June’s breath exploded from her chest. She pressed the phone up against her ear and jumped off the sofa.
“Leopold, Jerome,” she said, frantically pacing the carpet. “Where the hell are you?”
A voice came back on the line. “Forty-five seconds, doctor. Make it count.”
June kept pacing. “Leopold, what kind of numbers are on the keypad?”
“There’s no time for guessing. We’re gong to try our luck just shutting the damn thing off, cut the hard line. Take our chances it isn’t rigged to detonate the gas. We figure –”
“I don’t give a shit about the wiring,” June said. “Just tell me about the damn keypad.”
“Basic keypad, rigged from a cell phone. All single digits, zero to nine.”
June smiled. “I know the combination.”
“How?”
“Never mind that now. Try these numbers…” She listened as Leopold got someone’s attention. “Try zero, one, one, two, three, five, eight.”
There was a pause.
“Well? Did it work?” she screamed down the phone.
She heard Leopold sigh. “Nope.”
“Shit.” June was certain the sequence would work. The pronunciation of “really secret” in Japanese rhymed with the first seven numbers of the Fibonacci sequence, and was the last thing the Yakuza suspect said before he was belted again. It would’ve been the perfect mind game, to hint at the combination. A typical Oguchi calling card. But she had been wrong.
“Twenty seconds!” the woman’s voice shouted in the background.
Leopold came back on the line. “We’re out of options. We’re going to have to cut the line.”
June felt her knees buckle. There was no time left to call Amy, the only family she had left. No time for anything, except to sit and wait for the inevitable. She glanced around the room. Her eyes settled on a selection of takeout menus spread across the coffee table. She smiled grimly. An order of Udon noodles would go down pretty well as a last meal.
Wait a second…
She lifted the phone to her ear again. “Leopold, the suspect’s Japanese, right?”
“No time, Doctor,” Leopold said, his voice barely audible.
“Just listen. We were looking at this all wrong. In Japanese, words and numbers should read right to left, not the other way round. In English, that would look backwards. Just the kind of shit the Oguchi would pull. Try the same numbers again, just reverse the order.”
Leopold paused. “Read them about again, I’ve got you on speaker. Make sure you shout so we can hear you over this damn noise.”
June took a deep breath “Eight, five, three, two, one, one, zero,” she said, as loud as she could.
She heard someone shout “hurry up” and she agreed. It felt as though time had crawled to a standstill, and she had no way of knowing whether the code had worked. Gas might stream up through her room at any second. She could take cover, maybe last a few minutes, but rescue efforts would focus on the crowded areas downstairs and next door, not on her. There was nothing she could do but wait and wonder.
Another rustling noise on the line. June flinched, snapping out of her thoughts. She listened hard, trying to hear past the clattering noises. There was someone on the other end, breathing heavily.
That’s it, she thought. It’s all over. They won.
The breathing slowed and June heard voices. She strained to hear what they were saying.
“What’s going on?” she said, shouting down the phone. “Where the hell did you go?”
“Doctor Kato,” a woman’s voice said. “My name is Joanne Harper.”
“Yeah, that’s great,” June said, her voice still raised. “But what about the frickin’ detonator?”
A pause.
“Are you going to give me a Goddamn answer or not?”
Another pause. “The code worked,” Harper said.
June’s breath caught in her throat. She fell back against the sofa cushions, vision spinning. It worked.
“Congratulations,” Harper continued. “You saved a lot of lives today.”
“Yeah, thanks.” June hung up, exhaustion washing over her. Unable to form any more words, further attempts at conversation seemed pointless. She let the phone drop to the floor and closed her eyes, letting the darkness fall over her.
Chapter 58
THE LOBBY WAS still half full when Leopold emerged from the basement and headed for the main entrance. The sidewalk was packed full of people, and the police were trying their best to keep them contained while IDs were checked. Several police cruisers, ambulances, and fire trucks parked nearby, lights flashing silently, casting a blue and red hue throughout the building.
While Jerome raced upstairs ahead of the bomb squad and paramedics, Leopold set his sights on the Yakuza prisoner. Harper had him cuffed and was walking him toward the doors, pushing through the rabble with her badge held high. The crowd parted slowly, worried expressions on the people’s faces. A few called out as she pushed past, but Harper didn’t slow her pace. Outside, two plainclothes agents approached, holding up their IDs. Both male, a little over six feet tall. Dark hair, regulation haircuts, they were the spitting image of every agent Leopold had met so far. He followed through the doors, taking a deep breath as he hit the sidewalk, grateful for the chance to taste fresh air again.
The suspect spat on the ground as the other agents drew close.
“Getting anything from him?” one of the agents asked. His ID badge read “Jameson.”
Harper shook her head. “Let’s get away from this mess,” she said, pointing down the street. “The Seattle PD have enough on their plate. Get a car to come pick us up.”
The agent nodded and pulled out his cell phone. Harper set off away from the hotel and Leopold followed, the others taking up the rear.
“Does your department have someone that speaks Japanese to work on him?” Leopold said. “In my experience, some suspects conveniently forget how to speak English once they’re holed up in an interrogation room.”
“We’ll find someone,” she said. “With the President and Melendez wrapped up in all this, we should be able to keep jurisdiction. Not that the FBI and CIA won’t want answers. But they can wait until I’m finished with this son of a bitch.”
Harper reached a deserted street and shoved the suspect up against the wall. They were far enough away from the commotion to ensure a little privacy.
“What happened in there?” Jameson asked.
Harper looked up at him. “What’s the status on the convention center?”
“The evac routes were a little more thought out,” he replied. “We got most people out just before the hotel alarms sounded. Thankfully, with the President and Melendez out of the picture already, the majority of attendees had skipped out already.”
“Yeah, I figured,” said Harper. “Most of them were hanging out in the hotel bar when the panic started. We couldn’t get everyone out the doors.”
“Wait,” said Leopold. “You said most people. Who got left behind?”
Jameson shrugged. “One of the security guards hung around, making sure the building was cleared. She hasn’t checked in yet. She’s probably double checking the upper floors.”
“Which guard?”
“I don’t know.”
Leopold felt his stomach clench. “Was one of them a woman? Dark hair?”
“Yeah. But I don’t know her name. You’ll have to check with the building manager.”
“What’s the issue?” Harper said. “The threat’s been neutralized. We issued the all clear already. So what if anyone’s still inside.”
Leopold glanced down at the suspect, who was leaning against the wall casually, a glimmer of a smile on his face.
“Why would someone hang around after the threat was over?” Leopold said. He looked at the others. “They wouldn’t. Any normal person would want out of there as soon as humanly possible.”
“Maybe she was just doing her job,” Jameson said. “M
aking sure everyone was safe.”
“Everyone was safe,” Leopold said. “You already got them out. We called the all clear nearly ten minutes ago. Hanging around wouldn’t achieve anything.”
“What is it?” Harper repeated.
Leopold launched himself at the Japanese man, grabbing hold of his leather jacket by the lapels, slamming him up against the brick wall.
“Blake!”
Leopold shook the suspect hard, knocking the breath out of him. “Is there another detonator?” he said, leaning in close. “Tell me!”
The suspect laughed. “Kuta-bare.”
Leopold swore and threw the man to the ground. He turned to Harper, her hand hovering over her gun holster.
“Blake, what the hell is going on?” she said.
“There’s another detonator inside the convention center. One of the guards, Johnson, knows where it is. I should have seen it sooner.” Leopold shook his head. “We need to get over there, now.”
“That building’s huge,” said Jameson. “No way we can search the whole place in time.”
Harper glared at the suspect, who was still on the sidewalk clutching at his ribs. “Get answers out of him,” she said. “Blake and I will head over and check this out. Call us if you get anything.”
“Ma’am.” The two agents nodded.
Leopold felt his heart race. He’d been so wrapped up dealing with Melendez he hadn’t paid attention to the alarm bells in his head. Johnson had been accommodating, far too accommodating. She’d stuck close by during their initial sweeps of the building, studying their every move. She’d made friends with the Secret Service agents, kept herself in the loop. Made the effort to keep watch on Leopold, even hanging around in the bar after hours when any sane person would have just picked up the telephone. She’d asked awkward questions, tried to deflect attention onto Harper. Expressed an interest in seeing him again, despite there being zero chance of any kind of relationship after the conference ended. Leopold had assumed she just enjoyed his company, but Jameson’s report was enough to put an end to that theory.
Nobody likes me that much, he thought.
“Blake, you coming?” Harper called out, breaking into a run.
Leopold took one last glance at the suspect on the ground and turned to follow. A loud noise from down the street caught him off guard, a roaring sound. Sounded like a big engine, coupled with the squeal of spinning tires.
Before anyone could react, a black pickup rounded the corner at the far end of the block and sped in their direction, covering the distance with blistering speed, engine screaming. Harper was already too far away. Leopold dashed to the other side of the road as the vehicle shrieked past. The two agents drew their weapons, but too late.
The Yakuza suspect looked up, closed his eyes. The two agents dived to the ground, guns clattering out of their hands. The pickup’s engine roared as the driver flashed past. Leopold heard another sound, the pop-pop-pop of gunfire, the noise reverberating down the street, bouncing off the brick walls.
The pickup increased its speed, took the next corner and fishtailed before accelerating away and out of sight in a cloud of burnt rubber. Leopold dashed back across the road, dropping to his knees as he reached the suspect, who was bleeding out on the ground.
He’d been hit. Looked like three entry wounds, all to the chest. Still breathing, just. Blood pooling around his body, splayed out on the sidewalk. He eyes were open, staring up at Leopold. The man smiled.
“Isa… Kimura…” he said. The words sounded peaceful, almost grateful. “Engawa no shita no chikaramochi.” He lay still.
Leopold felt for a pulse. Avoiding trails of blood, he tried a wrist, and then the man’s neck. Nothing.
Jameson struggled to his feet. “We need paramedics,” he said.
“Forget it. Leave him. He’s dead,” Leopold muttered. “Someone wanted him dead, and they got it.”
“Blake, we need to move,” Harper called out from across the street. “If you’re right about this, Kato and everyone else still in the hotel are still in danger.”
Leopold got to his feet and broke into a sprint, the dead man’s final words echoing through his mind.
Chapter 59
PATRICIA JOHNSON UNSCREWED the steel panel and felt her pulse quicken, heartbeat thumping heavily against the inside of her chest. The convention center had been evacuated quickly, better than any of the drills. Still, with less than half the planned capacity, that wasn’t a surprise. If anything it made her job easier, although no more palatable. By all accounts, most of the conference attendees had run next door and taken up a spot at the bar. She only hoped the police had managed to clear the building in time.
Please God, forgive me.
She checked her cell phone. The text message had come through minutes before, a blocked number. But the message had been clear:
Proceed with caution.
She had tried replying to the sender, but no use. The message bounced back, just like all the others. Johnson shook the thought from her mind, focusing on the job. The steel panel slid away easily and she tossed it onto the carpet. Standing on a table with the ventilation duct exposed, she peered inside. Using her phone as a flashlight, she spotted the device quickly, exactly where she’d left it.
Just a foot ahead a tangled mess of cables hooked up to a circuit board and the remnants of what looked like a cheap mobile phone. She grabbed hold and pulled it toward her, dreading what she had to do next.
The three men had visited her at home over a month ago. Tall, muscular, one of them was missing a finger. They had a photo of her son, Sebastian. He was smiling, playing on a swing set, pure joy shining through on his tiny face. Johnson had recognized the park immediately, just around the corner from his pre-school. The kids went there sometimes in the afternoons.
Still a little groggy from a late shift, she hadn’t processed what was going on. Hadn’t done anything about it when the men had forced their way inside. They had dragged her through to the living room, thrown her on the sofa. Told her to listen. They had said things about her, things nobody should have known. They talked about Sebastian. What they were going to do to him. The one with the missing finger had looked like he was enjoying himself. Kept touching her face, her hair. They had given her instructions, very specific instructions. Then they had left.
Too terrified to call the police, Johnson had done exactly as she was told. Planted the detonator and the canisters throughout the convention center. Nobody had batted an eyelid when she took a few extra breaks here and there. No one even noticed her slip upstairs when the Secret Service rotated shifts. They all figured she was harmless. She was anything but.
And now it was too late to back out. No going back now. Nothing else mattered, only Sebastian. His safety was worth more than her life, more than the lives of the people still in the hotel. She didn’t know why someone wanted them dead, didn’t care. Instinct had taken over, the primal urge to keep her son safe above all else. She held an image of him in her head. His smile, his laugh. His bright blue eyes. If she spent the rest of her life in jail, none of it mattered. It was all worth it to keep him safe.
She took a deep breath and steadied herself. Holding the device in both hands, she climbed down off the table. Laid it out on the wood, keypad facing her. Unlocked her phone, found the code the men had given her. Started punching in the numbers.
Forgive me.
The keypad chimed silently as she entered the digits. Eight, five, three, two, one, one, zero. The same code would deactivate it. She stared down at the keypad, her stomach turning inside out. All she had to do was hit the send button, and it was all over.
She lifted the device, her finger hovering over the key.
God, forgive me.
A rattling noise came from behind her and Johnson whipped around, almost dropping the detonator. The door crashed open, shattering the jamb just near the lock. Splinters of wood flew into the air, tumbling onto the carpet. Two figures stood in the doorway, s
ilhouetted by the harsh fluorescent lights in the corridor behind them. Johnson flinched as one of them stepped forward, holding a gun in both hands.
“Don’t move, Patricia,” a female voice said.
Johnson squinted, her eyes adjusting. “Harper?”
“Put the detonator down, Patricia, or, so help me God I’ll put a bullet in you.”
“What are you doing here?” Johnson couldn’t think straight.
The other figured stepped into the room. “You need to do as she says.”
“Leopold?” She felt her legs start to shake. Don’t blow this now. Too much at stake.
“I won’t ask you again, Patricia,” Harper said.
“You don’t understand,” Johnson said, barely able to form the words. “I have to do this. My son…”
“I should have listened to you,” Leopold said. “In the bar that night. I should have known something was wrong. God, you probably even wanted me to figure it out, but I was too damn stupid to see what was right in front of me.” He hesitated for a moment. “They’ve threatened you and your son.”
Harper nodded, her thumb still resting over the send key.
“You don’t need to be scared,” Leopold continued. “We’ve found the people responsible. The danger is over. We’ll make sure your son is safe. We’ll keep you both safe.” He looked over at Harper.
The special agent nodded, lowering her gun a little. “We can protect you, Patricia. But I can’t do anything for you if you activate that detonator. People will die. Us included. The hotel is on the same system; everyone next door will die too. You want that?”
“Sebastian is all that matters.” She gripped the keypad tighter. You can do this. Just push the button.
“Sebastian is your son’s name?” Leopold said. “Where is he today?”
“With a friend of mine.”
“Give us an address, we can send a car to pick him up,” Harper said. “You can be with him as soon as we get out of here. Nobody has to get hurt. We can protect you, give you new identities.”
Ratio: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers) Page 22