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

by Nick Stephenson

  FALLEN: A LEOPOLD BLAKE THRILLER

  Copyright © 2014 Nick Stephenson

  The right of Nick Stephenson to be identified as the author of the Work has been asserted him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in Great Britain in 2014 by WJ Books Ltd.

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

  Blake Family

  From Wikimedia, the free encyclopedia

  See also: Blake (disambiguation)

  The Blake family (/ˈbleɪk/ blayk) is an American industrial, political and banking family that made one of the world's largest fortunes in the oil business during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, with George D. Blake and his brother James D. Blake primarily through Standard Oil.[1] The family is also known for its long association with and financial interest in the New Manhattan Bank, now part of Blake Investments Inc. They are generally seen as one of the most powerful families in the history of the United States.

  Most recently, since the death of Robert and Gisele Blake, the sole heir to the family’s business interests, Leopold R. Blake, has taken the family’s investments in a different direction and has disappeared from the political landscape to concentrate on developing business interests in the fields of modern biotechnology, clean energy, and charitable causes. [2] Although the circumstances following the deaths of Robert and Gisele Blake are still unclear, many believe…

  Table of Contents

  Fallen: A Leopold Blake Thriller

  About the Author

  More Books by the Author

  FALLEN

  A Leopold Blake Thriller

  Sometimes, the only justice is the one you make for yourself…

  When a wanted terrorist voluntarily surrenders himself into FBI custody, expert criminology consultant Leopold Blake suddenly finds himself drawn into a deadly game of cat and mouse - and he’s already several moves behind. As the shocking truth is uncovered, Blake realizes with chilling certainty that life as he knows it is over. An old enemy has returned after decades in hiding, and, for him, getting caught is only the beginning…

  Left for dead and with nowhere left to turn, Leopold soon realizes the true meaning of loyalty - and what it means to lose everything he holds dear.

  For Mary Jordan, police sergeant with the NYPD, danger has always been part of the job description. But with New York City on the brink of a major attack, and with Leopold out of commission, Jordan is forced to seek out new allies. Together, they will need to push their skills - and their lives - to the ultimate limit. But who can she trust?

  Fallen is the sixth book in the Number 1 Best Selling Leopold Blake Series of Private Investigator Thrillers, and can be read as a standalone novel.

  Sign up for the author’s New Releases mailing list and get a free copy of the latest novella Paydown: A Leopold Blake Thriller.

  Click here to get started: www.nickstephensonbooks.com

  Chapter 1

  THE COLD WINDS picked up as two men stood outside the FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C. calculating the exit routes. The J. Edgar Hoover building loomed overhead, a monolithic structure of ugly gray concrete that took up an entire city block. The taller of the two men, an aging figure dressed in dark clothes and a long coat, felt the evening chill bite at his ears. He turned up his collar.

  “It’s time, sir,” his companion said. Wrapped in a thick jacket, the shorter man’s chest looked out of proportion to the rest of his body. A woolen hat covered his shaved head, although if he felt the cold, he didn’t show it.

  “Make sure everything is in place, Hawkes. Timing is crucial.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The taller man nodded and walked away as a crowd of FBI office workers shuffled past. He followed, careful to keep his head down – more out of habit than necessity – and only stopped to gather his bearings when he reached the FBI building’s main entrance. With a brief glance in each direction, he followed the workers inside.

  The foyer loomed above him, a cavern of marble and steel, with a security checkpoint up front. The floors looked freshly polished and the smell of industrial cleaner still hung in the air. Ahead, the official seal of the FBI took pride of place on the far wall, with the words “Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity” stamped in foot-high letters across the tile.

  Slipping one hand into his pocket, he approached the security booth. He clocked three armed security officers in the atrium, probably more waiting out of sight, and at least four cameras covering the room from several angles. The booth he approached was fitted with bulletproof glass.

  “Identification, sir,” the booth attendant asked. She looked bored.

  “No problem.” He pulled his hand out of his pocket. “My passport.” He slid it through the gap.

  “What’s your business here today, sir?” She scanned the document through her computer, which emitted a soft beep as it searched for the relevant records.

  “I’m here to see FBI Director Richard Ward.”

  “You have an appointment?”

  “No.” He smiled. “I’ll need you to make one for me.”

  The attendant looked up and opened her mouth. Before she could reply, a piercing klaxon noise filled the lobby and everybody froze, looking for the source of the commotion. The man in the long coat tensed as half a dozen armed security guards stormed through the checkpoint, weapons raised. They formed a tight semi-circle behind him, closing off his escape. One of them ordered him to get down on the floor.

  Slowly, he raised his hands above his head and glanced down at the booth attendant. “You might want to hurry that along,” he said.

  Chapter 2

  THE TV STUDIO was stifling and they were already running late. A dozen cameras blinked and buzzed as Leopold Blake settled into the armchair and tried not to look directly into the spotlights aimed right at him.

  Jimmy Cox, the host of Up Late with Jimmy, probably the third or fourth most popular talk show on basic cable, sat opposite. A team of makeup artists bustled around his head, dabbing his face with an assortment of powders. Leopold felt his skin prickle under the heat of the lamps and wondered how the hell he would make it another five minutes without sweating through his shirt.

  The makeup team left and Jimmy leaned across the desk separating them. “Just follow my lead,” he said, beaming a brilliant white smile. “Keep it casual. We’ll break for commercial in ten. Bobby will count us in after the VC.”

  Leopold assumed he meant to the prerecorded video segment they were airing while the crew set up. He nodded politely and took a sip of water from a glass on Jimmy’s desk. Predictably, it was lukewarm.

  “We’re on in five, four,” the man Leopold assumed was Bobby announced, mouthing the final three numbers silently from behind one of the teleprompters. He held up a thumb and the audience applauded.

  “And we’re back,” said Jimmy, staring ahead into the cameras. “We’re here with Leopold Blake – stock market genius, businessman, philanthropist, and consultant to the NYPD.” He turned to look at Leopold. “And now we can add bestselling author to that list.” Another bright smile.

  The audience applauded again. Leopold glanced up at the cl
ock hanging above Jimmy’s head, mentally cursing the show’s producers for bumping his interview back by half an hour. It was five minutes to nine. He was going to be late.

  “So, tell us about the new book,” Jimmy said, resting one elbow on the desk. “An autobiography of sorts, with some interesting twists. Are you excited to have the book hit the shelves and jump straight to number one?”

  “Yes,” Leopold said, curtly.

  Jimmy’s smile held. “Any big surprises we can look forward to reading about?”

  “No.”

  The smile faltered a little and he turned back to the cameras. “Folks, I can assure you he’s a little more talkative in his book.”

  The audience laughed.

  “I gotta say, Leopold,” Jimmy continued, “there aren’t many people whose life story could make for interesting reading. Tell us about your relationship with the NYPD – how did that start?”

  Leopold looked up at the clock again. “It all began a few years ago,” he said, in as relaxed a tone as he could manage. “I had some information they needed and I offered my help. It grew from that.”

  “Okay, I get it. You don’t wanna give any spoilers. How about we talk a little about Mary Jordan instead?”

  The audience clapped loudly. A few people whistled.

  “What do you want to know?”

  Jimmy pointed up at a giant video screen. “You two have been spotted out together a lot recently,” he said, as a collage of photographs appeared. “Judging by these photos, I’m guessing it’s more than just a professional relationship?”

  “We’re partners. We work together, that’s it.”

  The audience booed.

  “All right, all right,” Jimmy said, palms up. “Let’s give the guy a break.” He turned back to his guest. “Let’s talk growing up. You inherited control of your parents’ company when you were a teenager. In the book, you mention how your parents’ deaths affected you. What was it like, having all that responsibility at such a young age?”

  Leopold sighed and decided to throw the poor guy a bone. “Like you said, I do a lot of work with the police. I’m starting to think you missed your calling with questions like that.”

  The audience erupted in a peal of laughter and Jimmy relaxed a little.

  “Growing up was pretty hard work,” he continued. “But I’m pretty sure nobody’s going to feel too sorry for the guy inheriting a multi-billion-dollar business. So I’m not going to ask you all to get out your violins.”

  More laughter. Even Jimmy chuckled a little.

  “The response to the book has been completely unexpected. I’m blown away.” His eyes wandered back up to the clock. “But I can’t take all the credit, obviously. The brave men and women of this nation’s law enforcement agencies should be the ones getting the recognition here. That’s why all profits from the book are going straight to Helping Heroes – a charity set up to support police officers injured in the line of duty.”

  The audience cheered.

  “What a guy,” Jimmy said, reaching over to place a hand on Leopold’s shoulder. He waited for the applause to die down before continuing. “So let’s talk a little more about your experience in business. You’ve got stuff going on all over the world, right? What’s the most interesting thing you’re working on right now?”

  Leopold couldn’t take his eyes off the clock. It was five past nine. He was definitely going to be late. The interview would have to wait.

  “Anything you’d like to share with us?” Jimmy asked again.

  “I need to leave.”

  “Sorry, what’s that?”

  “I need to leave,” Leopold repeated. He stood up and pulled off the microphone clipped to his jacket lapel. “There’s somewhere I need to be.” He laid the tiny device on the desk.

  “You’re serious?”

  “Maybe you can edit this out later.”

  Jimmy covered his own microphone with one hand. This is live television you freakin’ moron. Nobody walks out on Jimmy Cox.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” said Leopold, fastening his jacket.

  Jimmy’s face turned red. “Sit. Down. Now.”

  “Maybe you can cut to commercial a little early,” said Leopold, ignoring him. “My publicist will be more than happy to arrange a follow-up.”

  “If you think…”

  Leopold wasn’t listening. He had already made it halfway to the stage door.

  Chapter 3

  POLICE SERGEANT MARY Jordan drained her glass of white wine and checked her watch. Her stomach growled and she called the waiter over, ordering a breadbasket and some olives. The waiter nodded and scurried off, leaving her alone at the table.

  The restaurant looked a little fancy, more so than Mary was used to, but the atmosphere was relaxed and comfortable. The soft clink of crystal wine glasses accompanied the background music and the quiet chatter from other diners filled the gaps between tracks. The tables were laid with silver cutlery and cloth napkins, but you had to ask for salt and pepper. And they didn’t serve cheeseburgers.

  The waiter came back with the bread and olives. He glanced at the empty chair opposite Mary. “Would you like to take a look at our menu?”

  Mary buttered a slice of bread and didn’t look up. “I’m expecting someone. This is fine for now.”

  “Something else to drink?”

  “Another glass of wine.”

  “Same again?”

  She sighed. “Bring me whatever; just don’t take too long.”

  The waiter swept away toward the bar. Mary chewed on an olive and nearly chipped a tooth on the pit. The night was not going as planned.

  At the front of the restaurant, the heavy glass doors opened and a gust of chilly wind blew through. The streets outside were jammed full of yellow taxis, a typical New York City weekday night. A figure stepped inside wrapped up in a thick coat and blew into his hands. He looked up and locked eyes with Mary, offering an apologetic smile. Unbuttoning his coat, he walked up to Mary’s table and sat down in the empty chair.

  “You’re late, Leopold. Again,” she said.

  “I got held up.”

  “You’re always held up.” She held his gaze and forced herself to keep her anger in check. “This whole thing was your idea.”

  “I know, I know,” he said. “It couldn’t be helped. Is he here?”

  “The contact? Yeah, he was here. After waiting around fifteen minutes, he got spooked and left.”

  “Why didn’t you stop him?”

  “You don’t think I tried? There’s only so far a little black dress can go, especially when you’re talking corporate espionage.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  Mary clenched her teeth. “Look, it took me everything I had to convince him just to meet with us, and you can’t even show up on time.”

  Leopold sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “We’ll just have to get him back again, won’t we?”

  “You don’t understand. You should have seen his face. The guy was terrified. He’s not going to be talking to us again anytime soon.”

  “What about the other leads?”

  “Dead end. If anyone knows what happened, they aren’t coming forward.”

  “I need answers.”

  “Yeah, you’re not the only one,” she said. “But just remember, this all happened under your roof.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  The waiter returned with a fresh glass of wine and set it down next to Mary. He looked over at Leopold.

  “I’ll have a whisky,” Leopold said. “Aberlour, if you’ve got it. No ice.”

  “Yes, sir.” He left.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Mary said. “Any genius ideas?”

  “Constantly. Though, in this case, I think we might have reached the end of the road. I can maybe pull the court records, but seeing as it all went through the French system...” He trailed off. “People can’t just force the sale of a company without bending some rules. T
here’s got to be something we’re missing.”

  “Something you’re missing,” said Mary. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re on your own. This is your mess, not mine. Why don’t you get your legal team to look into it? You don’t need me. Or the NYPD.”

  “There’s somebody else we can ask with the right connections. She might be able to help.”

  “Yeah, who’s that?”

  “You know who I mean.”

  Mary flinched. “Absolutely not. I told you already, that’s out of the question.”

  “You’re giving up?”

  “I’m learning where to draw the line. Finally.” She took a gulp of wine. “And I’ve already had too much to drink.” She stood up.

  “You’re already dressed for dinner. Seems a shame to waste a good outfit.”

  “It’s already been wasted. Along with the whole evening.” She picked up her clutch bag and slung it over her shoulder, draping her jacket over her arm. “Enjoy your drink. I’m going home.”

  Leopold turned in his seat as she swept past. “Look, I’m sorry. Really. For everything.”

  Mary paused to look back at him. “It’s too late for that,” she said, before slipping on her coat and heading out the door.

  Chapter 4

  FBI DIRECTOR RICHARD Ward hadn’t enjoyed a full night’s sleep for nearly a month. His son had been born at two a.m. on a Tuesday morning almost four weeks ago, and fatherhood was already taking its toll. This morning had been no different to the twenty-five that had preceded it – being forced out of bed at four a.m. by a screaming baby had become business as usual – but the lines under the director’s eyes were beginning to cause him some concern. Too bad the FBI didn’t allow employees to wear sunglasses in the workplace.