Ratio: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers)

by Nick Stephenson

  “When you said TV,” June said, “I thought maybe the late show or old reruns of Mister Ed we could make fun of. But I gotta tell ya, watching the news just doesn’t put a girl in the mood.”

  She handed over the rocky road ice cream to him and took the lid off her mint chip.

  “Just give me a half hour of news so I can get caught up,” he said. They sat quietly, eating ice cream. June ate half her small carton before setting it aside. She was beginning to wonder if all executive wives eventually became news widows.

  Wife? she thought. Where the hell did that come from?

  “So, where’s Kevin and the rest of the campaign gang?” she asked. “Shouldn’t someone be prompting you on what to do and say next?”

  “They went on to D.C. from Spokane. Why? I thought you wanted the weekend to ourselves?”

  “I do. But it almost feels a little lonely now that someone isn’t lurking nearby to feed you a campaign sound bite.” She smiled.

  Jack sucked down another spoonful of rocky road. “Just enjoy the privacy while you can get it. I went to a lot of trouble to arrange this weekend for us to be together.” He sounded irritated.

  Instead of pursuing the topic any further and risk sleeping alone, she changed the subject. “Would you like a glass of wine?” she said. “They have a nice selection in here.” She went back to the fridge, put the half-eaten mint chip away. Jack flicked off the TV and joined her in the small kitchen.

  “I’m not much of a wine drinker,” Jack said. “Not much of a drinker at all, really.”

  “Neither am I. For whatever reason, I lost my taste for it a couple years ago.” June set the bottle down that she had selected. It had been one of her favorites in the past. She watched as he put the rocky road back in the freezer, lining up both labels so they faced directly to the front.

  “Rocky road, huh?” she said, playfully.

  “That’s what does it for me.”

  “Oh, I get it now. A presidential candidate, rocky road. Very clever,” June said. She reached out and played with a button on his shirt. The crisp white shirt and necktie he wore at dinner were gone, replaced with a simple blue pullover and jeans. “But are you clever enough to know what to do with me next?”

  Their mouths met again, exchanging ice cream flavors.

  “Would you like to spend the night?” she asked quietly.

  “You mean go back to your room?”

  “No, here. I’m commandeering this room for the night.” She kissed him again. “Make up your mind,” she said when their lips parted.

  “But which is your room?”

  “Both.” She turned off the light over the fridge and gave him their longest kiss yet. “I’m getting horny, and you need to do something about that,” she whispered. “And no fair calling Kevin for advice.”

  She pecked him on the cheek before breaking free from his arms. She started walking toward the bedroom, leading him by the hand. With her other hand, she pulled her blouse over her head and dropped it to the floor.

  Jack grinned, but didn’t move a muscle.

  “What’s this?” June said. “A leading presidential candidate, possibly soon one of the most influential people in world politics, and now you can’t make the simple little decision of spending the night with a moderately attractive and highly neurotic woman?” She finished undressing and killed the lights. Force of habit.

  The entire suite instantly plunged into darkness. At that moment, June realized she didn’t mind if he saw her, even with the lights on. Her body had become a sensitive subject in recent years. Not because of her figure, but the scars that raged across her back in several directions. Most were smooth and pale, but a couple were thick and dense. In the dark of the moment, though, none of that mattered.

  She turned to face him again. “Are you staying? Or are you sleeping in the hallway with the mice and roaches?”

  “You’ve got my vote.” As he pulled his shirt off, June worked on his belt and fly. She could see him pull off his socks. With her head on the pillow, she watched as he folded his clothes neatly and set them on the dresser, including the socks. As soon as he was done with that, she scooted over in bed to let him in under the blankets. She reached down and caressed him.

  “Neurologic exam complete. All autonomic responses intact,” she whispered. He was ready for her, and she knew she was ready too. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could see his mouth, his wonderful wet mouth.

  She rolled over on top of him, rubbed him with her hip, and leaned down for a smothering kiss. When she let him have a breath, she had a question for him.

  “So, this is a really shitty time to ask about this, but did you come prepared?”

  “In the bathroom…”

  “Well, go get one if you want anything more.”

  He jumped out, ran to the bathroom, and was back in bed so fast his feet didn’t even get cold.

  Chapter 23

  THE CORRIDOR WAS dimly lit, warm. Leopold paced the carpet while Jerome stood by the door to Melendez’s suite. He stared ahead, hands folded in front of him, not speaking. Glancing at Leopold as he strode back and forth, eyes flicking left to right. The only sound was the low hum of the air conditioning.

  “Something bothering you,” Jerome said. It didn’t sound like a question.

  Leopold stopped pacing. “Something about this job stinks.”

  “That’s just the boredom talking.”

  “I’m not a fan of security work, you know that.” He added, “No offense.”

  “It’s considerably more of an effort when the client insists on being a stubborn ass,” Jerome said. “No offense.”

  “Jack only just got here. Give him time.”

  Jerome sighed. “So what’s the issue?”

  “It’s the odds. Even the best teams slip up. It’s unavoidable. No way to plan for every eventuality; threats always get through once in a while. Hell, a good season would be three or four near misses. On a good run.”

  “Yeah. But it’s our job to make sure any breach doesn’t lead to a kill. We can’t keep Mr. Melendez in a bulletproof cage the whole time.”

  “More’s the pity.” Leopold started pacing again. “Which brings me back to my original point. Why the hell does Jack want us here?”

  “Like you said, he wants someone who’ll let him off on his own. Give him some leeway. And after the Santiago mess, he doesn’t trust the usual guys to get the job done.” He paused. “I guess he must have read about what you’ve been getting up to.”

  “And why now? Why hire us for this? It’s the biggest event in the Seattle calendar. Secret Service are crawling around the place.”

  “Maybe he’s trying to prove something. He is running for office, after all. Sending a message to the voting public. A message of strength, maybe.”

  “Or maybe he has something to hide. Or maybe he just thinks he can push us around. Whatever the reason, it’s foolish. The Secret Service is better equipped to keep him safe.”

  “Speaking of which, we’re due a visit.”

  Leopold heard the elevator chime. “Speak of the devil.”

  Two men appeared from around the corner. Ugly black suits, white shirts, blue ties. A look of irritation on their square faces. Clean-shaven, cropped dark hair. They could have been twins.

  “Welcome to the party,” Leopold said. “Things are just getting heated up.”

  The agent on the left ignored him. “We’re here for Mr. Melendez’s detail,” he said. “Weak spots are the doors and elevator. We’ll take point.”

  “I need a goddamn drink,” Leopold said. “You three can handle this.”

  “You’re on duty,” said Jerome.

  “I’m also the one in charge here.” He saw the two agents open their mouths to speak. He cut them off. “Whatever Harper might have told you, this is a civilian operation. You two are here to support. And I’m telling you I need a break. I need to think.”

  Jerome grunted. “Just stick to the soda. Be back up h
ere in thirty minutes, or I’ll send Chuckles and Fizzbo here down to get you.”

  The agents looked puzzled.

  “Code names,” Leopold said. “I’m sure you understand, Chuckles.” He paused, looking at the agent on the right. “Or maybe you’re Fizzbo.” He turned to leave. “Work it out between yourselves.”

  He took the elevator. Hit the lobby, headed straight for the bar. Took a seat near the taps. Ordered a Coke. The barman brought him a glass with ice, a bottle of cola. Leopold poured the contents into the glass and drank it down. Ordered another. There was movement behind him, so he turned.

  “Take it easy on those,” a female voice said.

  Leopold smiled. Patricia Johnson stood a few feet away, smiling back. She was dressed in dark jeans, heels, a fitted shirt and slim jacket. She had let her hair down. It came a little past her shoulders, dark and flowing.

  “I can quit any time I like,” said Leopold. He motioned for her to join him at the bar. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s after six,” she said. “I’m off the clock. I felt like a drink.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  “Bad day?”

  “Let’s just say this line of work isn’t exactly my forte.”

  She waved the bartender over. “You don’t say.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “The other guy seems to know what he’s doing.” She looked up at the barkeeper. “I’ll have a Bombay Sapphire and Tonic. Diet.”

  The bartender nodded. Fetched down a bottle of gin, poured a measure over ice. Handed her the glass with a small bottle of tonic water.

  She took a sip. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll have the same,” Leopold said. “No ice.”

  “Aren’t you on duty?”

  “You going to tell on me?”

  Johnson smiled. “I haven’t decided yet.” She changed the subject. “You enjoying Seattle?”

  “Kinda wet.”

  “Yeah, we get that a lot.” She laughed and ran one hand through her hair. “You get used to it.”

  “You got any family here?”

  Johnson didn’t reply for a moment. “Yeah,” she said, eventually. “My parents died a few years ago, but my son…” She trailed off. “Anyway, enough about me. You got family in town?”

  He shook his head. “It’s just me. My parents died too.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  Leopold looked her up and down. “You were waiting for me to show up, weren’t you?”

  “What gave you that idea?”

  He grinned. “You went home to get changed. Came back here, waited until I arrived to order a drink. Are you stalking me, Officer Johnson?”

  “How do you know I didn’t just change at work?”

  “Your clothes are freshly pressed. No creases. You would have had to fold them up to bring them to work.”

  “Any other observations?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe another time.”

  “Something on your mind?”

  Leopold decided to change the subject. “Listen, it’s a big day tomorrow. I get the feeling the Secret Service folks aren’t going to go out of their way to lend us a hand. How about a little Seattle hospitality from you and the rest of your team? We could sure use it.”

  Johnson took another sip of her drink, pushing a strand of hair behind her ears. “It’s all business with you, isn’t it?” She paused. “Listen, you’re right about my wanting to see you. I couldn’t say anything with all those agents around, but I’ve got my own concerns about the conference this weekend.”

  “What kind of concerns?”

  “Call it a gut feeling.”

  “I’m going to need a little more than that.”

  She took another sip, ice clinking against the glass. “I’ve worked security for fifteen years. I’m trained to spot things that look out of place. So far, I’ve not seen anything.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  Leopold finished his own drink. He considered ordering another, but settled for a Coke instead. “Explain.”

  “With any high-profile event like this, you always get a few crazies pushing the perimeter. Or at least one or two alarm bells. It’s part of the job. I’ve made a few friends on the Secret Service detail. They keep me in the loop. With this, nothing. Not a whisper. It’s all far too polished, too perfect. That in itself rings alarm bells.”

  “Maybe we’re just doing too good a job.”

  She laughed. “Maybe. Or perhaps somebody knows something you don’t. Perhaps they know exactly what we’re looking out for, know how to keep their movements hidden.”

  “Like an inside job? You have any suspicions?”

  Johnson shook her head. “Like I said, it’s just a gut feeling. Hell, maybe this is just the one time in the history of my career that everything’s worked out without a hitch.” She drained the last of her gin and tonic. “But you got to plan for the worst, right? I’d keep my eye on Harper, if I were you. She’s not exactly popular around here.”

  Leopold watched her stand up. “There is one other explanation,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  He pushed his half-drunk bottle of Coke to the side. “That something’s already happened and we just haven’t been looking in the right place.”

  Chapter 24

  IT HAD BEEN a long time since June had cuddled. Feeling the coarse hairs of Jack’s chest on her back was reassuring. Even better, he hadn’t got up and left her. They were still cozy and warm beneath the sheets.

  “What time do you present tomorrow?” she asked in the dark.

  “I open the session in the morning. Ten o’clock.”

  “Wow, session opener. I’m impressed.”

  “Yeah, well, at least the President won’t be there for it.”

  “What’s your topic about?” She instantly regretted asking. He had sent her information about it, but she never had looked at it.

  “You didn’t read the promo material I sent?”

  Her face felt warm and she knew she was blushing from embarrassment. “Kinda busy lately.”

  “Use of phi and certain numerical streams to predict economic trends in specific markets.”

  June fluffed her pillow, trying to find a comfortable arrangement. She turned her head back to look at him. “Phi?”

  “The Golden Ratio, and using the Fibonacci sequence as predictors in economic development. The Fibonacci sequence is…”

  “I know what it is,” June said. “I built a Fibonacci spiral from origami paper for a calculus class in high school. But how does Fibonacci relate to economics?” Lovemaking had been set aside until her curiosity could be satisfied.

  “With reinvestment of profits at a Fibonacci growth rate, profits are shown to grow at an exponentially faster rate, depending on the market and product availability. Using idealized assumptions, anyway.”

  “Whatever that means.” She squirmed around in his arms until she was facing him.

  He looked into her eyes. “It means if business profits are reinvested at the same rate of the Fibonacci sequence, future profits will grow at the same rate, but exponentially higher. I’ve been using the same methods in campaigning. By reinvesting new campaign funds into previously balloted states, I remain not just in a static position comparatively to other candidates, but move ahead in polls.”

  She waited for a moment, to see if he had more to add before asking the question that reflected the elephant in the room. While she waited, she struggled with her pillow. “How come you got flat, lumpy old pillows, but in my room there are brand new ones?”

  “I’ll have the housekeeper replace these in the morning,” he said.

  “Are you going to win?” she asked, not really caring about the pillows.

  “My numbers are better this time than at the same time in the last campaign. As long as I don’t screw up something, I should be fine.”

  “Screw up as in getting abduc
ted from a bathroom while taking a leak, like last time?”

  “Yes, I’m so glad America knows that little detail.” He smiled and kissed her. “If only there had been photos.”

  She pulled away. “But you have no idea of what happened after that?”

  He shook his head. “The next thing I knew I was in an operating room of some sort, and they were getting ready to put me under. I wasn’t sure if I would ever wake up again, or even what sort of surgery they had planned. Everything after that was a blur until I showed up in that little hospital out in the desert. That’s when the Corps started shifting me from one place to another in some armored car.” He stroked the hair away from her face. “By then I had missed my chance. Millions of dollars in campaign funds out the window.”

  “Then we met, in that travel trailer.”

  “The heroic brain surgeon that saved my life, working against all odds.”

  “I had a lot of help that night. But whatever.” June took a deep breath, worried about her next question. “I guess I’ve been wondering where I fit in all this?”

  “I’ve been wondering that also,” said Jack. “There’s certainly plenty of room for you to fit into my life.”

  “Yeah, into your life…”

  “First things first, okay? We still need to get to know each other better than having weekenders together.”

  “Very true, Mr. President.” She kissed his collarbone.

  “And after tonight, the first thing we need to get through is tomorrow morning.”

  “One day at a time, as they say.”

  “And in a campaign,” Jack said, “it’s often one moment at a time. But what about your talk? Ready for it?”

  “Yeah, and believe it or not, it has a lot to do with your surgery.”

  “Brain surgery, Fibonacci, the Golden Ratio, and me,” he said. “This I gotta hear.”

  “It’s the technique I use in the approach to getting to the third ventricle. To find the sulcus I want, I lay out on the side of the head the Fibonacci spiral, that shell-shaped deal, like a template for the exact spot to make the craniotomy. Essentially, if I arrange the five-eight arcs of the spiral along the top of the cranium, then the central block of numeric tiles is the section of bone I remove, and the access point for my tunnel into the brain is the very first tile of the spiral.”