Ratio: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers)

by Nick Stephenson

  Jack raised one eyebrow. “And it always works like that? Don’t we all have different shaped heads?”

  June nodded. “Surprisingly, it’s been quite accurate. Of the two dozen cadaver heads I worked on in my research, including both genders and four different races, and of all the live cases I’ve done, it’s been spot on.”

  “But what happens if you don’t find the fold you want after you knock the hole in the head?”

  She pinched him. “I don’t knock holes in heads. I very carefully use a high-speed perforator and drill four holes in the skull, then connect them with a high-speed bit. Then it’s just a matter of popping that piece of skull bone off, without dropping it on the floor first of course.” She playfully pinched him again. “But to answer your question, if the access point I want is not right in the middle, I can always enlarge the hole I’ve made. Any more questions?”

  He was quiet for a moment, before asking, “And that’s what you did to me?”

  “Yeah, but I put everything back together again.”

  They lay quietly for a while, June letting Jack absorb the information. From experience, June knew patients that had major brain operations took a while to come to terms with their surgeries. But it came time to push along the conversation.

  “Interesting how in nature the Fibonacci sequence and the Golden spiral keep recurring,” she said. “Pine cones, asparagus, pineapples, sunflower seed arrangements, fern fronds, so many things. I suppose it’s the same for you in economics?”

  He sighed contentedly. “My first degree was in mathematics, but I have to study whenever I go back to it. That all seems so long ago.”

  “Interesting, huh? Even ideas of beauty are influenced by one point six one eight, or the Golden ratio. Hokusai’s wave combines both the Fibonacci spiral and the Golden ratio. Quite a few years ago, while my sister Amy was at the top of her game in fashion modeling, some math student somewhere decided to look at the ratios of different races of models and actors, people considered beautiful. One of them was Amy. The interesting thing was, each of their faces closely approximated the Golden ratio, even though they all looked different and were different races. Except Amy. Her face calculated out at what’s known in Japan as the Silver ratio.”

  “Silver ratio?” he asked.

  “It’s called Yamato-hi. Or one to the square root of two, or more commonly one to one point four, instead of one point six of the Golden ratio. Common shapes of ancient architecture, sheets of origami paper, shapes of old hand carts, Buddha statuary, even ikebana flower arranging. For a while, that’s all agents and advertisers were interested in, if a new model or young actor’s face met the correct ratio, the Golden ratio for white people and the Silver ratio for Asians. Then they started getting clever, reversing the ratios per races, trying to come up with exotic looks. That pretty much fell flat.”

  “But…”

  “I know what you’re going to say, and it’s the same thing everyone says. Some very ordinary looking people also meet the calculated ratio, and many people thought to be beautiful don’t meet it.”

  “It’s all just fluff then?” Jack said. “Beauty products and actors’ appearances?”

  She laughed. “No, it’s all marketing, which is exactly what you do in campaigning, right?”

  “Ha! Yeah, I suppose so.”

  “You’re making yourself attractive in front of millions of people. But for you, it’s less about getting money from them.”

  “Damn right,” he said. “It’s about getting their votes.”

  She reached under the covers and found what she was looking for. “Well, you’ve definitely got mine, Mr. President.”

  With a flurry of bedclothes he was upon her once again, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

  Chapter 25

  LEOPOLD LEFT JOHNSON at the bar after making his excuses and headed back upstairs. Jerome and the two Secret Service agents were where he left them, silently prowling the corridors. Leopold drifted down the hall to Jerome.

  “We need to talk,” Leopold said. “Get rid of Bozo and Giggles for me.”

  Jerome looked over at the agents. “You mean Chuckles and Fizzbo? I was starting to enjoy their company.”

  “Just get them out of here.”

  “You don’t want the extra eyes?”

  “We don’t need them. Not tonight, anyway.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Leopold jerked his head at the two suits. “Not with them here.”

  “Fine.” He called them over.

  “What’s the problem?” said Chuckles. Or Fizzbo. Leopold wasn’t sure.

  Jerome looked at them both in turn. “You’re off the clock, gentlemen. You can go back next door.”

  “We only just got here.”

  “There’s been a mistake,” Jerome said. “We don’t need you tonight.”

  The two agents looked at each other and shrugged. “You got it,” the one on the left said. “You got our radio frequency if you need any more hand-holding.” They turned and left.

  “So, what’s the issue?” Jerome said, taking up position by Melendez’s door. He sniffed the air. “Did you have a drink?”

  “Never mind that,” Leopold said. “Nothing’s going down tonight.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “I ran into Officer Johnson.”

  Jerome raised an eyebrow. “Now’s not the time for socializing.”

  Leopold ignored him. “The President gets here tomorrow. If anything’s going to happen, it’ll be then. When all eyes are on him. Until then, we keep alert.”

  “Johnson’s got concerns,” Jerome said.

  “Let’s call it a hunch.”

  “I hate hunches.”

  “Maybe you need to have a little talk with Harper.”

  Leopold grinned. “Especially since the last one went so well.” He looked up and down the corridor. “This place is locked down for the night. I’ll track her down tomorrow.”

  Jerome changed the subject. “I have my own concerns about Doctor Kato.”

  “She seems harmless enough. A little uncomfortable with all the security, maybe, but nothing to worry about. No risk.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I still think we should’ve looked into the past a little more closely and not relied on what the primary’s team gave us.”

  Leopold nodded. “Her history with the Yakuza.”

  “And using an alias in the past,” Jerome added “I already told her that if the shit hits the fan, she’s on her own. Melendez is our primary client, and our focus. We’re getting paid to protect him, not her.” He paused a moment. “Her frisk was something else. She’s definitely someone I wouldn’t want pissed at me.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s built solid. And the injuries; I could feel the thick scars on her body under her clothes.”

  “That’s something best kept to yourself,” said Leopold. “We know the facts. We know Jack trusts her and we’ve done our due diligence. That’s enough digging.” He yawned. “I want to check on that operations manager. What was his name?”

  “Rick Gustafson.”

  “There’s something about him that doesn’t add up.” He started pacing, a force of habit. “He’s inexperienced, pulled in too many directions. He might have missed something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Think of it this way: how many major red flags have you seen here so far?”

  Jerome thought for a moment. “Other than the usual high-risk zones, nothing out of the ordinary. Why?”

  “Is that usual? For nothing to be out of place, no concerns at all? Especially just before a major national event?”

  “I get your point,” Jerome said. “He mentioned he’d let two teams into the basement. I’ll run another check.”

  “I can go down tonight,” said Leopold. “You need to stay here.”

  “Just try not to break anything.”

  ***

  Leopold’s pass granted him access to the b
asement. He was glad to avoid finding Gustafson, eager to inspect the ventilation systems alone. A tote bag stuffed with monitoring equipment was slung over his shoulder, a little heavier than it looked. Once inside the basement, he got to his knees and pulled out a flashlight. The room was dark, emergency lighting only. The deep rumble of the generator sets loud enough to block out any other sounds.

  There were two large units, filling most of the space. Starting with the system feeding the hotel, he took a chemical sampling of the outside, and tried to get a reading of gasses. Nothing registered. Next, he checked out the much larger ventilation system serving the convention center. Nothing there, either. There were Secret Service seals on access panels and doors, most of which had either secondary locks or were tack-welded secure.

  The only area that concerned him was the filtration system, which had no security seals or inspection tags. The screws had unique heads that required special tools, something he didn’t have with him.

  Leopold figured the Secret Service must have missed something. He resigned himself to bringing it up with Harper in the morning. He took one last look around in the mechanical room before going back upstairs, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

  Chapter 26

  THE KOREAN BAR just off 8th Avenue was full of people, hot and sweaty. The heating had apparently been cranked up all day against the wet and cold. Seong-min sat in a corner booth watching the evening revelers suck down cold beer and shots of soju. The younger drinkers took their shot glasses in both hands, tipping the clear liquid down in one go. Seong-min drummed his fingers against the table and took another gulp from his club soda.

  Jun-yeong found his way back to the booth and took a seat next to him, a large glass of beer in his hand, his fourth of the evening. Seong-min checked his watch. Nearly eleven p.m.

  “Take it easy,” Seong-min said. “We move out in less than seven hours. You’re no good to me with a hangover.”

  “I can take my drink. More than I can say for you.” He eyed the club soda. “Try living a little. This might be your last chance.”

  “We’re not here to get sucked into Western hedonism. Remember why we took this job.”

  Jun-yeong grinned. “Money, fame, women?”

  “For the good of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea and our Great Leader.” Seong-min bowed his head as he spoke. “This is not a ‘Girls Gone Wild’ vacation.”

  “Lighten up. No reason we can’t do both.”

  “Just make sure you’re ready.”

  Jun-yeong took a swig of his beer. “I’ll be ready. Tomorrow, we plant the decoys at the park. We detonate early, to keep the emergency services busy while we take out the real target.”

  “At least you were listening at some point.”

  “You shouldn’t underestimate me.”

  “And you shouldn’t underestimate the American police. If they find those bombs, they’ll call off the President’s visit. We can’t afford to be seen.”

  “So why not go later?”

  “Public demonstration in the park early on. We need to get in and out while it’s crowded, get lost in the people.”

  “More chance of getting spotted.”

  “Less chance. Everybody will be focused on other things. Safety in numbers,” Seong-min said. “And maximum impact once the devices go off.”

  “It’s risky.”

  “We have our orders.”

  Jun-yeong took another drink and studied his companion. “Tell me again, who gave these orders?”

  Seong-min glared back. “You questioning them, choding?”

  “I’m just doing my patriotic duty.”

  “That doesn’t include questioning your superiors. You either do as you’re told, or I’ll have you on the first freight liner back home.” He gripped his glass a little tighter. “You think that will go down well?”

  Jun-yeong grunted but didn’t reply.

  “Good.” He sucked down the last of his club soda. “Now, it’s time to get out of this hellhole and get some sleep. We’re going to need it.”

  The two men left the bar. Jun-yeong sulked while Seong-min walked up ahead, keeping his head down. The kid had skills, no doubt about that, but his respect for leadership left a lot to be desired. He would have to mention as much in the final report when they got home.

  Still, something about their orders didn’t sit well with Seong-min either. Planting the decoys was a risk, and, ultimately, an unnecessary one. The Sarin compound was deadly enough to kill in minutes, no elaborate distractions needed. Orders were orders though, and Seong-min knew from experience not to question them.

  The call had come through several weeks before. Seong-min had been in the office, completing paperwork. His secure line had flashed. The voice had told him to attend a meeting. The meeting went ahead, presided over by someone from Gukga Anjeon Bowibu, the State Security Department. Papers were prepared, identify documents forged. On paper at least, Seong-min had officially become a life-long citizen of the Republic of Korea, or South Korea to the rest of the World. A visa was stuffed into his hand, along with an airplane ticket to Seattle. The State Security Department officer hadn’t told him what his objectives were, only that he’d receive another phone call in a few days’ time. Seong-min had gone home to his wife and children. Said nothing, as ordered.

  Three days had gone by. The second phone call had come through as promised. This time, a new voice. It sounded Western. Decent Korean, but a heavy accent. He had all the right codes and security clearances. Told Seong-min he was a counterintelligence asset, recruited by the State Security Department. Seong-min had believed him. No reason not to. Orders were clear: plant the toxins at the hotel and convention center. Get the decoys in place. Detonate at the right time. Get out. Simple.

  The kid had met up with him at the North-South border. They had crossed through to the South together, spent a few days in Seoul going over the plan. They had flown out together, then holed up in Seattle for a few weeks while they prepared.

  Jun-yeong had grown bolder as he had become used to the Western environment, and Seong-min was beginning to worry he was getting out of control. Thankfully, in less than twenty-four hours, the mission would be over.

  If they made it out alive, Seong-min vowed to teach the kid some manners. But for now, sleep beckoned.

  Chapter 27

  JUNE LISTENED TO Jack breathing in his sleep. He was quiet, calm even. The top sheet was partly wound around her legs, and not as a result of their passionate love making during the night. For her, even in spite of the energetic passion during the night, she was lying awake yet again. With the blackout curtains drawn across the windows, only dim light seeped through. June couldn’t tell if it was daylight already, or if it was the ambient light of downtown sneaking into the room. Either way, she knew she was done with sleeping.

  In the bathroom, she put on a tiny black camisole and panties with the thick, white terry robe over top. She kept the lights off as she tiptoed through the suite to the kitchen. Even though the coffeemaker begged to be turned on, she heated water in the microwave for tea instead. Mug in hand, she peeked in the second bedroom, hoping for a place to sit with a light on and read for a while. Jack’s things were spread all over the room. Toiletries, papers, even a laptop. She closed the door again and went back to the kitchenette.

  With her tea in one hand and handwritten speech notes in the other, she slid down the wall and plunked to the floor. A hallway nightlight was just close enough that she could use it to read. A nearby vent rattled quietly, hot air flowing out into the room. She moved her feet a little closer. Clutching the cup in both hands to catch the warmth, she took a series of sips. She daydreamed about the night before. It wasn’t long before her mind drifted off to past lovers. She decided Jack was the best of them, if for no other reason than he was in the next room. And available for more.

  Her fantasy ended and reality set back in again. She set her sights on her speech notes, but none of them made sense
to her sleep-deprived brain. Unable to focus, she tossed the notes aside and rested her head back against the wall.

  The last few months had been a whirlwind. She had recovered from her own surgery from almost a year before, returned to the heavy work of neurosurgery far too soon, and not long after that, had performed possibly the most difficult procedure of her career on the man she just made love with. “Complicated” was putting it mildly. Looking at the vent cover with sleepy eyes, June wondered if it was possible to crawl in and escape back to simpler times.

  She realized she had dozed off when she felt something on her cheek. Opening her eyes, Jack was kissing her.

  She smiled. “Hey.”

  “Hey to you too. Been up long?” He turned on the coffeemaker.

  She grabbed the notes from where she had flung them. “Long enough to decide my talk is utter crap and that I’m a fraud as a surgeon.”

  “And that’s why you’re sitting on the floor in the dark? So you can feel sorry for yourself?”

  “Not sorry, just…overwhelmed.”

  “We can go through your talk a couple times this morning, if you like.”

  She looked down at her notes again. It wasn’t the talk that was overwhelming her. “It’s just neuro-babble. Not terribly interesting except to other neuro-babblers.” She wadded the notes into a ball and tossed them away. “And probably not even interesting to them.”

  Jack handed her a cup of coffee. He found the notes and unwrinkled them, reading for a moment. “And you have PowerPoint to go with this, right?”

  June pushed her way up and went to her briefcase. Taking out her laptop, she set it on the small dining table and found the program she wanted. She dragged two chairs around for them to sit.

  “Why don’t you just give the talk to me right now? I can watch the laptop screen from where I sit.”