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

by Nick Stephenson

  “Yeah, sure, I guess I could. Let me check my notes for a moment.”

  “No. Just give the talk. You already know everything you need to give the presentation.”

  “But…”

  “You have only about thirty seconds before you lose me.”

  She turned the laptop so he could view while sitting at the table, and she stepped a few feet away, keeping the mouse in her hand to shift slides.

  “Good morning. My name is June Kato from Mercy Hospital in Los Angeles.” She clicked to the next slide.

  “You have twenty more seconds until I start thinking about something else,” Jack said.

  She smiled. “My talk today is Neuroscience and the Golden Ratio.”

  “Ten seconds,” he muttered, taking a drink of his coffee.

  June filled her half-hour time allotment with barely needing to stop to think.

  “So, what did you think of my talk?”

  Jack tilted his head. “Good information. The slides were well organized, thoughtful.”

  “You make it sound as exciting as a book report.”

  “It lacks punch. Build some interest as you go along. In a way, you’re telling a story, even if it’s only about brain surgery.”

  “Only brain surgery?” she asked sharply. She gave him an impatient look that reflected her lack of sleep. “There’s a very good reason very few surgeons attempt third ventricle surgery. It’s not so easy, and too many things can go wrong in a hurry. There is nothing only about it.”

  “That’s not what I meant…”

  She felt the need to change the subject. “What time is your presentation today? I know mine’s last on the bill.”

  “A little after lunch. Actually, I need to get started on some prep work.”

  “Rats. I’m still hungry.”

  “There should be fruit and cereal in the kitchen.”

  “I was thinking of something else…”

  “I’m doing something right then.” He grinned.

  “You still have my vote next year.”

  “I’m not sure what that means, but I should shower and dress.”

  She frowned and rolled off him onto her back. “And that loses my vote.”

  He left her in bed where she laid sprawled, the blanket covering only her legs, the pillow under her head. She watched him take clothes out of the closet to wear after his shower, stacking them in neat and tidy piles. When he turned around to face her, she saw him naked in the light for the first time, not as a patient in a hospital bed, but as a man sharing a bedroom with her. She easily could have gotten aroused.

  The ventilation system kicked on and the same clatter came from the vent near the kitchen.

  “May I ask you a question?” Jack asked.

  “If it’s about meeting for dinner later, the answer is certainly. If it’s about tonight, the answer is definitely.”

  “Maybe more personal than that,” he said on his way to the bathroom.

  “Oh? More personal than what we did last night?” she called out.

  He returned with shave cream on his face, a razor in one hand. “About your scars.”

  June rolled onto her back and pulled the blanket up to her chest. “Do they bother you?”

  “No, not at all. But when I was briefed on your dossier…”

  June didn’t like the sound of that, and couldn’t hold her tongue. “That’s a new way to meet chicks. Have a government lackey pull some bimbo’s dossier and get briefed on her.”

  “Oh, now, wait a minute,” he said, coming back from the bathroom, half his face shaved.

  “Is that all I’ve been? An educated woman with a decent job that didn’t mind rushing off somewhere to meet you? My dossier was good enough, and once the media discovers my existence in your life, I won’t be an embarrassment?”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not all that good. But you definitely wouldn’t be an embarrassment!”

  June bundled into the blanket and turned on her side to watch him finish shaving at the bathroom mirror.

  “I’m still curious about the scars. You always shift the conversation away whenever I ask.”

  “Okay, fine. The ones on my back are from an explosion from a couple years ago. I’m surprised that’s not in my dossier,” June answered curtly.

  “That house explosion in the San Fernando Valley?”

  “Right. The Yakuza had the place rigged to blow while I was in it. I was able to get away, but when the bomb went off, I was still too close. Anyway, the hospital spent several hours picking shrapnel out of me, and repaired a lung and my spleen. I guess a giant splinter went between my ribs and into a lung. I never knew it at the time though.” She swept the hair from her eyes. “I’m surprised Oguchi has never come back to finish the job.”

  “The job?”

  “Of killing me.”

  Jack returned, his face shaved clean, and sat on the edge of the bed next to her. “And the scars on your belly?”

  “The emergency surgery to repair my spleen. I’d sprung a serious leak.” She pulled the comforter down and her cami up to bare her chest and belly, which in the light of day was like baring her soul. She pointed to various twisted and thick scars as she talked. “Most of these are from skidding across asphalt, and these on my tummy are from surgeries.”

  Jack frowned. “Who, or what, is Oguchi?”

  “The Yakuza crime syndicate that wanted me dead. They generally don’t leave loose ends.” She hid her body again with the comforter.

  “You’re in great shape now,” he said.

  “Believe it or not, I was quite famous for my infomercial-perfect abs just a couple years ago. And this face has sold a lot of makeup back in the day. Unfortunately, now I’m more of an example of what can go wrong in a hurry.”

  Jack looked closer at her face, now hours since she had makeup on.

  “My face took a hit too. But through the magic of plastic surgery, and clever-handed makeup, I look pretty good again.”

  He leaned down and gave her a long, wet kiss, the cool menthol scent of shave cream floating into her nose. One of her hands went to his head and held him tight, while the other tested his desire for her. He passed the test but she had to let him go.

  After he showered, she watched him dress, still in her place in bed. She planned to stay there as long as possible that day, playing hooky from life and responsibilities.

  “Can we do something later?” she asked.

  “Like?”

  “Go for a walk. Downtown Seattle is supposed to be quite pretty, but I’ve never seen it.”

  “Walks are tough,” he said, cinching up his necktie. “There needs to be a planned route. Plus, we’d have security around us everywhere we went. And it’s not like we could eat lunch somewhere.”

  She feigned a pout.

  “It really is easiest if we just go with whatever Leopold has prepared for us.” He slipped into his jacket. “I’ll be back soon. Just a few things to take care of.”

  With that, he was out the door.

  Chapter 28

  KANEZAKI GRIPPED THE claw hammer a little tighter. Debt collection was an ugly but necessary part of his business in Seattle. Along with keeping an eye on that idiot Yamada, there was plenty of work to occupy him. Today’s appointment was with Arakaki-san, some lowlife from Beacon Hill. Got himself into trouble and hadn’t met his payments. Now it was time to collect.

  “I’ll ask again,” Kanezaki said in Japanese. “Where’s the money?”

  Arakaki sat tied to a chair, one hand splayed out on the table. Isa and Kimura held him down, one at the shoulders, one holding his wrist steady. Arakaki stared up, eyes wide, mouth trembling.

  “What’s that?” Kanezaki cupped an ear.

  “I d-don’t h-have it,” Arakaki said.

  Kanezaki sighed. Made a show of it. Nodded at the other two. Lifted the hammer high and brought it down hard, aiming for the little finger. There was a dull thump as it connected, shockwaves running up through his arm. The table s
hook.

  Arakaki screamed. Kanezaki brought the hammer down again, aiming for the ring finger. A wet crunch as the hammer hit bone. Another wail of pain. There was no blood, only tears.

  “I’m going to finish this hand,” Kanezaki said. “Then you’ve got twenty-four hours to come up with the cash. If you don’t come through for me, I’ll start on your kneecaps.” He tapped the hammer on one of Arakaki’s knees. “Understand?”

  Arakaki nodded feverishly, trying to jerk his leg away.

  “Good.” He struck the man’s fingers again, and again, and again. More screams filled the tiny basement, choked and ragged by the end. After it was done, Isa and Kimura let go and untied him. Arakaki slumped to the floor, clutching at his ruined hand, wailing quietly.

  “I’ll see you soon,” Kanezaki said.

  The three men stalked out of the basement, let themselves out of the house. Kanezaki wiped down the hammer and tossed it in the trunk of the car. It was a Black SUV with tinted windows, clean but a little tired-looking. Nothing to draw attention. He climbed in and the others followed, buckling up in the back.

  “Time to hit the hotel,” Kanezaki said, firing up the engine. “I’ll go inside, while you two find somewhere nearby and lay low.” He rolled the car off the driveway and set off down the road. He looked in the rear view mirror and caught Isa’s and Kimura’s attention. “If anything goes wrong and I don’t get to Yamada in time,” he said, “make sure that asshole gets what he deserves.”

  The two men nodded as Kanezaki put his foot to the floor.

  Chapter 29

  A LITTLE OVER a mile from Washington State Convention Center, the sprawling park once host to the 1962 Seattle World’s Fair was still one of the most popular attractions in the city. Various exhibition centers and museums, the Opera House, places to eat, the Space Needle, and several open grassy areas made it ideal for picnickers, joggers, and sightseers. The area around the park was high-density housing, small businesses, and high-tech industry, including medical research and public health organizations. Broad boulevards ran directly into downtown, streaming with heavy traffic in both directions.

  The news that the President would attend Washington State Convention Center that day traveled fast. Through the magic of modern social media, thousands of political protesters had already gathered at the shady park, a designated “free speech zone.” The irony was not lost on them.

  While protestors organized themselves, Seong-min and Jun-yeong rode along quietly in their utility van, both dressed in tattered coveralls and bright yellow high visibility vests. The Saturday morning traffic was already busy and they hit every stoplight. Jun-yeong lit a cigarette and rolled the window down to let the smoke out.

  “So much for planning ahead,” he said.

  “There’s enough time,” said Seong-min. “The protest shouldn’t start for another hour yet. They’re still letting people through.”

  “We hiding the packages? Or leaving in plain sight so they can be found?”

  “Hide them, but not too much. The point is, they have to be found by bomb squads. One or two are set to detonate, but the rest need to be left alone. Keep everyone busy trying to defuse them.”

  “How about in trash cans? That should slow them down.” Jun-yeong flicked his cigarette out the window. Seong-min parked the van at the curb. Dropping a few coins into the parking meter, they grabbed their rucksacks out of the back, one each, and headed off into the sprawling park. The demonstrators were gathering, making progress slow. Nobody paid them any attention.

  They hiked over a low grassy knoll and found a kiosk with a map to the park. One of the exhibition halls stood close by, surrounded by trees. It was closed for the day. All around, people streamed in from surrounding streets, kids holding parents’ hands, women pushing strollers, adults carrying cups of coffee. From the map, it appeared the exhibition hall had only four entrances altogether, one on each side. A trashcan sat next to one of the doors. They made their way over, the crowds lessening as they drew nearer.

  Seong-min pointed off to one side. “You go to the doors on the left and around the other side. If there’s a garbage can, put the thing in there with some trash over it. Needs to be well enough hidden that nobody stumbles across it.”

  “But not so well hidden the emergency services can’t find them after the first two go off. Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He paused. “And if someone sees me?”

  “Chances are, they’ll think we’re the garbage men.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  Seong-min frowned. “Run like hell.”

  Jun-yeong went off to the left. Seong-min stalled for a moment, waiting for the perfect moment. Couples strolled past, oblivious. A small group of protesters marched by, placards held high, staring straight ahead. Seong-min marched forward, not too fast, not too slow. He set the rucksack on the floor and pulled out a shoebox-shaped parcel. He stuffed it into the trashcan.

  Looking around, he went off to the other side of the building, to the right. That door was a utility and service entrance, something employees and vendors would use. No trashcans, but a row of dumpsters up against a wall. He tried them each in turn, but couldn’t get the lids open wide enough.

  He checked inside the second shoebox. Inside lay a large black plastic pipe. It was capped at both ends, with a pair of wires leading out directly into the back of an old cell phone, nestled in a bed of metal nails and screws. The payload was small, but enough to make a hell of a noise, and throw up enough smoke and debris to get people panicked.

  Seong-min doubled checked the contents. No way to unbox it without compromising the setup. He improvised, reaching into the dumpster and fishing out handfuls of trash. He lay the box down on the asphalt, covered it old soda cans and wrappers and torn-up paper bags. Not perfect, a strong wind would blow away the camouflage, but it should hopefully be good enough for a few hours. The wall kept most of the breeze away.

  He picked up the phone, saw the time, and checked his watch. In a few hours, Seong-min would call in the bomb tip. When the emergency services arrived, he would detonate two of the devices remotely. Keep all eyes away from the convention center.

  He took a deep breath, looked around for any signs he was being watched, and headed back to join Jun-yeong, keen to get as much distance between him and the park as humanly possible.

  Chapter 30

  JOANNE HARPER WAS already elbow-deep in paperwork when Leopold arrived. He knocked on the door and let himself in as she looked up, closing her laptop. She didn’t looked pleased to see him.

  “You’ve got a problem,” Leopold said.

  “It’s standing right in front of me.”

  “When’s the last time you checked the hotel and convention center ventilation systems?”

  Harper sighed. “We’ve done our due diligence.”

  “Gustafson said he had two teams down there checking the units. After the Secret Service teams had finished. Did you check their work?”

  “Listen carefully, Blake. I run a team of professionals, we don’t miss things like that. My team checks the systems each morning, then they’re due to check again before the President arrives. The seals are in place, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “The filtration system doesn’t have a seal.”

  “Of course not,” Harper said, getting up. “Otherwise the air flow would be compromised. It’s been checked for foreign bodies, and a chemical residue test as well. We’ve covered the whole basement.” She glared at him. “This is none of your concern.”

  “Not all payload delivery systems can be detected with chemical residue test or other monitoring equipment. You need to do a full visual.”

  “That would put the whole infrastructure out for the full day. We don’t need that sort of disruption.”

  “What kind of disruption do you think there would be if the President had to be rushed out halfway through his speech?”

  “An acceptable risk, considering the likelihood of something getting past
us. We can’t tear apart every inch of the venue, and we can’t cancel appearances just because of one civilian’s opinion.” She walked to the door. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”

  “I assume you won’t mind me running a sweep of my own?”

  “Do what you like. But if you put my people out for even a second, I’ll have you thrown out. Are we clear?” She held the door open.

  Leopold left her office. “Crystal.”

  Chapter 31

  JUNE HAD NO clothes of her own in Jack’s room, except those she had worn the night before. Getting dressed, she knocked on the door to the hallway and then opened it. No one was there.

  “So much for security,” she muttered to herself. She patted her pockets and found her key card. Closing the door behind her, she looked both ways down the hallway. Deserted. Both stairwell doors were still secured. The elevator was just out of sight around the corner. She walked over to her own suite, opened the door.

  “Hello?” she called out. “Housekeeping?”

  She was alone in her room. Pacing over to the entertainment center, she found an album she liked and hit play. She found her purse and checked for the pendant Amy had given her. It was exactly where she left it.

  Removing her clothes as she walked, she tossed them onto her unused bed and went for a shower. She noticed the bathroom had been tidied, her clothes from the day before cleaned, pressed, and hung in the closet. After her shower, she wrapped in a towel and checked her phone for messages. Nothing.

  She blow-dried her hair and grabbed something to eat from the refrigerator. An apple clenched in her teeth, she went back to the bedroom to dress. With no idea of what the plans were for the day, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a long sleeve T-shirt, with a colorful vest over the top. A pair of soft cotton socks felt good on her cold feet.

  The ventilation duct next to the kitchenette rattled as the system kicked on. June gave the grate a swat with her hand and walked past. Rubbing her arms for warmth, she went back to the bathroom and turned on the small wall heater. Waiting for it to warm up, she looked in the mirror. The easy morning of lounging in bed had done her good, along with the long hot shower.