Panic (A Leopold Blake Thriller)

by Nick Stephenson

  “And who’s going to believe me? By the time I get through to the right people and convince them I’m not some wacko, it’ll be too late.”

  “Fair point”, replied Jerome. “Looks like we’re on our own. I’ll need directions.”

  “The funeral is at Green-Wood Cemetery,” said Leopold, his voice raised over the noise of the engine. “That’s in Brooklyn. Must be a family plot or something, seeing as they stopped taking bodies years ago. Nothing the right connections can’t fix.

  “It’s at least thirty minutes in this traffic.”

  “We don’t have much of a choice. Just floor it.”

  The bodyguard smiled and revved the engine to five-thousand rpm. He shifted down from fifth gear to third and the Cobra surged forward, reaching seventy miles per hour within two seconds. Leopold felt the force of the acceleration slam him into the back of his seat as Jerome crossed over into the bus lane and the slow NYC traffic fell behind.

  Ahead, a public bus pulled out onto the road, coming up quick. The bodyguard swore and wrenched the wheel to the left, merging with the rest of the traffic and narrowly avoiding a blue pickup that was a few feet behind them. The driver of the pickup sounded the horn angrily and Jerome swerved back into the empty lane with a screech of rubber as they flew past the bus, escaping a rear collision with a white SUV ahead. As they cruised ahead, Leopold turned and saw the driver of the SUV stare at them, slack-jawed. He waved back, cheerily.

  He flicked on the radio and eventually found a station reporting on the funeral details. The reception was fuzzy, but he could just about make out the news reporter over the static. The President was on his way and due to show up in less then ten minutes. Jerome gripped the wheel tighter and kept his right foot down.

  After a couple of minutes they reached Manhattan Bridge, a two-lane highway that spanned the Hudson river and connected Manhattan Island with Brooklyn. The traffic ground to a halt at the intersection, forcing Jerome to slam the brakes. From where they sat, Leopold could make out a line of cars spanning the entire bridge, none of which was moving.

  The bodyguard swore again and pulled out onto a pedestrian crossing, forcing several bystanders to jump out of the way. From here, Leopold could see that one of the bridge’s lanes was closed due to maintenance, marked by a line of orange traffic cones.

  “Hold on,” said Jerome.

  Jerome revved the engine again and released the clutch, sending the car hurtling forward in a cloud of burnt rubber. The traffic cones were scattered to the side as they surged forward, bouncing off the bodywork of the vehicles lined up in the other lane.

  “I don’t see any holes in the road,” said Jerome.

  “They usually close off one of the lanes to keep the maintenance guys safe while they work on the support systems.”

  “Good. I wasn’t looking forward to what might happen if there were any chunks missing out of the bridge.”

  Leopold grinned in agreement. Hitting so much as a pothole at this speed would wreck the suspension send them spinning out of control. The radio cracked again. The President had arrived.

  Jerome urged the car forward, squeezing every last drop of speed out of the giant engine. As they crossed the halfway point, Leopold spotted a flash of blue light reflected in the rear-view mirror, followed shortly by the sound of a police siren.

  “Dammit, looks like we’ve attracted too much attention,” said Leopold, glancing back in his seat.

  The flashing blue lights of the police car stayed reassuringly far behind as they sailed over the Manhattan Bridge. As they entered Brooklyn, the traffic began to merge into both lanes again and Jerome had to swerve to avoid a collision. He turned onto the expressway and put his right foot to the floor, passing the other cars and sweeping from lane to lane to avoid the vehicles in front.

  The blue lights were getting closer now. Leopold knew the patrol car would have radioed ahead for backup by now, but there wasn’t much anyone could do to them while they stayed on the expressway, other than track their progress. Once they hit the suburbs, things would be a little more challenging. The radio announced that the President’s car was pulling up. They weren’t going to make it.

  Jerome didn’t slow down as they hit the exit for Green-Wood, swerving the car in a tight turn onto Third Avenue and into the rough industrial areas that surrounded the picturesque cemetery. The blue lights of the police car had vanished now, lost in the maze of streets and bustling traffic, but Leopold knew there would be more waiting.

  As the Cobra charged down Twentieth Street, the grassy mounds of the Green-Wood cemetery rolled into view, peaking above the black iron fence that rose ten feet or so above the sidewalk and wrapped around the entire park. The lawns were littered with headstones, most of which were old and crumbling, and the swaying branches of oak trees were visible in the distance. Christina would be toward the center of the cemetery somewhere, where the expensive plots were kept. The radio presenter announced that the President was getting out of his car.

  Jerome wrenched the car onto Fifth Avenue with a shriek of spinning rubber and executed a wide turn without dropping the engine speed, fishtailing slightly as he span the steering wheel to compensate. The entrance gates to the cemetery were close by. That’s when Leopold saw them coming.

  Ahead, not more than fifteen hundred feet, a strip of flashing blue lights rushed toward them. The sirens cut through the noise of the traffic, a cacophony of high-pitched wails that bounced off all the buildings around them. Leopold saw the three squad cars screech to a halt and half a dozen police officers spill out onto the street, dragging a heavy chain of traffic spikes across the road behind them, before taking up positions behind their vehicles. The spikes were between the Cobra and the entrance gates, and there was no way to avoid them.

  “We have to keep going,” said Leopold. “We won’t make it on foot. Hopefully the wheels will hold out long enough to get us within range. If we’re lucky, the Secret Service will get the President to safety as soon as they see us coming.”

  “And if they don’t, how close do you need to get?”

  “I need to be within fifty feet of Christina to block the explosives’ ability to receive a signal. I’ll get the program ready now; pass me your cell phone. I’ll need to keep mine as a backup.”

  Jerome handed over his cell phone, and Leopold activated the same program they had used to gain access to the Columbia computer networks. The phone would broadcast a scramble signal that would block any wireless transmissions within a fifty-foot radius, including the detonation signal that Stark would try to send. As long as the cell phone had power and Leopold could get close enough, the colonel wouldn’t be able to trigger an explosion.

  The Cobra approached the traffic spikes and Jerome slowed down slightly. The police officers held fast behind their vehicles, handguns drawn. Leopold braced for impact. The Cobra hit the spikes at fifty miles per hour, and he heard the loud pop as the front tires were shredded, followed by another pop as the rear set were torn apart. The car veered from side to side as they lost traction and Jerome just managed to keep them out of a spin. They were just a few meters from the gates now, and the bodyguard put the car into a low gear and urged the car forward, sending sparks flying from the bare wheels beneath them. The sound of screeching metal was all Leopold could hear as the rims struggled to grip the asphalt.

  He watched as Jerome wrenched the steering wheel sharply to the left and right, giving the wheels some extra grip, and the Cobra lurched forward, grinding its way toward the heavy metal gates that led into the cemetery. The speedometer reluctantly hit twenty miles an hour, and the bodyguard coaxed the crippled speedster down the wide paths that led into the center of the park, leaving the bewildered police officers behind. Thanks to the number of pedestrians in the area, Leopold knew it was unlikely the authorities would follow by car. That would at least buy them some time.

  Less than a minute later, they pulled up near to a large crowd of mourners, all dressed in dark colors and st
anding with their backs to the road. The sea of people was huge, and their attention seemed to be focused elsewhere, so nobody noticed the battered Cobra approach, screeching to a standstill just a few dozen feet away from the edge of the congregation.

  A few town cars were parked nearby and Leopold could see that one of them carried the flag with the Presidential seal. He looked around for any sign of disruption, and his heart leapt as he realized they might not be too late. They both flew out of the car and ran into the mass of people, pushing their way through the throng in an attempt to reach the procession in the center of the crowd.

  Leopold took the lead and finally caught a glimpse of the casket, carried on the shoulders of the pallbearers a hundred feet ahead. A few seconds more, and he could make out Christina, sat close by and holding a large bouquet of white flowers. Just a little further, and he could see the President walking slowly toward her. He sat down on an empty chair and put one hand on her shoulder. This was the moment that Stark would be waiting for.

  They were still too far away, out of range of the scrambler. Leopold made one final, desperate attempt to claw his way through the thickening crowd. No use. He took the cell phone out of his jacket pocket and hurled it forward, praying it would land within range. That’s when he heard the explosion.

  Chapter 46

  Everyone hit the ground. Leopold covered his head with his hands and screwed up his eyes, lying face-down on the lawn. They were too late. Just a few seconds earlier and everything would have been all right. Now he knew Christina was dead, and the leader of the most powerful nation on Earth was just a corpse on the grass. Snuffed out in an instant.

  The ringing in Leopold’s ears faded. He slowly opened his eyes and looked around. At least two hundred people were sprawled on the grass, many of whom began to lift their heads and look around. Nobody appeared to be shouting or screaming. Three black-suited men were sprinting toward him from the direction of the President, who was also lying on the floor a good twenty feet away from Christina and surrounded by bodyguards. He was breathing.

  Leopold turned his head and looked behind him, confused. Jerome was standing tall, his gun in his hand and pointed at the sky. The barrel was smoking. As Leopold realized what had happened, Jerome was tackled at full speed by the black-suited men, who wrestled him to the ground and pulled his weapon off him. As he went down, Jerome caught Leopold’s eye and winked. He had provided Leopold with the perfect diversion and now the President was out of harm’s way, separated from Christina by his Secret Service bodyguards and out of range of the explosives.

  Leopold turned his attention back to the President, who was getting to his feet, and realised that the men who had brought down Jerome had left the Commander in Chief exposed, with only two security officers now remaining by his side. The pair of towering bodyguards seemed to have the same concerns, as they edged in closer to each other while ushering their charge toward the town cars.

  They neared the safety of the vehicles, and the taller officer was suddenly thrown backward. A spray of crimson erupted from his shoulder as he fell, and what sounded like a thunderclap echoed across the park. The wounded bodyguard hit the floor hard and stayed down. The other dived on top of the President, knocking him to the ground and rolling them both behind the President’s town car and out of harm’s way. Two of the men who had wrestled Jerome to the floor joined them and took up defensive positions behind the vehicle, handguns drawn.

  It looked like Stark was reverting to plan B.

  Leopold got to his feet and ran toward Christina, his path clear now that everyone was down on the grass, and grabbed his cell phone from the ground as he passed. He reached her and thrust the device into her hands.

  “Keep this turned on and with you at all times,” he said hurriedly, “it will keep you safe.”

  “Safe? Safe from what? What’s going on?” said Christina.

  “Your injuries. Stark implanted explosives under your skin. This cell phone will jam the detonator. I have to go find him.”

  Her eyes widened in horror as the consultant’s words hit home and she stared in revulsion at the raw scars on her exposed skin. Quickly, she pulled herself together.

  “He’s here? You can’t go after him alone. You know what he’s capable of.”

  “There’s no time to explain to the Secret Service. Even if they don’t shoot me, by the time they realise I’m not a threat, Stark will be long gone.”

  “But he’s got a rifle – you’ll be killed,” said Christina, eyes wide and imploring.

  “He’s not going to stick around, not now the President is safe. He had his chance, and he blew it; retreat is the only option. By the time he shoots his way through the Secret Service, the police will be here.”

  “This place is huge. How can you expect to find him?”

  “There’s only one vantage point with a direct line of sight within range. The sound of the shot came less than a second after the bullet hit its target, which puts Stark not more than about a thousand feet away. If I were him, I’d be up there.”

  He pointed at a white marble mausoleum standing atop a set of steps that ascended a small hill in the mid-distance. The mausoleum was sheltered by thick trees and bushes stretching out almost the entire width of the park on each side. It was the only possible place Stark could get a good view of the funeral procession anywhere within range. Before Christina could say anything to stop him, Leopold sprinted in the direction of the steps, hoping that Stark hadn’t decided to stick around and pick off anyone coming after him.

  He reached the top of the steps in less than a minute and paused to catch his breath, scanning the surrounding area. Walking slowly toward the entrance to the mausoleum, he noticed boot prints in the grass. Stark had definitely been here.

  He heard a faint rustle to the right, coming from somewhere inside the long strip of trees that ran most of the width of the park. The cover was dense enough to hide anyone wanting to get in and out of the cemetery without being seen. Leopold ran into the trees, cursing himself for not bringing a gun and hoping that Jerome managed to convince the Secret Service he was on their side.

  Fifty feet in, the cover of leaves blocked out most of the direct sunlight, except for the occasional ripple that made its way through to the dry ground. Other than this, the dense undergrowth was dark enough that Leopold couldn’t make out a clear path, and he had to slow his pace. He heard another rustle ahead of him, louder this time, and he crouched, ready to defend himself.

  The cover of leaves burst open as a dark figure shot out and knocked him to the ground. Within a second he was back on his feet, just in time to see a large dog disappear around the corner, dragging its leash along behind. False alarm. Stark was probably long gone by now.

  Leopold wheeled around as he heard twigs snapping behind him, expecting to get knocked to the ground by whatever animal had decided to make a quick exit in his direction. Instead, the consultant met the savage gaze of Jack Stark, his face set in frustration and fury. The colonel was dressed in full camouflage, with a rifle case strapped to his back and a handgun holstered to his belt. Leopold heard his pulse throb in his ears again and he tensed his muscles, ready to defend himself. He had to keep Stark occupied long enough for Jerome to convince the Secret Service to get up here and take him down. Leopold hoped he could last that long.

  Stark crossed the distance between them in a single step and caught hold of Leopold, pulling him close. The consultant knew he was outclassed. This was a man who could hold his own against Jerome, and that was something he had never seen before. He didn’t stand a chance. But maybe, just maybe, he could hold him off long enough. Leopold’s brain was still spinning when Stark hit him, the force of the blow landing like a freight train. The spark of hope that he had kept in the back of his mind vanished immediately, as he realised he wasn’t going to make it out alive.

  Chapter 47

  Leopold felt his brain turn in his skull as the force of Stark’s punch wrenched his head to the side
and blanked out his vision. He felt himself hit the ground just before his eyesight came back again, and the first thing he saw was his opponent’s heavy right boot fly toward him, slamming into his side. The impact knocked him on his back and he heard something snap. Probably another rib.

  He gasped as he landed and tried to roll away, but Stark aimed another kick at his back. The blow landed hard to his shoulder and Leopold was on his front again. He managed to get up onto one knee and look up at his attacker, who was grinning. All the cold, calculating demeanor had vanished, replaced with a look that was almost gleeful. Leopold knew the look of revenge when he saw it. The colonel pulled out his handgun.

  The fight was over. Leopold knew it. But he just had to hold on a little longer, just enough to let Jerome find his tracks and get the Secret Service up here. He got to his feet, swaying slightly as he stood. He raised his fists. Stark laughed.

  “I was going to make this quick,” said Stark. “But you’ve caused me enough grief that I think I might enjoy some sport. The idiots down there have no clue what’s going on, so we have a little bit of time to spare. I’ll give you one free shot. Hit me anywhere you like. If I go down, I’ll admit defeat.”

  Leopold knew it was a genuine offer. Stark really didn’t think he could possibly lose. The consultant considered his opponent, tall and thickly built, and knew that his fists would be almost useless. He would need a better plan. The colonel holstered his weapon and beckoned him forward.

  Leopold charged at Stark, trying to gain enough momentum in his body to lend extra weight to his attack. He clenched his right fist and threw it with as much force as he could manage at his opponent’s exposed throat. Leopold felt Stark choke as the blow landed and watched him stumble backward, gagging for air. The consultant attacked again, making the most of the advantage he had just won, and aimed a kick at the colonel’s groin, with the hope of putting him down. Before he could connect, his opponent lashed out with the back of his right hand and hit him across the face with enough force to knock him off course. Leopold stumbled and fell into a tree, hitting his head and falling to his knees. He looked up at Stark, who was laughing.