Panic lb-1

by Nick Stephenson

  The knife met only air as it narrowly whispered past Jerome’s face. The shooter used the momentum of his failed attack to bring his left elbow around to catch the bodyguard’s jaw, twisting his entire body to add extra force.

  Leopold cringed as he waited for the blow to land, not knowing whether he should rush in to help, but Jerome was too quick and again sidestepped out of the way. As the sniper’s body finished its rotation the two men were now face-to-face and square with each other. Jerome raised his handgun and squeezed the trigger, but the shooter dashed forward and parried the gun with his left forearm, angling his knife for an attack the throat.

  Leopold saw Jerome drop the gun and bring his left arm up quickly under the shooter’s wrist, pushing the knife harmlessly to the side. The sniper’s momentum carried him forward and the bodyguard bent his right forearm to allow a clear path to the man’s exposed throat. Jerome lunged and made contact with his fist, the combined force of their movements choking his opponent and opening up the chest area to further attack. He didn’t waste any time and used his right fist to deal a powerful blow to the sniper’s solar plexus while his left held the knife at bay.

  As the shooter doubled over in pain, Leopold watched as Jerome brought the man’s head down onto his knee, breaking the nose with a wet crunch. He wrenched the man’s right hand away from his body, breaking the wrist with a sharp cracking noise.

  Leopold held back a retch as he remembered the sound Dolph’s skull had made as it shattered. Shaking his head to push away the memory, he ran over to join the bodyguard, who grabbed the sniper by the hair and pulled his head back.

  “How many others are left?” growled Jerome, raising his fist over the man’s exposed throat.

  “Fuck you,” the shooter gurgled, blood streaming from his ruined nose.

  “Last chance. How many others are there?”

  The sniper spat in the bodyguard’s face and swore again. Jerome brought his right arm around the front of the sniper’s throat and placed him in a choke hold. The man struggled, but could barely move under the force of the bodyguard’s grip. He held the shooter’s throat fast, increasing the pressure until Leopold saw him draw his last breath, his windpipe crushed under the fierce hold. Jerome felt for a pulse and found none. He let the body fall to the floor and walked back toward the fire escape, pausing long enough to let Leopold catch up.

  Neither spoke a word as they made their way back to the alleyway below.

  Chapter 35

  When they reached Hank’s apartment building the front door was open, wedged ajar by the decorators who were on their way out for the night. Leopold stood to the side to let them through and then slipped inside before the door closed, holding it open for Jerome, Mary, and Albert. The four of them made their way upstairs to Hank’s apartment, where Mary pulled aside the police tape and stepped through into the living room.

  Inside, the apartment had been swept thoroughly. Leopold noticed dozens of silver smudges on most of the surfaces, marking where forensics had taken fingerprint samples. Hank’s body had been removed, but none of the blood had been cleaned up yet, pending results of routine DNA searches. Once the police confirmed the blood matches, no doubt they’d let the landlord clean up. It didn’t look like the forensics team had gotten around to searching Hank’s possessions yet. Probably left that to the detectives. Wherever they were.

  “We’ve probably got a couple of hours till the detective team gets here,” said Mary, absent-mindedly rubbing her head where she had knocked into the garbage cans. “The NYPD has quite a backlog right now, so they might be a while.”

  “Let’s get what we need before anyone else shows up,” said Leopold, stalking over to the bedroom.

  He ruffled through the papers that had been left out on the desk and found the rest of the paperwork detailing Hank’s banking transactions for the last month. He also found cell phone and Internet invoices, which he folded up and slipped into his jacket pocket. There was bound to be a link there somewhere.

  “Did you find everything?” asked Mary

  “Enough to get a warrant,” said Leopold. “Then it’s just a matter of time before we find a link to Senator Logan.”

  “What about Stark?”

  “He’s covered his tracks well. We can’t even link him to the murders.”

  “But you proved they weren’t suicides. The FBI knows someone set them up,” said Mary.

  “But they don’t have enough to prove it was murder. Not beyond reasonable doubt. Even if they could, we don’t have anything concrete linking back to Stark. That’s what Stark was counting on.”

  “So what chance do we have?”

  “Our only option is to catch up with Stark before anything happens to Christina. Then we’ll have our proof.”

  Mary nodded grimly. “Speaking of proof, you still haven’t explained how Stark managed to get in and out of a sealed apartment.”

  “Oh, that’s easy. Follow me.”

  Leopold marched through to the kitchen and grabbed a large carving knife from the counter top. He walked back over toward the bedroom and stopped in the hallway. The others watched him from the bedroom.

  “How does someone get in and out of a room without using the doors or the windows?” said Leopold.

  The others shrugged.

  “Simple. There’s a way in and out that we haven’t seen yet.”

  Leopold turned and brought the large knife down hard against the bare drywall behind him. He cut a rough circle and ripped out a hole about twelve inches in diameter. He could see straight through to the apartment next door, which was completely empty.

  “Stark leases the apartment next door and cuts his way through to Hank’s place. He waits for Hank to get home with Christina and kills him. Once he’s done arranging the body he simply hangs a fresh sheet of drywall behind him and escapes with his hostage. With all the renovation work going on, nothing looks out of place.”

  “Why not just break down the door?” said Albert.

  “Like I said, Stark makes his kills look self-inflicted. That way, if he’s ever caught, a good lawyer can use reasonable doubt to acquit him of any charges.”

  “So what’s our next move?” said Mary.

  “Our only hope of finding Christina alive is catching Stark. If we make it in time, we’ll have all the evidence we need to put Stark away for a long time.”

  “If we can find them in time,” said Mary. “Where do we start to look?”

  “Logan said he was coming back into the city this afternoon,” said Leopold. “The most logical place to hold Christina is at Logan’s town house, where nobody’s going to walk in on them.”

  “The senator’s not going to let them do that! He’d call the police the minute he suspected anything,” said Mary.

  “Senator Logan is dead,” said Leopold. “No doubt about it.”

  A few seconds passed where nobody spoke. Albert shuffled uncomfortably and glanced around, presumably hoping someone would break the silence. Eventually, Mary obliged.

  “Okay, let’s say you’re right.”

  “I am,” said Leopold. “It was always Stark’s intention to kill the senator, but it made sense for him to wait until he had a better idea of what was happening before making his move. The minute Stark sent his men after us back at the library, I knew the senator was dead.”

  “Okay, I believe you,” said Mary hurriedly. “So we know where Christina is. And Stark. But how the hell do we get her out of there? The senator’s place is going to be locked down. How do we get in? We won’t get any support from the NYPD or the FBI without a warrant, which could take days. We don’t have that long.”

  “Then we get her back ourselves,” said Leopold.

  “And how do we do that? We’ll need a small army just to get through the door.”

  Leopold grinned. “I have an idea. Let’s take a drive.”

  Chapter 36

  The fluorescent lights that illuminated the windows of the high-class department stores and
restaurants lining Fifth Avenue cut through the evening gloom as the VW Beetle rattled up to Leopold’s apartment building. The sun had just begun to disappear beneath the skyline and the streets were getting a little quieter as most people were inside eating dinner, starting work on the night shift, or hitting the town for a few weekend drinks.

  Leopold cringed as the car hit a pothole, feeling his teeth rattle in his skull. Albert pulled up to the building and entered the pass code into the keypad that opened the underground garage and the heavy gates opened up to let them through. The metallic knocking of the VW’s old engine echoed loudly as Albert drove the car through to the reserved space at the back of the lot, closest to the elevators.

  The four of them piled out and rode to the top floor, where Leopold punched in a six-digit pass code and the elevator opened silently into the penthouse apartment’s cavernous entrance hall. The automatic lights came on and bathed the room with a warm glow. Albert whistled, clearly impressed.

  Leopold led them through the enormous apartment, just as messy as he had left it earlier that morning, and opened a door that opened into a brightly lit room lined from top to bottom with glass-fronted storage cabinets. This particular room was unique in that it was meticulously neat. The cabinets were filled with laboratory equipment, and a large white counter filled most of the floor space, with a slim touchscreen monitor built into its surface.

  “What’s this place?” asked Mary, looking around with interest.

  “Store room,” said Leopold. “I keep most of my research equipment in here, but Jerome keeps some items in here too. Items I think we’ll find useful.”

  Jerome stepped forward and entered a code into the touchscreen panel. A gentle whirring sound emanated from the unit and the entire countertop slid away, revealing a large storage cabinet underneath. Mounted to the interior walls were a dozen handguns, each of varying caliber, as well as hunting knives, throwing stars, and even a crossbow. In the center, on the floor of the unit, was a collection of chunky black objects that looked a lot like hockey pucks.

  Mary turned to Leopold, hands on her hips. “I assume you have a licence for these weapons? They’re not exactly standard issue.”

  “Of course,” said Leopold. “And being a major shareholder of the country’s biggest supplier of military weapons means I get access to some of the more interesting pieces.”

  “What are those things?” asked Mary, pointing at the hockey pucks.

  “Anti-personnel explosives,” said Jerome, before Leopold could answer. “Not as high-tech as the micro-explosives, but they pack a bigger punch.”

  “What kind of punch?” asked Albert, reaching out his hand to touch one.

  Jerome grabbed his wrist and growled. “Enough to super-heat the blood in your veins to boiling point within ten seconds.”

  Albert gulped loudly.

  Jerome reached his own hand out slowly, and picked up one of the explosives. “A simple twist of the casing and the explosive is armed,” he continued, holding up the black disc. “The case is made from very low-friction alloy, so it slides easily across most surfaces toward your target’s feet. A second or two later, and the device ignites, setting the target on fire rather than blowing him across the room. Makes for enhanced mayhem in confined spaces, with little impact damage to the surrounding area. Useful if you’ve got someone cornered.”

  “And why do we need to know this?” asked Mary.

  “Like you said, we need the right tools to get to Christina. Take a look around; I think you’ll find what we need,” said Leopold, picking up one of the handguns and examining it.

  As he held the weapon in his hands, he noticed a slight tremor in his grip and realized he hadn’t eaten all day. He was hungry. Starving. “Show them the rest,” he said, patting Jerome on the shoulder. “I’m going to fix us some dinner. It’s not good attempting a daring rescue with low blood sugar.”

  Leopold left the others and went through to the kitchen. The automatic lights flicked on as he passed through, set for low ambient lighting at this time of the evening. The kitchen was modest compared to the rest of the apartment – which wasn’t an issue for Leopold, who had most of his food delivered – but it still contained all the equipment needed to cook just about anything. The surfaces were reflective black marble and the appliances were finished with brushed aluminium and glass, except for the industrial-grade Viking gas oven which was stainless steel and took up most of the space.

  Leopold opened the fridge and pulled out some cartons of leftover takeout from earlier in the week, stuffing them into the microwave in their containers. A few minutes later, the smell of Chinese food filled the room as Leopold emptied the contents of the cartons onto plates and laid them on the table.

  The others soon came through, following the smell of food that had quickly filled the apartment. Albert was licking his lips. They sat at the large dining table overlooking Central Park and ate dinner just as the sun disappeared over the horizon. The city was a buzzing mass of floating lights, and the four of them ate hungrily without speaking, polishing off the meal in a little over five minutes. When they had all finished, Albert sat back in his chair and sighed contentedly.

  “I needed that,” said Albert, both hands resting on his stomach.

  “Thanks, Leopold,” said Mary.

  “Good thinking,” said Jerome. “We need to keep our energy up. No good getting dizzy in a fire fight.”

  Albert looked worried for a moment. Then a look of quiet contentment passed over his face and his eyes began to quiver. “Anything for dessert?” he asked, slurring his words slightly.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Mary asked, turning to Leopold.

  “Don’t worry. Just a little mild sedative I slipped into his food. It’s more effective when injected, but it seems to have done the trick.”

  “What did you do that for?” asked Mary, sounding concerned.

  “Like you said before, Albert’s a civilian. He doesn’t know what he’s letting himself in for, no matter how eager he is to help. He’ll wind up getting himself killed. It’s a miracle he’s still alive as it is; I’m not taking him along on this trip.”

  Albert tried to sit up, as though he couldn’t hear what was being said. He gave up after a couple of unsuccessful attempts and resigned himself to the slumped position he had assumed in the chair. He put his hands back on his belly and slowly closed his eyes, breathing slowly and deeply. Then he burped and fell asleep.

  “We’ll put him in one of the guest bedrooms where he won’t get into any trouble,” said Leopold.

  “So it’s just the three of us against Stark’s private army,” said Mary. “Although I suppose that’s more effective than the three of us plus Albert.”

  “What he lacks in skill, he makes up for in enthusiasm,” said Jerome.

  Mary cracked a smile. Leopold put his hand on her shoulder and felt her body move toward him slightly. She turned to look at him.

  He looked into her eyes. “You need to be sure about this one, Mary. I don’t want you there if you’re in any doubt.”

  “Why would I be in any doubt?” she asked, blinking.

  “You’re NYPD. You’ve got due process and rules to follow. Chances are you’ll get fired after this. Or worse.”

  “The way I figure it,” she said, twisting herself away from him, “is that Christina’s life is more important than my career, so I’ll worry about the consequences later. No way I’m sitting this one out after everything I’ve been through today.”

  Leopold dropped his hand from her shoulder and nodded silently. The discussion was over.

  “We’ve finished in the stores,” said Jerome, breaking the silence. “I picked out a few items we can probably use. Of course, it would help to know the plan first.”

  Leopold stood up and walked over to the freezer. “Sure. I’ll explain over ice cream.”

  Chapter 37

  “That’s your plan?” said Mary, glaring at Leopold as she spoke. “Are you crazy?�
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  Leopold, Mary, and Jerome were still clustered around the dining table, hand-drawn diagrams and maps covering the surface. It was nearly ten at night and tempers were beginning to fray.

  “I don’t see an alternative,” said Jerome.

  “Well of course you wouldn’t, butler-boy,” said Mary, pointing a finger at the startled bodyguard.

  Jerome’s expression darkened, and Leopold thought for a moment she might apologize. He was wrong.

  “And don’t give me that look,” she continued. “I’m just trying to tell you where all the holes in your damn plan are. They’re big enough to fall through.”

  Leopold sighed and tried to break the tension. “I know it’s crazy, but it’s the only plan we could even feasibly pull off in the time we’ve got. If we don’t get Christina back by tomorrow, we’ll lose her forever. We still have the element of surprise on our side; they won’t expect an attack tonight from just three of us.”

  “Of course they won’t,” snapped Mary, “because that would be bat-shit crazy! How the hell do we storm a heavily fortified safe house, filled with armored super-soldiers, in the dark, with just the three of us? Don’t you know anyone useful, with all your connections? We need backup.”

  Mary slapped both palms down onto the table as she finished speaking. Leopold jumped slightly.

  “I’m afraid my professional network doesn’t extend to hired mercenaries,” replied Leopold, folding his arms. “Besides, we don’t have the time to get a team together. Certainly not a team we can trust, at any rate. We’re better off keeping this between us.”

  “It will work if we follow the plan to the letter,” said Jerome, tapping the table with his index finger. “If we want to get Christina alive, it’s our only chance. The only other viable option is to wait for a warrant, which will take too long. Do you have any better ideas?”