Fallen: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers Book 5)

by Nick Stephenson

  Ward clenched his teeth. “All I see is evil. And evil is something I take great pleasure in eradicating.” He felt the anger in his stomach rising. “I don’t give a shit that you think you’re special. I only care that you’re the asshole responsible for the deaths of six innocent people, and I want to know why. That makes you very much at my mercy, Mr. Blake.”

  Robert shook his head. “A pity. And I had such high hopes for you.”

  “Save it for someone who gives a damn,” Ward said. “Your days on this earth are very much numbered. Why not make what’s left of your time here a little more bearable?”

  “Are you trying to threaten me, Richard?”

  “Tell me why a person, even one as messed up as you clearly are, would lure his own son here – only to have him killed later?”

  Robert blinked. “An unfortunate outcome. But necessary. I take no pleasure in it, believe me.”

  “I think you take great pleasure in it.”

  A flurry of movement and Robert was up against the glass, his face pressed up against the pane. Ward flinched, almost losing his nerve. He felt his heartbeat quicken, thumping against his ribs.

  “You don’t know a thing about me,” Blake said, his eyes locked onto Ward’s. “You don’t know anything about my son.”

  The director held fast, ignoring the compulsion to take a step backward. He had clearly touched a nerve, and was determined to press it to his advantage.

  “All you need to know,” Blake continued, “is that I’m where I want to be. This is my design. You only get to know what I want you to find out. Nothing more.”

  “Yeah, well good luck with that,” Ward replied. “Because the way I see it, you aren’t going anywhere else any time soon. So you better get comfortable.”

  Robert stepped backward and resumed his position in the center of the floor. “You remember what I said before, director? About looking in the wrong place?”

  “Cut the bullshit,” Ward said. “Whatever you think you’ve got planned, forget it. If you’re not going to cooperate, I know a nice little place outside of Federal jurisdiction that would suit you just fine. No need for troublesome irritations like trials and due process out there. Just good, old-fashioned iron bars and stone walls. You can rot away in a ten-by-ten room for the rest of your natural life.” He grinned. “Assuming you don’t take the coward’s way out, that is.”

  “That’s all very impressive. You’ve been a most gracious host, but I won’t be staying here much longer. I’ve got far too much work to do.”

  Ward laughed. “Listen. Let me make this one hundred percent clear for you. You are not getting out. Not now, not ever. And if you don’t answer my damn questions and tell me what the hell you’re planning, I will make it my personal mission to ensure the little time you have left in my company is as painful as humanly possible. I will then make sure whoever runs the shithole we end up shipping you to feels the same way.” The anger started to bubble again and Ward felt his skin flush. “Do you get me, asshole?”

  “Now, now,” Blake said, tutting. “There’s no reason we can’t be civil. It’s language like this that makes me glad I won’t have to listen to you much longer.”

  “If you get any more delusional, I’ll have you confined to a padded cell,” Ward said, stepping back from the glass. “This facility is sixty feet underground. There are half a dozen security checkpoints between you and the outside world, and several hundred armed federal agents. It’s safe to say you’re here for the long run. Get used to it.”

  Robert chuckled softly. “Wrong again, Director.”

  Taking a seat, Ward crossed his legs and sighed. “Please,” he said, “indulge me. How does the great Robert Blake intend to escape?”

  “Who said anything about escaping? I don’t plan on forcing my way out.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “I don’t need to escape.” Blake said, a smile forming on his lips. “Because, before we’re done here, you’ll be begging me to leave.”

  Chapter 20

  “WHAT THE HELL just happened?”

  Marshall’s voice sounded strained, his breath coming out in ragged bursts. Leopold blinked hard, trying to shut out the ringing noise in his ears, and pulled himself up off the floor. His clothes were badly crumpled, but the force of the blast seemed to have left him largely unscathed. Sucking in a deep breath, Leopold looked around. The room was dark and hot, the air thick with dust, and a throbbing pain shooting through the back of his skull stole his focus.

  “Blake, are you all right?” Marshall got to his feet, shaking slightly. He leaned up against the wall for support, barely visible in the low light. “Where are we?”

  Leopold blinked again, trying to clear the dust from his eyes. He glanced around the room, noticing four other bodies sprawled on the floor.

  “Is everybody okay?” One of the bodies moved. Then another.

  “Mary?” Leopold squinted in the gloom. “Is that you?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  “Where’s Jerome?”

  “Here,” a deep voice announced. “How about some light?”

  Leopold ran his palm against the wall until he found the switch. The room burst into view, the harsh halogen lights illuminating every corner of the small space. The walls were lined with video monitors, control panels and HUDs taking up most of the space between. Leopold clenched his teeth as the pain in his skull worsened.

  “Can somebody answer my damn question?” Marshall said, rubbing the back of his head. “What the hell happened?”

  A muffled groan announced agent Simmons’ arrival into the conversation, followed shortly by Curtis, who coughed loudly as he dragged himself up onto his feet.

  “What is this place?” Curtis said, brushing the dirt off his clothes.

  Leopold straightened his jacket and looked around. “Welcome to my panic room, gentlemen,” he said. “Turns out it makes a pretty good bomb shelter too.”

  Jerome smiled. “I told you this place was a good idea.”

  “Twelve-inch reinforced steel walls and the latest satellite communications,” Leopold continued, ignoring him. “Fiber-optic connection to pretty much anywhere in the world.”

  Marshall tapped a video monitor with his knuckles. “Looks broken.”

  Leopold frowned and tried a few buttons. Nothing. “The blast must have taken out the power,” he said.

  “So much for the latest technology.”

  “We’re alive, aren’t we?” said Leopold.

  “Yeah, maybe you want to run that by me one more time.” Marshall folded his arms.

  Simmons stepped forward, shaking the dust out of his hair. “Somebody activated the bomb remotely,” he said. “Blake got this place open just in time. We’re lucky to be alive – I’m surprised the blast didn’t take down the roof supports.”

  “If we’d been a few floors down, it would have.” Leopold took out his cell phone. “Damn. My handset’s not working, either.”

  “Same here.” Marshall held up his phone. “Looks like the blast set off some kind of electromagnetic pulse when your systems got fried. Knocked out anything electrical. Anybody wearing a watch?”

  “Dead,” Mary said, checking her wrist. “Looks like you might be right.”

  “I think I hurt my leg,” Curtis said, rubbing his ankle. “Any plans on getting us out of here?”

  Leopold shook his head. “Whoever set the bomb off must have been watching us somehow. Chances are they stuck around to make sure we were taken out. If they figure out we survived, they’ll find a way to finish the job.”

  “We need to get out of here some time,” said Mary. “Unless everybody likes the idea of starving to death in a metal box.”

  “Not really,” said Simmons. “Although we’d probably die of thirst way before that.” He caught Mary’s stare and flinched. “But Blake’s right. We can’t just walk out of here and risk being seen. I assume we can actually get out of here?”

  “There’s a mechanical back
up that should disengage the doors, but we need to be careful. If they think we were taken out in the blast, we have an advantage,” said Leopold. “And if we want to survive this, we’re going to need every advantage we’ve got.”

  “Any bright ideas?” Marshall said.

  Leopold paused for a moment, considering their options. “If they planted any video surveillance in the apartment, it won’t work now, not after the explosion. This part of the penthouse is pretty far back from the windows, so there’s no direct line of sight, especially if there’s any smoke cover. If they’re using infrared, the residual heat from the blast should mask our presence outside the panic room.”

  “So let’s get out of here.”

  “We don’t know where they have people watching,” Leopold continued. “We can’t leave the building until we know we’re in the clear.”

  “And how exactly are we going to know that?”

  “They’re looking for dead bodies, right?”

  Marshall nodded.

  “So let’s give them some dead bodies.”

  “If you’re suggesting a human sacrifice, I don’t think the bureau will support it.”

  “Leopold’s right,” Mary said. “They’re looking for six dead bodies. The emergency response teams will be here soon, and I’m sure the medical examiner won’t be far behind. If they wheel out six gurneys with six body bags, who’s going to know the difference?”

  “What about infrared? Dead bodies are room temperature after a while, they’ll be able to tell we’re still giving off heat.”

  “Nothing a few thermal blankets can’t fix,” said Leopold. “Standard issue for emergency responders. Wrap up in one of those, and anyone using a scope won’t be able to see the difference in temperature.” He turned to Mary. “Can you make this happen?”

  Mary pulled out her badge. “No problem. Six body bags, coming up.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “Once we get out of here, I’ll need you to get Captain Oakes on the phone. We need him in the loop if we want to keep our little secret under wraps.” He turned to Marshall. “Same goes for you. Make sure you get hold of Director Ward and let him know what’s going on – we’ll need the FBI on our side.”

  “Assuming this works,” Marshall said, “the director should be able to keep anyone from sniffing around.” He paused. “Speaking of which, there’s going to be people out looking for you. And you’re not exactly a low-profile kind of guy. People know your face, and they might react a little to the fact you’re supposed to be dead.”

  “We have procedures in place,” said Jerome.

  Leopold nodded, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head. “Which brings me on to my next point. I’ll need you to call in a few favors.”

  “What kind of favors?” Marshall asked.

  “Your buddies back at the bureau can arrange for flights out of the country, right?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Get the jet that brought me here refueled and ready to go. Feed them some story about national security, whatever keeps them from asking too many questions. What’s the range on those aircraft?”

  “The G280 should get you around four thousand miles.”

  Jerome stepped forward. “That’s not going to be far enough. We’ll have to make a stop to refuel. Can you handle the paperwork?”

  “Where exactly where you planning on going?” Marshall said, arms folded.

  “Jerome has protocols in place for this sort of thing,” Leopold said, slapping the bodyguard on the shoulder. “Being a high-profile figure isn’t all fun and games. I used to think he was being paranoid, but I guess I was wrong.”

  “Understatement of the year,” Mary said.

  Leopold turned back to Marshall. “We need to get to Shanghai.”

  “China? You want to fly to China? Talk about overkill,” said Mary. “I’m not leaving the country while these bastards are still out to find us.”

  “Shanghai is the most populous city on the planet. It makes sense to hide there.” Leopold shook his head. “Well, it made sense to Jerome, anyway. We have a safe house registered under an assumed name and enough supplies to keep us under the radar indefinitely, not to mention some well-placed locals on the payroll.” He met Mary’s stare. “And don’t worry about leaving the country. I need you to stay here and find out what you can.”

  “While you run away?”

  “I’m not running away. But I can’t offer much help if I blow our cover, can I?” Leopold paused. “Call it a tactical retreat. Just keep your head down and nobody will recognize you. Make sure Captain Oakes has your back and you’ll be fine.”

  Mary shook her head. “I guess you want to tell me to trust you again?”

  Leopold felt his skin flush. “Something like that, yeah.” He turned back to Marshall. “Can you make this work?”

  The special agent nodded. “Get me a working cell phone and I’ll make some calls. We can have you in the air in two hours.”

  “It’s the best plan we’ve got,” said Curtis. “I don’t relish the idea of being gunned down in the street.” He glanced around the room. “And I definitely don’t want to spend the rest of my natural life locked up in here with all of you.” He paused. “No offense.”

  “So, we’re all agreed on this?” Marshall said.

  Agent Simmons nodded. “Detective Jordan can handle the emergency teams. We’ll make sure this is kept under wraps.”

  “I can’t think of anything better right now,” said Mary. “And any plan that lets me get a little payback works for me.”

  “Good. Then let’s move out,” said Leopold, fastening his jacket and heading for the door. “The game is just getting started.”

  Chapter 21

  CAMPBELL FELT THE fierce wind bite his cheeks, chilling him deep to his core. Fifty stories up on the roof of a mostly empty office building, the temperature had dropped considerably and the lack of cloud cover only made the situation worse. Ignoring the numbing pain in his hands and face, Campbell assembled his rifle, a customized Barrett, and picked up the infrared scope, aiming it at the remains of Blake’s penthouse.

  Across the street, the small fires had died down a little, but the residual heat made his job difficult. Blake’s apartment glowed a muddy red in the viewfinder, the details of the interior impossible to make out with any degree of clarity. The rifle’s scope fared no better – with little ambient light inside the building, the chances of visual confirmation at this range were unlikely. He would have to wait for the emergency response teams to arrive and do the reconnaissance for him.

  Campbell sighed and checked his watch. Where the hell are the paramedics?

  Miraculously, the explosion had caused very little structural damage to the apartment building. This had been the plan, of course – more a show of power than any real attempt at destruction – but Campbell was still surprised nobody on the streets below had been seriously hurt. Aside from a few rear-end traffic collisions immediately following the blast, and perhaps a few minor injuries from the shattered plate glass windows, there seemed to be very little in the way of collateral damage.

  Still peering through the scope, Campbell turned his attention south, in the direction of the nearest hospital. The wind picked up again, filling his eardrums, drowning out most of the noise from the city below, and he increased the lens’ magnification. Ahead, barely visible in the dense traffic, Campbell spotted the ambulance, sirens flashing.

  It’s about time.

  The traffic parted and the emergency vehicles surged along Fifth Avenue, screaming to a halt outside Blake’s apartment building less than a minute later, closely followed by the FDNY and the NYPD. Campbell focused on the main entrance, watching closely as New York’s finest streamed through the doors, disappearing from view. On the sidewalk, a handful of armored police set up barriers, keeping back the crowd. Parked at the corner, he saw a pair of unmarked black sedans, probably FBI.

  After what felt like hours, although Campbell’s watch onl
y registered twenty minutes, he caught sight of movement near the building’s foyer. The porter opened the doors and six paramedics stepped outside, each wheeling a metal gurney complete with black rubber body bag. Campbell switched back to infrared and studied the scene.

  The paramedics, police officers, and remaining firefighters glowed red and yellow against the cold, dark background. The six body bags glowed a deep blue, apparently still hanging on to the last of the blast’s intense heat.

  Still, far too cold to be alive.

  Campbell stole one last glance at the parked sedans and disassembled the Barrett, stowing it away in his rucksack along with the infrared scope and tripod. Feeling the harsh wind pick up once more, he shouldered the bag and headed back inside – keen to join the others at the rendezvous point.

  After all, there was still work to do.

  Chapter 22

  “SIR, WE’RE RUNNING late.”

  Hawkes turned to face Grayson, who sat next to him in the Range Rover’s passenger seat. The other members of the team, Kowalski, Higgs, and Stanton, waited in a second vehicle at the end of the block, out of sight.

  Grayson pointed to his watch. “Campbell should have checked in by now.”

  “Be patient,” Hawkes said, cranking up the heaters. “We can make up for lost time on the road.”

  “Assuming the FBI doesn’t catch up with us first.” Grayson frowned. “Sir.”

  Hawkes caught the note of dissent and made a mental note to deal with it later. “Just keep your eyes open, soldier,” he said. “Let me worry about the FBI. You worry about getting us the pass codes we need.”

  “They came through, sir.”

  “Verified?”

  “I don’t think he’d dare mess with us, sir. Not with the leverage we’ve got.”

  “Check them anyway. This is not the time for leaving things to chance.”

  “I think you made that point very clear, sir.”

  Hawkes scowled. “You got something to say, soldier?”

  “No, sir.” Grayson shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s just...” He trailed off, apparently searching for the right words. “Our orders, sir. Blake wasn’t supposed to be –”