Chapter 58
ROUSSEAU STRODE TOWARD the corner office on the top floor, his open jacket revealing his badge and gun. He ignored the anxious looks and focused on his target. From fifty feet away, he could make out silhouettes against the blinds. There were people in there. Two people. But Rousseau had heard three voices on the phone before the line had gone dead – so where was the other?
He didn’t have to wait long for an answer. Rousseau felt movement before he saw it, something approaching from behind at speed. The captain turned and registered a gray blur, moving too fast to follow. Then the pain came.
Rousseau felt his head snap to the side. He fell to the floor and rolled, instinctively reaching for his gun as he got up to his knees. He looked up for his target and saw a man dressed in a charcoal suit. His face was familiar. Pain hit again as the captain brought his revolver around and the suit kicked out, knocking the weapon from his hand on to the floor.
That’s when everyone started to panic. Someone must have seen the gun and started screaming. There was a stampede as the office workers realized what was going on and decided to make a run for it. Most of them headed for the elevator, while the smarter ones either dashed for the stairwell or ducked under their desks. A few ran close by, scrambling for the exits, separating the captain from his attacker.
The respite was welcome. Rousseau got to his feet and let his training take over. He recognized the man’s face now, from the parking lot camera footage. Wearing a suit this time, but unmistakable. The tall, broad shoulders and ruthless face, the obvious muscle around the arms and neck. Was this the man with the German accent on the phone? Rousseau shook the questions out of his head, gritted his teeth, and charged.
The capitaine lowered his shoulder and went for the knees. The suit tried to move, but Rousseau was too fast. He lifted the German off the floor and didn’t stop driving forward until he hit one of the partition walls. The whole thing shook from the impact, but the suit didn’t make a sound. Rousseau felt a jolt of pain in his shoulder and lost his grip. He saw the German’s knee come up and felt his nose crunch. Something wet dripping down his face. A white-hot daze of pain and disorientation filled him.
Stumbling backward, Rousseau tried to put some distance between them. The suit moved fast, covering the floor in two steps. Something in his hand. Was that a knife? The pain came again as the German lashed out and Rousseau danced to the side, but too late. He glanced at his arm and saw the tear – a deep red gash beneath his jacket sleeve.
The office workers finally worked out the elevators weren’t going to work out for such a large crowd and turned back, heading for the stairs. They froze as they realized Rousseau and his opponent were in the way. At least three dozen people stood staring, dumbfounded. Then someone saw Rousseau’s badge.
“Look! The Police!” A chubby man with a goatee pointed.
“He’s hurt,” said someone else, out of sight.
The German held up the knife. Rousseau noticed his police service revolver, maybe ten feet away, lying on the floor. Within reach of the crowd.
“There’s a gun,” one of the workers said.
“Don’t touch it!” said another.
“But we can help.”
“You don’t know how to shoot.” Another voice joined in.
“I know better than you.”
“How the hell would you know?”
The bickering continued. Rousseau looked over at the German, a little more than an arm’s length away. The captain could see every muscle in the man’s body tensed, ready to strike. Rousseau knew he didn’t stand a chance against his younger, stronger opponent – but, luckily, he had something the German didn’t.
“This is your last chance to walk away from this,” Rousseau said, looking into his attacker’s eyes with as much bravado as he could muster.
“I think you may have misread the situation,” the German replied. “You are wounded and without a weapon.”
“For now. But what happens when that crowd figure out they can pick up the gun and use it. I’m the only one with one of these.” He tapped his badge. “Who do you think they’ll aim for?”
The German paused.
“Make the smart move and get out of here. My men aren’t looking for you. There’ll be nobody to get in the way. If you stay, this won’t end well for you.”
The German appeared to consider the offer, keeping one eye on the rabble of office workers.
“What’s in this for you anymore?” Rousseau continued. “Whatever plans you had involving Blake are over. Killing me won’t make any difference, except to put you in the sights of every single cop in Paris. In France.” He kept eye contact, his pulse racing in his ears. “Do you really want that?”
The German lowered the knife.
“I didn’t think so.”
“You know what will happen if you try to come after me.”
Rousseau nodded, watching his opponent turn and walk away. Without looking back, the German took the fire exit to the stairs and disappeared from view. He would have no trouble avoiding the backup teams – Rousseau knew they would be too busy looking for Blake and his accomplices.
The captain allowed himself a moment to catch his breath and picked up his firearm. The crowd fell silent, looking as though they expected him to take charge. As his fingers touched the grip, the sound of gunfire ripped through the room and he hit the floor, clutching at his head.
Chapter 59
THE PAIN WAS unreal. Leopold had been shot before, but it had never felt like this. Not even close. The round hit home like a sledgehammer, like running into a brick wall at fifty miles per hour. Nothing at first, then the nerve endings caught up and unleashed hell. His brain screamed with electric fury, but he kept his mouth clamped shut.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” said Harris, lowering the revolver. The barrel was smoking in a way that Leopold thought only ever happened in the movies. “Try to relax. This will all be over soon. I just had to make it look a little more… realistic first.”
Leopold fought to see through the tears and noticed Harris pick up the German’s pistol. He tossed the weapon at floor where Leopold was kneeling.
“I’m really not much of a marksman,” said Harris. “You came at me with a gun and I panicked. Hit you in the shoulder before putting you down for good.” He looked down at the gun. “Pick it up. Or I’ll shoot you in the other shoulder.”
Leopold complied, using his good arm. The pain was still too intense to come up with an alternative.
“Good. And before you get any bright ideas, I haven’t loaded it yet. I want you to look me in the eyes; I want you to fully understand everything that’s happening to you, and I want you to know that there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. It’s a lesson you should have learned years ago.” He pulled back the hammer.
The pain in Leopold’s shoulder peaked. His whole upper arm felt as though it was going to fall off, but he could feel his other senses start to return after the initial shock of the impact. It was painful, but bearable. He looked up at Harris.
“Something to say, Blake? Better make it quick.”
Leopold managed a weak smile. “There’s just one thing,” he said. “Can you hear that noise?”
Harris aimed the gun at Leopold’s forehead. “What noise?”
“When I got here, the entire floor was packed full of people. The sound of printers and telephones, of people walking about. People having conversations.”
“What are you talking about?”
“A couple of minutes ago it went quiet. Unfortunately, I think you were a little busy concentrating on your evil genius speech at the time. I’m glad I remembered to ask all the right questions.” Leopold smiled. “Bad guys always love to talk. It’s great when you need a little extra time.”
“Get to the point, Blake.” He spoke through his teeth.
“What would cause an entire floor full of people to fall silent? Either they’ve all gone home early, or someone else shut them u
p. Which do you think is more likely?”
Harris didn’t reply.
Leopold winced as he shifted his weight. His legs had gone numb from kneeling on the floor. “Do you know how effective police scanning and tracking technologies are these days?” he continued. “They can pinpoint the location of any wireless radio device to within a few feet. A device like that, for example.” He nodded at the broken remains of Sophie’s cell phone. “Now, I’ll ask again: just who do you suppose would cause an entire floor full of people to go completely quiet?”
Harris twitched.
“I’ll give you a clue: it’s probably not the janitor.” Leopold sucked in a deep breath as a wave of pain hit him again. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. “Which is probably bad news for you.”
“These are your last words Blake, I suggest you use them well.”
“There are people looking for me, Harris. They know where I am. They know you’re here with me. There might be someone on the other side of that door right now, waiting for his moment to burst in. If you kill me, the chances of you walking out of this building alive drop to zero. Do the smart thing. Walk away.”
Stepping forward, Harris pressed the barrel of the gun against Leopold’s forehead and smiled. “Nice try,” he said. “It’s a pity you’ll never know how this worked out. Maybe in another life we could have been partners in this.” He paused. “Goodbye, Mr. Blake.”
Leopold saw Harris squeeze the trigger.
He closed his eyes.
The sound of the gunshot was overwhelming; it ripped through his eardrums and rattled inside his skull, flaring up the pain he had tried to push to the back of his mind. As the initial shock subsided and his higher senses returned, Leopold wondered how he had managed to hear the shot at all – he should have been dead before his brain had even processed the sound.
He opened his eyes slowly. There was Harris, standing as before with the revolver held in one hand, aimed directly at Leopold’s head. There was a look of surprise on his face, a mix of shock and disbelief. His eyes were rolled upward, as though trying to focus on something in the air above him.
Then Leopold saw it. In the center of Harris’ forehead, a small red dot. It was dripping with something. Leopold blinked and tried to focus. A quiet gurgle escaped from Harris’ mouth and then he toppled backward, falling stiff and upright like a felled tree. He hit the floor hard and didn’t make another sound. There was movement behind him.
“Looks like this is the end of the road for you, Monsieur Blake.” A rough voice said with a heavy French accent.
Leopold turned his head and saw a figure in the doorway, holding something in front of him in both hands. The consultant couldn’t quite make it out. His vision started to fade, rings of red and black forming in front of his eyes.
“You’re bleeding badly,” said the voice. “Can you stand?”
The words echoed and melded together. Leopold felt the world spin and the pain in his shoulder fade away. He felt his body hit the floor in slow motion. Just before he lost consciousness, he saw the figure in the doorway walk toward him.
Then darkness.
Chapter 60
LEOPOLD COULD HEAR the low hum of the air conditioning systems and it took a moment for him to realize where he was. There was something tugging at the skin at the crease of his elbow. He was lying on something soft. Leopold opened his eyes and winced as a bright light hit his pupils. He turned his head to look at his injured shoulder and found it cleaned and bandaged. There was a familiar hospital smell.
“Welcome back to the real world, Monsieur Blake,” said a voice he recognized.
Leopold blinked and looked around. The privacy curtain twitched and Capitaine Rousseau of the Paris police stepped through. He stood next to Leopold’s bed and looked down with a passive expression.
“You lost quite a lot of blood, I’m afraid,” the captain said. “The doctors performed a transfusion and put you on a saline drip. You’ve been asleep for the last eight hours.”
Leopold sat up and found that both his wrists had been handcuffed to the bed rails. His mouth was dry and scratchy.
“You might find it hard to move around with those on,” said Rousseau. “They said you might feel a little nauseous. Here, drink this.” The captain held a paper cup of water up to his lips.
Gulping down the cold liquid, Leopold felt a little energy return. “Where’s Mary?”
“She’s fine. Mlle. Bardot as well.”
“I need to speak to them.”
“I’m afraid the only person you’ll be speaking to will be your lawyer.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. What about Harris?”
“I saw him, and I stopped him. But you still have a lot to answer for. And I never got the chance to read you your rights before you passed out.”
“This is ridiculous. I want to –”
“You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney. You have… wait, that’s not it.” Rousseau scratched his chin. “Let me start again. You have the right to stay in bed… no, that’s not it, either.”
“Maybe I can help.” Another familiar voice from behind the curtain.
Leopold saw the material twitch again and Mary swept through, a giant grin plastered on her face. Jerome followed behind, his burly frame blocking out most of the light. Mary laughed as she stepped up next to Rousseau.
“I’m sorry, I just really had to see your face,” she said, still grinning from ear to ear. “Once we caught up with super-cop here, I showed him all the things we found on the safe house computer and at Dubois’ place.”
Jerome nodded. “We also got that report through on the victims from the Notre Dame shooting and some very interesting testimony from the prison warden. We’re all in the clear; no charges are being brought.”
“They should have just left you in prison,” said Leopold.
“Je suis désolé, I’m sorry – but it was too tempting to resist,” said Rousseau, also smiling. “We have enough evidence to pin this on Harris. There was another man too, a German, who we weren’t able to find. We have Interpol running a search for suspects matching his description.”
“What do you know about him?”
Rousseau scratched his stubble. “Not a lot. I imagine he changes identity and appearance for each job that he takes. And when I say ‘job,’ I think you know what I mean.”
“From the look of his victims, I’d say the man has some serious skills,” said Jerome. “I’d like to have the opportunity to meet him some day.” He turned to Rousseau. “And when I say ‘meet,’ I think you know what I mean.”
“The NYPD will help in any way we can,” said Mary. “I’m sure Leopold will have a word with the FBI.”
“Speaking of victims,” said Leopold. “What came back in the report?”
Mary looked at Rousseau. “The young woman, the lawyer. She was hired by Blake Investments to handle the corporate handover after you were forced to step away from the research company,” she said.
“Harris apparently paid her to change a few of the clauses in the contracts. It effectively gave him full control if anything ever happened to you,” said Jerome.
“We ran her bank accounts,” said Rousseau. “A single payment of forty thousand Euros was made to her around the time of the transfer. We also found a deposit from the same account listed against Jean Dubois’ recent transactions. Over a hundred thousand Euros.”
“And what about the other victims? The other three people?” asked Leopold.
“Camouflage,” said the captain. “To keep us from discovering the connection. If you hadn’t been looking at this with your lives on the line… well, we probably wouldn’t have caught it ourselves.”
“Let’s just be grateful my contact dug a little deeper.” Leopold tugged on his handcuffs. “How about getting me out of these? We’ve got to stop the sale of Chemworks before the transfer papers go through. I don’t know what kind of buyers Harris had lined up, but
I’ll bet he didn’t worry too much about vetting them.”
Mary and Rousseau looked at each other.
“What is it?”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” said Rousseau. “The sale of Chemworks went through while you were unconscious. The contracts were ironclad; even if you had been there, you wouldn’t have been able to stop it.” He shrugged. “On the plus side, you seem to have been paid a very good price for your shares.”
Leopold felt his stomach clench. “Who bought it?”
Mary folded her arms. “A company called INGX, whatever the hell that stands for. It’s a shell corporation, what looks like a business structure set up to funnel cash away from the tax authorities. We can trace the parent company or subsidiary, but INGX is registered in Switzerland, so we have no jurisdiction. It might take some time.”
“I’ll send the details to the usual guy to check out,” said Jerome. “He should be able to trace the parent company a little faster than the NYPD or Interpol.” He looked at the two cops. “No offense.”
“That’s not exactly an encouraging sign,” said Leopold. “Any company that goes to those lengths to protect its identity isn’t exactly going to be Charity of the Year, is it? If Harris was telling the truth about the results Chemworks was seeing…” he trailed off.
Mary frowned and took out her cell phone. “Thanks for getting this back to me, Captain,” she said, tapping the screen. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. I think I need to make a phone call. It looks like I might owe someone an apology.” She turned and walked out of the room.
“Her sister,” said Leopold, in response to a quizzical look from Rousseau. “Works for the WHO. Apparently, they’ve been keeping an eye on Chemworks for a few years now. Definitely not my biggest fan, that one.”
Jerome smiled. “You can’t blame her for that.”
“Well, gentlemen,” said Rousseau. “This is my cue to leave, I think. I have a stack of paperwork waiting for me and a family to look after. If you decide to stay in Paris a few more days. Please try not to get into any more trouble.”
Wanted (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers, Book 1) Page 18
