Leopold hit the “accept” button and turned on the phone’s speaker. “Whoever this is, it’s late.”
The voice on the other end crackled a little. “Blake, this is Ward.”
“Director Ward? This isn’t a good time.”
“I couldn’t agree more. I need your help.”
“What else is new?”
“There’s something going on, and you need to be here.”
“Not my problem,” said Leopold. “Like I said, I’m busy.”
“We’ve got a suspect in custody. Level Zero. Asked for you by name.”
Leopold looked up at Jerome. The bodyguard nodded.
“This isn’t a request,” said Ward. “I’ve sent a couple of agents from the field office. Please go with them.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were. I don’t have time to explain everything now. We’ll talk more when you’re en route.” Ward hung up.
“I wish he’d stop doing that,” Leopold said, turning off the phone.
“What choice do you have?” said Jerome. “When the director of the FBI calls, you go find out what he wants.”
“You know, for someone who’s supposed to keep me out of trouble, you seem to enjoy getting me into difficult situations.”
“As I said before; it gives me something to do.” He smiled.
A red light flashed on the computer console and Leopold looked up at the monitors. A video image flickered into life, a live feed from the elevator camera. It showed two men, dressed in dark suits, riding the car up toward the penthouse.
Jerome finished reassembling his Glock. “Looks like our ride is here.”
Chapter 7
LEOPOLD PUNCHED IN the security code and the elevator alarm system clicked off. The two men held up their ID cards as the heavy doors slid open, identifying them as Special Agents Smith and Coleman of the New York City FBI field office. Both wore ugly black suits with the usual white shirts and ties, their handguns holstered to their ribs. If not for the slight difference in height, they could have passed for identical twins. The two men introduced themselves with a cursory nod before slipping their IDs back into their jackets.
“We need you to come with us, sir,” Coleman said.
“I gathered that,” said Leopold. “I don’t suppose we have much of a choice?”
Coleman didn’t reply.
“Relax. We’re coming.” He nodded to Jerome. “Set the motion sensors. This might be a good time to test out the remote systems.”
Jerome consulted his cell phone. “Done. I’ve linked everything to our handsets. Anything goes wrong, we’ll know about it.”
“Will this take long?” Leopold addressed Coleman.
“No more than necessary, sir.”
“Then we’d better get started. Lead the way, gentlemen.”
Coleman moved to the side as Leopold and Jerome stepped into the elevator. Smith hit the button for the lobby and the car began its descent.
A black GMC Yukon SUV was waiting for them at street level, parked on the curb just outside the main doors, drawing considerable attention from late-night revelers making their way between nightclubs. Coleman ignored them and opened up the back doors, waving the pair inside, before settling into the driver’s seat. Smith rode shotgun while Coleman started the engine.
“So, anyone going to tell us what this is all about?” Leopold said, as they pulled out onto the main road. “Not that I don’t enjoy surprises, but it might help me prepare.”
“Our orders are to escort you to Teterboro, sir,” Coleman said, not taking his eyes off the road. “A jet is waiting for you.”
“We’re flying into D.C., right?”
“The director will brief you via video phone once we embark.”
Leopold sighed. “Look, this is not exactly how I planned to spend my night, so how about you guys loosen up a little and tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Our orders are to escort you to Teterboro, sir,” Coleman repeated.
“Yes, you said that already. Maybe your friend can fill in the details?”
Smith turned in his seat. “Listen, you know how this works. Just sit back and relax. And tell your friend to keep that Glock holstered.” He glanced at Jerome.
“So long as you don’t give him a reason to use it, I’m sure there won’t be a problem,” said Leopold.
“The orders didn’t say anything about bringing the both of you, just keep that in mind.” He kept his eyes fixed on the bodyguard. “I’ve got no issues leaving you on the side of the road.”
“He’s with me,” Leopold said. “You want to drag me across state lines, he’s coming too.”
“Don’t misunderstand. You don’t get to give the orders here.”
“I beg to differ. You want my help? Learn to play nice, or you can drop us both off here.”
Smith gritted his teeth but didn’t reply. He turned to face front and muttered something to Coleman.
“Don’t feel bad,” said Leopold, sitting back. “Babysitting duty can be a rough deal. But I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” He looked over at Jerome and smiled. “We’ll try to behave, I promise.”
***
Teterboro airport was a small operation, a little over eighty-seven acres, and a popular choice for non-commercial flights out of New Jersey. Its location, just a few miles from central Manhattan, made it the perfect choice for private charters – a feature that made it popular with both sides of the law.
As midnight rolled by, Agent Coleman pulled the black SUV over at the airport security gates and flashed his badge, prompting the bored-looking attendant to wave them through after a brief glance at his computer screen. Coleman took the service route around the airfield and headed for one of the private hangars at the southern corner of the site, about half a mile from the main terminal. The floodlit road looked deserted, save for the occasional glimpse of local wildlife, and within a few minutes they had arrived at their destination. Coleman rolled the Yukon to a standstill and killed the engine.
“We’re here,” he said. “The jet should be ready. Follow me.”
The wind had picked up considerably, and the cold winter chill filled Leopold’s lungs as he climbed out of the car and drew a breath. Above, the night sky was a glassy black, any trace of starlight obscured by the muddy orange glow of Manhattan and Newark on the horizon.
Coleman led the way toward the hangar, a steel structure roughly the size of a barn, just a short walk from their parking spot. The lights were on inside and the giant doors had been opened wide, spilling fluorescent light out onto the empty asphalt.
Inside, a blue and white Gulfstream G280 jet was being prepped for takeoff. A team of engineers in orange vests kept themselves busy with the preflight checks; some unhooked power cables and fuel lines, others ran through safety checks on the engines, fuselage, and landing gear. As they dispersed, the aircraft door opened and a tall man dressed in a blue pilot’s uniform appeared, pausing for a moment in the doorway before stepping down to ground level.
The two FBI agents held up their ID as they drew closer, and the captain nodded a silent approval.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” he said. “Are the passengers ready?” He aimed the question at Agent Coleman.
“Good to go,” he replied.
“Then I can take it from here.”
Coleman thanked him. “Director Ward will dial in once you’re seated,” he said, turning to Leopold. “Captain Gray will look after you while you’re in the air. We’ll keep track from here.”
“Very kind of you,” said Leopold.
“They’re all yours, Captain,” Coleman said, turning to leave.
“Fly safe,” Smith said, though Leopold suspected he didn’t mean it. The two agents headed back to the SUV and out of sight.
“So, Captain Gray,” said Leopold. “I assume you know where we’re headed?”
“Washington D.C. We should touch down a little over an hour from takeoff, wind permitting.”
> “And I suppose you have no idea where we’re going once we land?”
“You suppose right.” He smiled. “My job is to get you to Reagan National. Then you’re someone else’s problem, I’m afraid.”
Leopold glanced at Jerome. “How encouraging.”
The bodyguard shrugged.
“Follow me, please gentlemen.” Gray set off toward the Gulfstream. “We’re on a tight schedule tonight. We take off in fifteen.”
“Nice ride,” said Leopold, following the captain up the steps and into the main cabin. “Though I prefer the G650 myself.”
“As do I,” said Gray. “But the FBI is sticking to its budget these days. I hope you can learn to slum it a little.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“In the meantime, I’d like to introduce my copilot.” He turned toward the cockpit where a younger man sat poring over a preflight checklist. “This is Frank Griffiths; been with me on the last dozen flights.”
“Welcome aboard.” Frank didn’t look up from his clipboard.
“The man takes his job a little too seriously,” Gray said, apologetically. “Anyway, I need to check in with the tower. Gentlemen.”
Gray settled himself into the cockpit and drew the curtain closed behind him, leaving Leopold and Jerome to get comfortable in the cabin. The Gulfstream was roughly the length of a train car, but instead of cheap plastic seating a half-dozen leather armchairs took up most of the floor space. Each had a small table, as well as an adjustable television screen mounted into one of the arm rests, and looked as though they could recline all the way back.
A plush sofa took up most of the farthest corner, complete with a fully stocked dry bar and a mahogany coffee table with a selection of magazines spread out on top. Some of the leather looked a little worn, but, overall, the Gulfstream seemed to be in pretty good condition.
“Before you say or do anything stupid,” said Jerome, taking a seat on the sofa, “just remember these guys are our ride home. Try not to piss them off too much.”
“Don’t worry. Ward is one of the good guys.” He settled in to one of the armchairs and let out a deep sigh. “Let’s just hope he’s in a good mood, otherwise this might take all night.”
“I wouldn’t count on sleeping any time soon, if I were you.”
Leopold grunted and folded his arms, sinking deeper into the soft leather. A deep rumbling noise from the twin Honeywell engines mounted to the wings signaled it was time to start moving, and the aircraft rolled slowly toward the open hangar doors. As they taxied out onto the asphalt, Captain Gray pulled back the curtain and addressed his passengers from his chair.
“I never did like speaking over the intercom,” he said. “Never know whether the damn thing’s switched on. Anyway, we’ll be taking off momentarily. We’re due to arrive at Reagan National in a little over one hour, and we’ll be cruising at an altitude of forty-three thousand feet. As I’m sure you’re aware, the weather is a little choppy, so expect some turbulence.” He paused. “Help yourselves to refreshments, FBI Director Ward is dialing in to the video system right now, the call should come through in a moment. You’ll see the images up on the screen there.” He pointed to the back of the cabin to a large television monitor anchored to the wall opposite Jerome’s sofa. “There’s a camera built in, so you’ll both be able to see each other. Any questions?”
Leopold shook his head. “Just try not to drop us out of the sky and we’ll get along just fine.” He smiled and stood up, making his way over to join Jerome on the sofa. “You can patch the director through when you’re ready.”
“We’ve got ten minutes until takeoff. I’ll need you back in your seats and buckled up before then.”
“You got it.” Leopold offered a mock salute.
“I’ll put the call through now.” Gray disappeared back behind the curtain.
A few seconds later, the video monitor flickered into life with a burst of static from the speakers, revealing the weathered face of FBI Director Richard Ward. Dark circles under his eyes and more gray hairs than Leopold remembered could only mean one thing.
“Good evening, Director,” said Leopold. “It’s good to see you again. It’s been a while. Fatherhood treating you well?”
Ward laughed. “Is it really that obvious?”
“Crow’s feet never lie, I’m afraid. I would have sent my congratulations, but...”
“I know, I know, I should have said something, but the whole pregnancy was a whirlwind, especially toward the end. I guess I had other things on my mind. Mea culpa. Things have been kinda crazy over here.”
“Relax. I’ll make sure you get a card or a bunch of flowers or something. Though I suspect you’d prefer a night alone in a hotel room somewhere?”
“Two for two.”
Leopold grinned, leaning back in his seat. “You never know, maybe the bureau will give you some time off. Stranger things have happened.”
Ward shrugged. “Unfortunately, chances are slim. Comes with the territory. Speaking of which, I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.”
“The thought had crossed my mind. You mentioned Level Zero. Let me guess; one of your guests isn’t playing ball?”
“You could say that.” Ward leaned in closer to the camera. “Earlier this evening, we took a suspect into custody after he set off just about every alarm system we’ve got. The guy just walked right into FBI headquarters and let himself get taken.”
“Was he armed?”
“No. Nothing on him other than the clothes on his back and a forged passport.”
“What intel have you got on him?”
“We’ve got a dozen files on at least five different aliases, hundreds of pages, but nothing solid on who he is or where he’s from. No real name, no fingerprints, no DNA. Nothing. The strangest thing is that he seems to know all about us. He had knowledge of FBI and CIA operations going back years – some even I didn’t know about.”
Leopold sat up a little straighter. “Okay, you got my attention. What does he want?”
“That’s just the thing,” said Ward, taking a deep breath. “He wants you.”
The noise from the jet’s engines got a little louder and the captain pulled back the curtain. “Gentlemen, two minutes until takeoff. Make it quick.” He disappeared back into the cockpit.
“We’d better wrap this up,” said Ward.
“Agreed,” Leopold said. “Email through any info you’ve got. If this guy knows me, he’s got the advantage. I’d like to level the playing field a little.”
“I’ll send through the files while you’re in the air. Once you land in D.C. there’ll be a car waiting. In the meantime, make sure you’re ready – I’ve got a feeling this one’s going to be messy.”
“Just like old times.”
“Let’s hope not. I’m getting too old for this.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“Too true.” The director shook his head. “Listen, have a safe flight and I’ll see you when you get here. I’ll have those files sent over – most of it’s classified, but I’ll see how much we can let you have. Just don’t expect any names, dates, or photographs.”
Leopold arched an eyebrow. “How very kind.”
“It’s the best I can do.”
“I’ll manage.”
“I’ll see you soon, Blake.” Ward nodded a goodbye and signed off. The video screen filled with static.
Jerome hit the remote and turned the monitor off. “Not exactly what I expected,” he said. “How much do you think he’s holding back?”
“He’s not going to let anything slip before we get there,” said Leopold. “Ward doesn’t want me knowing any more than I absolutely need to. He’ll let the suspect to do the talking.”
“Not exactly a team player.”
“It all depends what team you’re on.” The noise from the jet engines reached a crescendo. Leopold stood up and returned to his chair, buckling up. “Let’s go find out who we’re playing for, shall we?”
> Chapter 8
MARY LAY IN bed, staring at the ceiling. Her cramped one-bedroom NYC apartment was on the sixth floor of one of the older blocks in Greenwich Village and the noises from street level were still loud enough to keep her awake despite the thick windows. Although that would be an easy excuse for tonight’s bout of insomnia, Mary knew it wasn’t the traffic preventing her from getting some shuteye. It was something else – something much more irritating.
She sat up and reached for her cell phone, pawing at the nightstand in an attempt to locate it in the dark. Almost knocking over a lamp, she eventually found it buried underneath a stack of old paperwork. She held the handset up and unlocked the screen, squinting as the light hit her eyes.
What the hell am I doing? The familiar warnings echoed inside her head.
With a resigned sigh, Mary flipped through her contacts and found Leopold’s number, her finger hovering over the button. She thought back to their botched meeting earlier in the evening – after months of research, countless hours of tracking down people willing to help, Leopold had blown it.
Asshole.
Mary tossed the phone onto the bed sheets and flopped back onto her pillow, mentally cursing herself for letting herself get worked up. With more than fifteen years on the force, New York’s Finest had prepared her for almost anything, but there were still times Mary felt totally lost. And, despite everything that had happened, there was still only one person in the world who could help at a time like this.
Mary sat up again and picked up her phone, dialing a number from memory. The call went through and was picked up on the third ring.
“Mary? Are you okay? It’s nearly two a.m...” The voice on the other end was a little groggy.
“Yeah, Mom. It’s me. I’m fine. You awake?”
“I guess I am now. What do you need, honey? Problems at work?”
“Not exactly.”
“Man trouble?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then I guess that only leaves one thing,” her mother said.
“Yeah, I guess.”
Fallen: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers Book 5) Page 3