“What’s he done this time?” Mary imagined her mother’s eyes rolling as she spoke. “He’s not getting you into trouble again? I thought we talked about this. You’ve got responsibilities to your real job. Stop letting him push you around.”
Mary gritted her teeth and squeezed the phone a little tighter. “It’s not like that, mom – nobody’s forcing me to do anything. I’m a thirty-seven-year-old woman who’s trained to take down rapists and murderers. I can look after myself.”
Mrs. Jordan let out a chuckle. “Yes, of course you can dear. But that doesn’t mean I can’t still be of some use now and again.”
“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”
“Tell me what’s wrong, dear.”
Mary sighed. “Well, you were right about one thing. The source of my problem, that is.”
“I don’t know why you just don’t get your boss to keep Blake out of the way. He sounds like nothing but trouble to me.”
“He is. Trouble, I mean. But, unfortunately, he closes more cases than anyone else. What he lacks in social skills, he more than makes up for by being a smartass when it comes to tracking down criminals.”
“You know, they say it takes one to know one.”
“Don’t get me started,” Mary said.
“So what’s he done this time?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Try me. I’m not senile quite yet.”
Mary smiled. “All right, all right, you win. You know how Blake’s company owns other businesses overseas?”
“Yeah, I kinda guessed that. Far too much money for one man. It’s bound to go to your head. Not surprised he’s half-crazy.”
“Well, the company he inherited when his parents died was also an umbrella corporation for a bunch of independent operations in other countries. One of those companies, Chemworks, was involved in chemical and biological research. Supposedly, they were doing it for humanitarian causes, but someone on Blake’s board of directors decided they could make more money out of weapons research instead.”
“Or maybe Blake decided he needed a little more cash in his pocket.”
“He’s not like that, Mom,” Mary said. “And, besides, I was with him when it all happened. He had no idea. They just took control out from underneath him, and sold the research company off to the highest bidder. There was nothing he could do to stop it, and the transfer papers were sealed.”
“Can’t he get some computer whizz to, you know... hack in? Is that the right word?”
Mary smiled. “It’s not that simple. It all happened in a foreign country, where the laws on this sort of thing are much stricter. We don’t even know where to start looking.”
“And you’re worried this company might be doing something bad?”
“I’m sure of it.”
A moment of silence. “Listen, Mary, honey... You know this isn’t really my area of expertise. Maybe you could speak to…”
“Not gonna happen, Mom.”
“You’ve got to speak to her some time.”
“Give me one good reason.”
“She’s your sister, is that a good enough reason? You can’t stay mad at her forever.”
“Just watch me.” Mary bit her bottom lip. “Besides, she already called. Before all this happened.”
Another pause. “Well, what did she say?”
Mary sighed. “She called to warn me.”
“Warn you?”
“Somehow Kate found out what this company was working on. She figured Blake must have been involved somehow.”
“And you’re still sure he’s not? Kate knows what she’s talking about.”
“Kate works at the World Health Organization – it’s hardly NASA. They make mistakes all the time. She’s wrong – Blake’s desperate to figure out what happened.”
“But he couldn’t be bothered to show up after all the work you put in? Doesn’t sound like he’s that concerned to me.”
The last remark had Mary stumped.
“You know I’m right, honey,” her mother said. “If this was anybody else, you’d agree with me. Your perception is all messed up.”
Mary slumped back against her pillow. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not seeing this straight.”
“You need to have words with him, sweetheart. Figure out what’s going on.”
“I will. I promise.” Mary felt the tiredness hit her. “Thanks, Mom. You know, for everything.”
“That’s why I’m here, honey. Any time.”
“Speak later, okay?”
“Love you.”
“You too.” Mary hung up. Her mind spinning, she fished around for a glass of water and found one tucked away on the cluttered nightstand. She took a gulp. It tasted dusty, probably from being left out for a couple of days. With a tired groan, she heaved herself out of bed to fetch a refill and paused at the bathroom sink, taking a glance at her reflection in the mirror. The result didn’t look good.
Weeks of stress had taken their toll – dark circles under her eyes, weight gain around the neck and jawline all conspired to make her look at least five years older. She slapped her cheeks with both palms and took a long draw of fresh water, trying to stay awake.
Climbing back under the bedcovers, she grabbed her cell phone and found Leopold’s number. Her mother’s words still echoing in her head, Mary dialed and took a deep breath.
The call went straight to voicemail.
She tried again.
No answer.
With a frustrated sigh, she flopped back onto her pillow and resisted the urge to throw the phone against the back wall. Wherever Blake was, he wasn’t interested in talking. She felt the anger take over once again, chasing away the tiredness. She gave up, turning on the lamp.
Mary’s bedroom was a mess – paperwork scattered over the carpet, clothes piled up next to the laundry basket – but none of that mattered. Within a minute or two, she located her television remote and turned on the small set anchored to her wall. She flicked through the channels until she found what she was looking for, the only real remedy to insomnia: late night shopping channels.
Mary found her purse, pulling out the only credit card that wasn’t already maxed out, and settled in for the night.
Chapter 9
THE BLACK CHEVROLET Suburban SUV sailed down Pennsylvania Avenue, dark and deserted at this time of night. With almost zero traffic, the ride from Reagan National airport had been a breeze, and Leopold had taken the opportunity to go over the suspect files for the third time.
Ward had been true to his word – the documents provided almost nothing of use. Close to a hundred pages of text with nearly half the words blacked out and a few heavily pixelated photographs were all that had made it through. Leopold scrolled through the files on his smart phone, trying to pick out anything that might help.
Jerome sat next to him in the back, his long legs crushed up against the seat in front. Two dark-suited agents, Burton and McCoy, rode up front, staring silently at the empty road ahead. The driver, Special Agent Burton, slowed down as the dark silhouette of the J. Edgar Hoover building appeared just a few blocks away.
“We’re nearly there,” he said, turning down a side street. “Director Ward will meet us once we get you signed in. He’ll take you from there.”
Leopold looked up from his phone. “We don’t get the pleasure of your company?”
“We’re just here to make delivery, sir.”
“Shame.” He turned off his handset and slipped it into his jacket pocket. “And you were both such interesting conversationalists.”
Leopold heard McCoy mutter something under his breath as they turned another corner, but couldn’t make out the words. With the car’s headlights providing the only illumination, the Suburban rolled its way cautiously through the deserted back streets and Burton stopped as they reached the entrance to an underground parking complex. He opened the driver’s window and leaned out, holding up his ID badge. With a screech of cold metal, the
steel doors opened and Burton steered the vehicle inside, finding an empty spot next to an identical-looking SUV against the back wall.
“The director is waiting inside,” Burton said, killing the engine. “You’ll need to surrender your firearm, sir.” He looked back at Jerome. “No exceptions.”
Jerome scowled but didn’t say anything.
“Director Ward will take you through to the suspect personally,” he continued. “All visitors are required to go through security, so make sure you check your pockets.” He glanced over at Leopold. “Cell phone signals are blocked, but you should be able to connect to the secured wireless network if you need to access the internet. Any questions?”
Leopold unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. “Yes. How long is this going to take?”
Burton shook his head. “The director will brief you, sir.”
“Then let’s get this over with, shall we?” He stepped out onto the parking lot. The basement was dimly lit, packed full of cars – mostly dark sedans and hulking SUVs – and smelled of gasoline and engine oil. The air felt cold and damp, though still preferable to the gale-force winds outside. Jerome and the two agents climbed out of the Suburban, and Burton led the way toward the locked doors that led to the building’s interior. He swiped his security badge again and stepped through, heading for the elevators at the end of the polished hallway. The walls glistened white and a distinct smell of industrial cleaner hung in the air, lemon scented. The aroma was overwhelming, and Leopold felt his nose prickle as the scent hit his nostrils.
Burton hit the elevator call button and the doors rumbled open. The four men stepped inside and Burton punched in a code, shielding the keypad with his free hand. The car began its ascent with the whistle and twang of steel cables tensing under the load.
“Anything useful in the files?” Jerome asked, his deep voice filling the tiny space.
“As expected,” Leopold said.
“That bad?”
“I’ll make it work.”
Agent Burton turned to look at Jerome. “This is our floor coming up next.”
“Remember to surrender your weapon,” McCoy said, adopting as authoritative a tone as he could muster.
Leopold glanced up at Jerome, who rolled his eyes but didn’t reply.
The elevator slowed to a halt, rattling a little as the doors slid open to reveal a tiny reception area manned by a bored-looking agent. He looked up as the four men approached.
“Burton. Took your time,” he said, slipping on a pair of glasses. “Director Ward’s inside. Get these guys signed in.” He slid a clipboard across the desk.
Burton nodded in reply. “Jameson. Good to see you’re keeping the country safe from behind reception,” he said, picking up the clipboard and handing it to Leopold. “Put your signature on here and leave your ID.” He turned to Jerome. “You too. Simmons will take your firearm.”
Jerome’s eyes narrowed. Slowly, he unclipped his Glock and laid it on the desk. Simmons dropped the weapon into a clear plastic bag and locked it up in a drawer. He handed Jerome a handwritten ticket.
“You can pick this up later,” he said. “Both of you, press your thumbs and forefingers down on this, please.” He pointed to a fingerprint reader hooked up to his computer. “Then please stand over there and empty your pockets.” He gestured to the end of the desk.
The two men complied. Simmons stood up and approached with a handheld metal detector. He waved the instrument over both visitors.
“Okay, you’re clean,” he said. “Pick up your things and go on through.” He pointed toward a locked door behind him. “Burton will hand you over to Director Ward.”
Leopold picked up his cell phone and wallet, Jerome following suit.
“This way, gentlemen,” Burton said, heading for the door. McCoy waited behind. “You’re about to enter a secure area. Director Ward and another agent will be present at all times. As I said, you won’t be able to make any phone calls from your cells, but a restricted Wi-Fi network is available. All incoming and outgoing signals are monitored, of course.” He unlocked the door with his ID card. “You’ll sign out when you leave and you can pick up your weapon then.” He nodded at Jerome. “After you.” He waved them through.
The door led through to a windowless room where two men stood waiting. Leopold recognized FBI Director Richard Ward, who stepped forward to greet them.
“Blake, good to see you again. In the flesh, this time.” He held out a hand and Leopold shook it. “I hope the flight was uneventful.” He glanced at Jerome.
“Bumpy as hell,” Leopold replied. He looked over at Ward’s colleague.
“May I introduce Deputy Director of the FBI Franklin Burke,” Ward said. “He’ll be joining us tonight.”
Burke nodded curtly. “Blake. Who’s your friend?”
“This is Jerome.”
“Jerome who?”
“Just Jerome. He handles my personal security. I trust that won’t be a problem.”
Burke opened his mouth to speak, but Ward cut him off. “Of course not. You’re both welcome.”
“I do hope you both understand the irregularity of allowing civilians inside this part of the building,” Burke said, scowling. “For the record, I am not a supporter of handing out state secrets to civilian contractors.” He looked straight at Leopold. “Regardless of reputation. I hope you understand it’s nothing personal.”
Ward shook his head. “Please forgive the deputy director. He wasn’t exactly keen on the idea of bringing you in.”
“People usually aren’t,” Leopold said. “But soon they figure out I should have been brought in much earlier.”
Burke grunted something in reply.
“Perhaps you should give Deputy Director Burke a demonstration, Blake?” Ward said.
Leopold frowned. “I’m not a performing monkey, Director.”
Ward laughed, further creasing the lines around his eyes. “Please, indulge me.”
Leopold glanced at Burke, who folded his arms.
“Fine. Consider it a personal favor. Though you owe me enough of those already.”
“That’s not such a bad thing; how many people can say the Director of the FBI owes them?”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Ward nodded. “Don’t I know it.”
“Will this take long?” Burke said impatiently.
Leopold sighed. “Deputy Director Franklin Burke,” he began, stepping forward. “Sixty-one years old. Ex-military. Left handed. You live within a couple miles of here.” He looked Burke up and down. “Arthritis in your wrists. Married, no kids. You have a dog at home,” he glanced down at the deputy director’s trousers. “Make that two dogs.”
Burke frowned. “Nothing you couldn’t have looked up.”
Leopold studied the man’s shoes. “You tell your wife you walk to work in an effort to lose weight, but, secretly, you catch a taxi. You play golf,” he paused. “Badly. And you recently switched from wearing glasses to contact lenses.” He sniffed the air. “You smoke cigars, but not while you’re at home. You try to hide it from your wife, but she already knows.”
“What did I tell you?” Ward laughed again. “He’s got you figured out!”
“Guesswork and conjecture,” Burke said. “And what’s this bullshit about my wife?”
Leopold grinned. “Your suit is too small, meaning you’ve put on weight recently. Your shoes are pristine, even the soles, so you don’t wear them outside the office. That means you change your shoes after you arrive. You don’t look like a cyclist, so the only explanation is you walked here. Unfortunately, your waistline remains as considerable as ever, so the exercise obviously isn’t helping. And you haven’t bought a new suit. So why else go through the motions, unless you’re hiding something?”
Burke scoffed.
“Your watch is a Patek Philippe,” Leopold continued, “only a few years old so it’s not a family heirloom. On your salary, owning a fifty-thousand-dollar watch means you haven’t ha
d to shell out cash for kids’ educations over the years. And as for the smoking, your clothes smell fresh, but the fingers on your left hand are stained with nicotine. I can smell the cigar smoke on your skin, but you take care not to get any on your clothes. I assume your wife disapproves? It’s not exactly a shot in the dark to say she already knows.” He smiled. “Women always do.”
“I don’t see how any of this is useful to us.” Burke turned to face Ward. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“On the contrary, Deputy Director,” Leopold said. “You need me here because you have a man in custody and you know nothing about him. Where the FBI only sees what’s staring them in the face, I tend to dig a little deeper.” He stepped back. “So maybe you just let me do my job and I’ll let you get back to whatever it is you do around here.”
Burke’s face turned a peculiar shade of purple.
“Shall we make our way through?” Ward said, interjecting. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us. This way, please.” He pulled out his ID badge and headed for a set of double doors at the back of the room, beckoning the others to follow. He swiped his security card and the doors opened. “Gentlemen, welcome to Level Zero.”
The room beyond provided a stark contrast to the cramped reception area. High ceilings and polished tile floors greeted them, the floor space taken up by a half-dozen workstations complete with state-of-the-art computer systems and twin oversized monitors. Two agents occupied each desk, each staring intently at the screens while speaking into their wireless earpieces. The noise and chatter were palpable, a welcome change from the stoic silence of the last few hours. Ward walked toward the closest desk and both agents looked up – one male, his dark hair salted with gray, and one female, her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Both looked mid-thirties, dressed in the ubiquitous dark suits favored by the bureau’s best and brightest.
“Special Agents Marshall and Carter,” Ward said, as the two agents got to their feet. “They’ve been keeping an eye on our guest.”
“Sir,” Marshall said.
“Anything to report?”
“No movement, sir,” he said. “He’s not said a word since you left.”
Fallen: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers Book 5) Page 4