliner 787 was state-of-the-art and spacious, but the tasteful luxury did nothing to calm his nerves. He waved to one of the flight attendants, who brought him over another glass of scotch. Leopold downed the healthy measure and felt the musky heat rise in the back of his throat. He exhaled slowly and sank into his chair. His respite didn’t last long.
“You must have some idea why we’ve been called out to Scotland Yard,” said Mary, twisting to face Leopold over the partition that separated their seats. “The London Metropolitan police have their pick of forensic and criminology experts. Why bring in someone else?”
Leopold sighed. “Because I’m the best at what I do.”
“And so modest,” said Mary. “But why bring me?”
“My contract is with the FBI, and they’re leaning on your boss for extra resource. Apparently, they can’t spare anyone at the moment. Which is where the NYPD comes in.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “So I’m just the babysitter?”
“That all depends on what we find when we get there. Scotland Yard refused to give me any details on the case. We’re going in blind on this one.”
“Let’s make sure we play this one by the book,” said Mary, sitting back in her chair. “We don’t want to make the FBI look bad, now, do we?”
Leopold was sure he detected a note of sarcasm, but he chose not to press the matter.
“You must be expecting something, if you’ve brought him,” said Mary, pointing to Jerome, who was
watching their conversation from the back of the first class section.
“Wherever I go, Jerome goes,” said Leopold. “In my line of work, it pays to have personal protection at all times.”
“Does he ever sleep?” asked Mary.
“I think so,” said Leopold. “But I’ve never seen it myself.”
Leopold turned to look at Jerome, who was sat serenely in his chair, itself barely large enough to contain his muscular frame. Jerome was dressed in his usual elegant Armani suit, specially tailored to accommodate concealed firearms without leaving a tell-tale bulge, and was wearing a pair of headphones that Leopold suspected weren’t connected to anything.
“Just make sure your head is in the game,” said Mary, as Leopold turned back to face the front. “After that phone call, I can understand if you’re not one hundred percent.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Leopold. “My father wasn’t calling me from beyond the grave. Whoever made that call was just trying to rattle me, that’s all.”
“But - ”
“Drop it, Mary,” said Leopold, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. “It’s late and I need to be at my best when we arrive in London.”
Leopold made it clear the conversation was over, and he heard Mary sit back in her own chair again with a resigned sigh. He kept his eyes closed and let the gentle thrum of the aircraft’s engines take over, the sound lulling him to sleep within a few minutes. As the aircraft cruised across the Atlantic, Leopold shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, his dreams flitting in and out, amid flashes of broken memories from a childhood he couldn’t quite remember.
Panic (A Leopold Blake Thriller) Page 19
