Panic lb-1

by Nick Stephenson

  “Wow, this place is even better than I expected,” said Albert, glancing around the room with growing excitement. “I should have come down here years ago.”

  “We don’t have time for sightseeing,” said Mary. “We need to find that computer and track down Cupid. It’s only a matter of time before we lose this lead.”

  “Agreed,” said Leopold. “Let’s get moving. We’re looking for a storage room, so we can ignore any of the classrooms down here. That should narrow it down considerably. Follow me.”

  He led the others out of the dusty laboratory and into the hallway, which was long and thin, with a number of wooden doors on each side. At the end of the hallway, the room split out into a narrow corridor that appeared to run the perimeter of the building. After a few minutes they found a heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor, about halfway around. Leopold stepped forward.

  “This is the one. See where the handle has been used recently?”

  The consultant pointed at oily marks that had tarnished the brass handle, then opened the door and stepped inside. Turning on the light, he smiled as he saw what waited for them inside. The room looked like it used to be an office, although now the dust and decay had rendered it useless. On top of the grimy desk in the center of the room stood an ancient computer monitor, taking up most of the space. Leopold strode over and found a keyboard and mouse hooked up to a battered desktop computer that was nestled underneath the desk. He tapped the keyboard and the monitor flickered to life, displaying simple green text on a black background asking for a recipient’s email address. The cursor blinked impatiently.

  “This shouldn’t take too long,” said Leopold, typing feverishly. “I just need to access the root logs for the system and find the exact time this machine was last used.”

  “And that will give us Cupid?” asked Mary.

  “Not directly. But it will give us the exact date and time the last email to Christina was sent, which we can cross-reference with the security logs to find out who was nearby at the time.”

  “Clever,” said the police sergeant. “But what if Cupid came in through the tunnels, like us? He wouldn’t be logged with security.”

  “Judging by the old padlock we had to break to get in, nobody’s been in that way for years, so the only alternative is to come through from above. And that would require fairly high level access.”

  “So it’s probably not a student,” said Mary.

  “Not likely,” replied Leopold. “Here we go.”

  The monitor filled with a long list of time stamps, listing the exact dates and times each time the machine had been accessed.

  “Looks like this computer’s never been reformatted,” said Albert.

  “Well, that definitely helps us,” said the consultant, peering at the screen. “The last time this machine was used was two days ago, just before midnight.”

  “That was the day before Christina went missing,” said Mary.

  “All we have to do now is get to the security files and narrow it down to show who was in the building around the time the email was sent, and who left shortly afterwards. It should be a short list,” continued Leopold. “Let’s start by giving our security guard friend a quick visit. He’s probably wondering where his keys have gotten to by now.”

  Chapter 26

  Leopold’s eyes took a moment to readjust to the dim, murky passageway, but his mind was already racing. Now they had a lead. A solid lead. Once they coaxed the entry logs out of the security guard, it would be easy enough to track down Cupid and get some answers. As they reached a tight corner, Jerome called out from behind in a hoarse whisper, and Leopold stopped to turn around.

  “I’ll go at the front,” said Jerome. “Visibility down here is poor, and I should be taking point.”

  Leopold didn’t bother to argue. Directions from Jerome were rarely optional. He stood aside to let the bodyguard pass and took up a following position next to Albert and Mary, who were whispering to each other about something he couldn’t quite make out. Albert stopped talking and looked up at him.

  “I just wanted to thank you,” he said, “for letting me come along with you. It’s by far the most fun I’ve had in years. I honestly thought my tunnelers days were behind me.”

  “No problem,” said Leopold.

  “No, really. My life isn’t exactly what you’d call…exciting. But this, well this is something to tell the grandkids!”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  The tour guide beamed and fell quiet as Jerome hissed a warning from ahead. Most of the light bulbs that hung from the tunnel ceiling were either flickering weakly or had gone out altogether.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered. “I heard something up ahead. Follow me. Slowly.”

  What happened next was almost too fast to register. A sound like a whip crack reverberated through the narrow tunnel as a precise, controlled explosion shattered the stonework off the wall at Jerome’s shoulder. The blast threw him sideways, slamming his head against the opposite wall. He slumped to the floor, unconscious. Almost simultaneously, Leopold heard a series of identical blasts erupt behind him, sending shards of stone flying through the passageway in a synchronized series of explosions that snaked down the tunnel walls and across the ceiling like a string of firecrackers. Mary and Albert ducked down, hands clasped over their ears, avoiding the majority of the debris.

  A few seconds later, the dust began to clear. The tunnel behind them had collapsed from the force of the explosions, sealing off the way back.

  “Is everyone OK?” hissed Leopold.

  “What the hell was that?” responded Mary.

  “I can’t see a thing!” said Albert.

  “Jerome’s out cold,” continued the consultant, his ears ringing, “and the way back is sealed off.”

  “We have to keep moving,” said the police sergeant.

  “It’s a trap,” said Leopold. “Whoever set those explosions wasn’t looking to just knock us out; they were meant to kill us and bury us down here.”

  “So why are we still alive?” asked Albert, shaking slightly.

  “Most people would have been killed by that first blast. It was positioned directly at head height. Head height for anyone other than Jerome, anyway. The secondary explosions were to seal off the tunnel. I expect our attacker will collapse the other end once he’s inspected his work,” said Leopold.

  “Inspected his work?” repeated the tour guide nervously.

  “He’ll be expecting clean kills, but he’ll be down to check.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” said Mary, “While we have the element of surprise on our side we should go on the offensive.”

  “Whoa, hold on just a minute,” said Albert.

  “She’s right. There’s no other way out. We either wait for him to pick us off in the dark, or we come at him head on. If we’re still alive, we can come back for Jerome. Follow me.”

  Leopold stepped forward and heard Mary pull out her firearm, hoping Albert would be smart enough to stay behind her. The three of them walked forward slowly, toward the basement entrance they had used earlier, trying not to make a sound. The tunnel was nearly completely dark now, most of the lights having been shattered by the blast, and Leopold couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him. The corridor was silent.

  The bullet whistled past Leopold’s ear and slammed into the wall behind him, throwing up brittle debris as it hit the stone. He dodged to the side instinctively and flattened his back against the wall to avoid a follow up shot. Mary and Albert did the same on the other side of the passageway. Leopold glanced around, feeling the adrenaline kick in, and checked for any sign of movement.

  A tiny red dot of light, danced along the opposite wall, seeking out a target. The light made its way closer and closer to where the others were standing, now only partially hidden in the shadows. Leopold knew it was a matter of seconds before they would be forced to break cover and would be in full sight of the gunman. The red dot halted.
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br />   Seconds passed and nothing happened. Leopold listened for any sign of movement and caught the sound of fabric rustling about six feet in front of him. Without pausing to think, the consultant shoved against the wall with all his strength and launched himself at the rough area he expected his target to occupy. He lowered his shoulders as he charged to maximize the impact radius of his blow, a technique Jerome had taught him during their training sessions.

  Leopold connected. He heard the shooter grunt in surprise and pain as he collided with the man’s rib cage, knocking him to the ground. The consultant spun in the darkness, brought the gun to shoulder-level, and adopted a square stance. He lowered the weapon to the ground where the shooter had fallen and aimed. There was nothing there but empty space.

  Leopold felt the attack before he saw it. Grasping the consultant’s wrist like a vise, the gunman twisted it viciously, pulling his arm behind his back. A sharp blow struck his lower back, throwing him into the wall face first.

  Twisting his head to avoid a broken nose, Leopold tasted hot blood as his face connected with the stone. Dropping and rolling, he avoided the attacker’s next blow, dodging the impact of the butt of his gun where his head had been just a split second earlier, causing the gunman to grunt with frustration. Glancing up from the floor, the consultant caught one clear glimpse of his attacker as he stood in a stray pool of light.

  The man was tall and stocky, and wore a thin trench coat and hat, his features mostly obscured. Leopold recognized him by his strange clothes: one of the passers-by who had caught his attention outside Christina’s dorm room. The clothes looked brand new, probably thrown on earlier in the day to provide cover among the other people on the busy streets outside. He could make out several tattoos scrawled in German on the backs of his hands. There were probably matching tattoos under his clothes as well.

  Dodging to the side, Leopold avoided Mary as she flew past him and tackled the shooter, knocking the man over and sending his handgun flying across the floor with a clatter. She straddled his chest and brought her own gun around under his chin. The gunman grinned.

  “I’ve not enjoyed being between a woman’s legs this much in a long time,” he said in a thick German accent, licking his lips slowly.

  “Shut up. You have the right to remain silent,” Mary began. She never got to finish.

  The gunman brought his knee up sharply, connecting with the police sergeant’s lower back and throwing her forward. He used her momentum against her and lashed out with his elbow, knocking Mary hard in the ribs and sending her sideways. Rolling off him, she took up a kneeling position and brought her gun around for a second time. Too quickly, the German was off the floor again and he brought a foot down on her shoulder, his heavy boot knocking her violently to the ground, forcing her to release her weapon. He drew a slim, double-edged knife from his belt and grinned again.

  “Time to die, bitch.”

  Rousing all his remaining strength, Leopold lunged, throwing a fist at the man’s back as he faced Mary. He connected with soft tissue and felt the man tense as the blow hit home. The German swung his elbow around in retaliation, catching Leopold off balance and knocking him backward against the stone wall. Regaining his composure, the gunman aimed his boot at Mary and connected hard with the side of her head, knocking her out cold. He rounded on Leopold and advanced slowly, knife in hand.

  “I think I’ll take my time with you,” he sneered. “I want you to feel it. Then I want you to watch me kill your girlfriend.”

  With a cry of frustration, Leopold threw a wild punch, arching the blow in roundhouse fashion to reduce the ability of the gunman to parry. The German brought his elbow up high and took most of the force of the blow to his arm, knocking him off balance but causing no real damage. Desperate, the consultant followed with an uppercut to the stomach, but the gunman dodged and countered by bringing his other elbow around fast, hitting Leopold in the temple. Stars danced across his vision and he once again stumbled against the wall, hands splayed out for balance before toppling to his knees.

  His vision cleared, and he saw his attacker throw his crumpled hat to the floor and approach, knife in hand. The blade neared his throat. He could smell sweat and steel. Suddenly, the German let out a cry of surprise as Albert crashed into him, head first, sending them both topping to the ground in a tangled heap.

  “Don’t you touch my friends!” Albert screamed, throwing his fists feverishly at the man’s face.

  The German was so surprised he didn’t register his attacker at first, but after a few badly aimed punches connected with his jaw, he snapped to his senses and fought back, twisting like a coiled spring. He escaped Albert’s grasp with little effort and lashed out in a dazzlingly quick counter-attack of his own.

  Albert looked down and saw the blade of the man’s knife slide out of his shoulder, releasing a hot, thick flow of blood. His eyes rolled up into his head and he fell backward, unconscious. The attacker laughed, a callous, hoarse laugh, and turned again to face Leopold, brandishing the knife.

  “Time to die, Mr. Blake,” he said, spitting blood on to the floor.

  “Not today,” a deep voice echoed from behind.

  Stepping into the pool of light, his face mottled with dust and blood, Jerome stood firm and ready. His suit was torn and bloody at the shoulder, but he didn’t appear to be in any pain. Sneering, the German lunged, slashing the knife upwards with surgical precision over Jerome’s throat, aiming for the jugular.

  His smile faltered immediately as the bodyguard caught his wrist and pulled it back sharply, forcing him to drop the weapon. He turned to counter, but Jerome landed a blow to the man’s solar plexus with his other hand and sent the gunman toppling to the floor. A well-aimed kick to the man’s testicles kept him down for the count, only a writhing groan of pain indicating there was any life left in him.

  “I’m fine,” said Leopold, as Jerome helped him to his feet. “I’m more concerned about where our friend here is getting his orders.”

  Nodding, the bodyguard knelt down beside the German, who began breathing normally again. He lifted the knife off the floor and slid the blade between the man’s ribs. The gunman screamed in pain.

  “The knife is now touching the outside of your lung,” Jerome said in a calm voice. “If I apply pressure, the tip of the blade will puncture the parietal pleura, and you really don’t want that to happen.”

  “Go to hell,” the bleeding man growled, his face contorted in agony.

  “If I press harder still, the knife will completely puncture the lung and you’ll pass out from the pain.”

  He applied a slight pressure to prove his point. The German screamed again.

  “Now, let’s try this again,” said Jerome, leaning closer.

  “What – what do you want to know?” the man grunted between quick, shallow breaths.

  “Who sent you the order to kill me?” asked Leopold.

  “I – I don’t know his name. I swear!” he implored as Jerome’s expression hardened. “All I know is I get a phone call a few days ago. He tells me he might need my services, and I’ll get a call when the time is right. I got the call this morning with your location and followed you here.”

  “The explosions,” said Leopold. “What did you use?”

  “I was given something.” He pointed at his jacket.

  Jerome carefully unzipped the man’s leather jacket with his free hand, keeping an even pressure on the knife. He reached into the inside pocket and pulled out a small metal case ten inches in diameter.

  “Open it,” gasped the gunman.

  Jerome snapped open the small case to reveal four small white plastic discs, roughly the same size and shape as a quarter, nestled in black foam like a valuable coin collection. The bodyguard rested the case on the man’s chest and pulled one of the discs out, holding it carefully between his thumb and index finger.

  “Careful,” the man rasped. “You don’t want to set those off. Boom.”

  “What are they?” as
ked Jerome.

  “I don’t know their name. They were left for me at the drop point. They have instructions, you just put them down and detonate them with a cell phone. Boom,” he laughed hoarsely.

  “Are there more? Tell me, who else is coming?” Leopold asked.

  The gunman only laughed harder, despite the knife in his side. “You have no idea, do you? I hope they make you suffer, I hope you are awake when they do it. I hope – ”

  He didn’t get to finished his sentence. Jerome pushed the knife deeper into the man’s rib-cage, making him howl in pain for several seconds until he passed out, still breathing, but only just. The bodyguard handed the tiny metal case to Leopold.

  “Could these really cause all that damage?” Jerome jerked his head back in the direction of the collapsed tunnel.

  “Evidently. Though how, exactly, I need to figure out. Nothing a couple hours in the lab can’t determine.”

  “What are we going to do with him?” he looked down at the gunman.

  “Leave him here,” replied the consultant. “He won’t last long without medical attention, and I don’t think his employer is going to be too happy about his performance. I doubt we’ll be seeing him again.”

  “What about the others? I don’t think I can carry them both, and Albert needs some stitches.”

  As Leopold considered their next move, he heard Mary and Albert groan quietly as they regained consciousness and he breathed a sigh of relief as they both got to their feet.

  “What happened? Is everyone all right?” Mary asked, her voice groggy.

  “We’re fine,” the consultant replied, “though I think Albert might be a little worse for wear.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” murmured their tour guide, clutching his shoulder. “It’s not bleeding much any more. Just a scratch. Really.”

  “Good,” said Jerome, “I carry a small first aid kit in my jacket that can help with the bleeding. I can get you fixed up, but you’ll probably need to go get stitches.”

  Albert nodded thankfully and squeezed his shoulder a little tighter, turning to Leopold. “What’s next?”.