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

by Nick Stephenson

  “Let’s hope he gets a little more talkative,” said Leopold. “Ready to take us through?”

  “Yes, sir.” Carter buttoned her jacket. “I’ll take you down to the cells myself. They’re expecting us.”

  “Let me guess, more security checks?”

  Carter nodded. “Comes with the territory. We need to make sure anybody coming in doesn’t pose a risk.”

  Leopold looked over at Ward. “That’s all very good,” he said, folding his arms. “But what happens when someone wants to get out?”

  ***

  Two elevator rides later, Agent Carter rushed through another security scan and the steel doors to the cellblocks opened with a dull thunk. One of the armed guards manning the entrance stood to the side to let Leopold, Jerome, Ward, Burke, and Carter pass through.

  “You can speak to the suspect through the intercom,” the guard said. “Take the last door on the right.”

  Ward nodded and set off in front. Leopold followed behind, noticing the CCTV cameras mounted to the ceilings at regular intervals. He counted six holding cells in total and the corridor was silent, save for the faint echoes of their footfalls on the hard floor. The harsh lighting made every nook and crack in the white paint clearly visible.

  Whoever was being held down here, Leopold knew, wasn’t getting out anytime soon.

  Ward reached the final door on the right and punched a code into the keypad embedded into the metal door. The light above the frame switched from red to green. “You ready, Blake?” he asked, his hand resting on the handle.

  “Based on the intel you sent, I can safely say I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” He opened the door and stepped through, holding it open for the others. “Take a seat.”

  The interview room was large enough to fit all five comfortably. A row of steel chairs had been bolted to the floor facing an opaque glass panel that took the place of a fourth wall. Each chair featured a foldout tray table and intercom controls. In the far corner, another locked door with a recessed control panel. Leopold figured it led through to the cell behind the glass.

  “Our guest is waiting behind that panel,” Ward said, as they each took a seat. “The glass is designed to switch between opaque and transparent. Once I activate the intercom, we’ll be able to see inside. He’ll be able to see and hear us too.”

  “Before we begin,” Leopold said, “perhaps you could fill me in on some of the missing information?”

  “What have you determined so far?”

  Leopold sat back in his chair. “I inferred from the case files that the suspect was involved in multiple terrorist and non-sanctioned operations over the last few decades, but dropped off the radar fifteen years ago. I couldn’t find any political or ideological patterns, which suggests he’s for hire – a mercenary, of sorts.”

  Ward nodded. “Go on.”

  “Most mercenaries are ex-military command, and some will have spent time at the higher levels of government. Either way, they know how that world works. Chances are, he’s an American national who’s been active overseas for quite some time. Though why he’s decided to make himself known now, I can’t say.”

  “He said he’s here to warn us.”

  “Warn us?

  “Those were his words. Maybe he’s come across some information – a change of heart, maybe?”

  Leopold shook his head. “We both know that doesn’t happen. Any family connections?”

  “Wish I knew,” Ward said. “We have no DNA records, no fingerprints, no dental. Whoever this guy is, he’s been careful to stay under the radar. Until now.”

  “Have you checked the camera footage from his arrival?”

  “I’ve been over it myself.”

  “Did he enter with anyone? Perhaps we can ID an associate, track him down that way.”

  Ward let out a deep breath. “Our surveillance equipment picked him up on approach from across the street. Wherever he came from, he figured out our blind spots. The footage didn’t give us anything.”

  “So we’re well and truly in the dark.”

  “Yes. Your priority here is to figure out who he is. And what he really wants.”

  Leopold smiled. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

  “No more than usual.” Ward offered a weak grin in return. “Shall we get started?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Ward turned to Agent Carter. “Would you do the honors, please?”

  “Yes, sir.” She flicked a switch on the intercom panel mounted into her armrest. “Ready?”

  The others nodded. Carter pressed another button and Leopold heard a short burst of static as the speakers activated. The cloudy glass panel in front of him turned transparent. Beyond, he saw a cramped room lit up with a fluorescent glare, a bed fixed to the floor. In the center of the room a man stood, his back facing them, dressed in a white shirt, its sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and dark suit trousers. The man turned slowly, his angular features casting shadows over his face, the skin marred by faint pink scar tissue around the jawline and cheekbones. His eyes settled on Leopold and he smiled.

  “Ah, you made it,” he said. “I had pictured you a little... younger. Time can play tricks, don’t you agree?”

  Leopold felt his body stiffen. A clawing sensation in his stomach spread to his limbs, rooting him to his chair, immobilizing him. He opened his mouth to reply, but no words formed.

  “I see you’re a little lost for something to say,” the man said. “A pity.”

  Jerome stood up, his hands balled into fists. Agent Carter reacted, reaching for her gun.

  “What the hell is going on?” Burke said.

  Leopold blinked hard. “Director Ward,” he said, forcing the words out of his mouth. “I’d like to introduce you to Robert Blake.”

  Ward stared back at him, eyes wide.

  “My father.”

  Chapter 10

  THE WOMAN WITH the orange tan and the white teeth held up the necklace, a big grin on her face. The music started up again. The station switched to the news report, some story about the state of the economy. According to the scrolling headlines, the Chinese were buying up all the world’s debt and the Japanese Yen had reached an all-time high.

  Yawn.

  Mary sighed, reaching for her phone. Zero missed calls. Zero messages. The screen stared blankly back at her and she tossed it back onto the floor irritably. It landed next to a pile of laundry. She switched off the television, climbed out of bed, and stormed into the bathroom.

  Not answering your phone? Then I’m coming over. This conversation is happening. Her mind boiled, a hundred scenes flashing through her head – most of them involving her hands around Blake’s neck.

  Mary ran a brush through her dark hair and freshened up, throwing on a clean set of clothes from the pile spilling out of the laundry basket. Once dressed, she checked herself over in the mirror, before slipping on a thick coat, grabbing her handbag, and heading for the front door.

  Finding her keys, she shut the door behind her, riding the elevator down to street level. Once outside, she turned up her collar against the frigid wind, making her way to the corner where a steady stream of traffic indicated a decent chance of her finding a cab.

  God bless New York City, she thought. It’s never too late to go kick someone’s door down.

  At the intersection, Mary saw a taxi approach and threw up a hand. Across the road, a gang of young partygoers whooped and whistled, making a beeline for the nearest open bar. She watched them disappear into a seedy-looking nightclub as the yellow cab rolled to a stop in front of her, blocking her view. She climbed inside, grateful for the warmth of the car’s heaters, and gave the driver Blake’s address. He nodded and set off.

  Mary blew into her hands, taking the edge off the chill. She took her phone out of her bag and tried Leopold’s number again. The call went straight to voicemail. She tried Jerome’s with the same result.

  She frowned and slip
ped her phone back into her handbag. Whatever was going on, she knew, a more direct approach was definitely needed.

  Chapter 11

  “WHAT THE HELL is going on, Blake?” Ward dragged Leopold out into the corridor, shutting the door behind him. They were alone.

  “Your guess is as good as mine, Director,” he replied, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

  Ward gritted his teeth. “Don’t bullshit me, Blake. Do you seriously expect me to believe that man is your father? A man with ties to over a dozen terrorist organizations?”

  “Suspected ties,” Leopold said. “Like you already mentioned, you’ve got nothing on him.”

  “Cut the crap. Your father died when you were a teenager. Along with your mother.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “Then how the hell can he be standing there in front of us?”

  “I would have thought the answer would be obvious.”

  Ward’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t play games.”

  “He caught me off guard too,” Leopold said. “But the facts are the facts. He’s undergone cosmetic surgery, for sure, but not enough that I don’t recognize him.”

  “And this isn’t freaking you out?”

  Leopold hesitated, his mind spinning. He shook the sensation away, forcing himself to focus on the present. “I’ll admit,” he said, “it’s caught me a little off guard.”

  Ward folded his arms. “You’re a damn robot, Blake. None of this makes any sense.”

  Leopold sighed. Focus on the facts. “My father’s body was never recovered,” he said. “Robert Blake was a man of wealth and influence – it’s entirely possible the whole thing was staged.”

  Ward’s eyes narrowed. “Staged? How?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You must have noticed something. Anything.”

  “I had my suspicions.” Leopold said, considering his response. “In the last few months, there have been signs. Letters, strange phone calls, the board of directors making deals behind my back. I knew there had to be someone pulling the strings. Someone with enough knowledge of my life and influence over the people in it to cause problems.” He paused. “But I had just assumed it was someone trying to rattle me. I never gave serious consideration to...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “None of that matters now. Whatever the reason he decided to show up today, it’s not going to end well. Not for anyone.”

  The director’s expression softened. “Can you deal with this, Blake?” he said, putting one hand on Leopold’s shoulder. “We can find someone else.”

  “There isn’t anyone else.” He made for the door. “Let’s finish this.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.”

  Leopold pushed the door open and strode back into the interrogation room. Agent Carter flinched as he entered, her hand dropping to her hip. Ward shook his head and she sat back down again. Without breaking pace, Leopold approached the glass.

  “Glad to see you’re recovered,” Robert Blake said, a faint smile crossing his lips. “I was almost worried.”

  “A temporary lapse, I assure you,” Leopold said.

  “I see Jerome is still hanging around.” He eyed the bodyguard. “I recall being impressed when I hired him. I hope he’s lived up to expectations.”

  “I’m surprised you remember. Boca, right?”

  Robert laughed. “Rio. But nice try.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I suppose Director Ward hasn’t filled you in.”

  “He said you had a warning.”

  “A warning, yes.”

  “Why only speak to me? Why show yourself now, after all these years?” Leopold held his father’s stare.

  “Because what I have to say concerns you.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Robert smiled again, wider this time. “I can understand why you don’t trust me.”

  “I hope so.”

  “The game is only just getting started. Let’s not start off on the wrong foot.”

  “This isn’t a game.”

  “Ah, but there’s where you’re wrong.” Robert rolled down his shirtsleeves, buttoning them at the cuff. He walked over to the bed to retrieve his jacket. “The game goes on with or without you. The choice is yours.”

  “Get to the point.”

  Robert slipped on his jacket and ran a hand through his dark hair. “All right, I’ll give you a head start. A free roll of the die, so to speak.” He paused. “There is going to be an attack on New York City. Something on a scale nobody has ever seen before.”

  Leopold shook his head. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “If the people behind the attack succeed, certain...” he paused. “Certain assets of mine will be affected. I can’t allow that to happen.”

  “And that’s worth going to jail?”

  Fastening his jacket, Robert approached the glass and leaned in close. “Who said anything about jail?”

  Leopold opened his mouth to reply but his cell phone’s speakers cut him off – a piercing klaxon noise loud enough to make Carter reach for her gun again.

  “What the hell is that?” Burke said, getting to his feet.

  “The proximity alarms,” said Jerome, standing up. “The ones set up back at the apartment. Somebody’s broken through the perimeter.” He stepped toward the glass. “What the hell have you done?”

  “Distraction,” Robert said, “is the key to any successful game plan – forcing your opponent to focus his attention in one direction while you make your move somewhere else. Child’s play.” He shook his head. “I expected more from you.”

  Leopold felt his stomach lurch. “Inviting me here. This whole time, you just wanted me out of the way.”

  Robert stepped back, his lips twisted into a cruel grin. “Looks like the game is starting without you,” he said. “Better hurry – I believe it’s your move.”

  Chapter 12

  COLONEL JOSEPH HAWKES waved his men forward and crept silently down the long hallway. His eyes scanned the area ahead, checking for any security devices that hadn’t shown up on their initial reconnaissance. The path looked clear.

  Heavy boots fell silently on the polished wooden floors as the six members of Alpha Team surged through the apartment, automatic weapons raised and ready. The penthouse looked empty, but one could never be too careful – especially when the owner had secrets to keep safe.

  “Campbell, Grayson, check the bedrooms,” Hawkes said, his deep voice barely a whisper. The two soldiers nodded and stalked off down the corridor and out of sight. “You three, check the living room.”

  Hawkes kept his weapon up and made for the study, directing the other three through to the living room and kitchen. He pushed the door open slowly, checking for signs of movement, the barrel of his M16 peeking over the threshold. Satisfied the room was secure, he stepped through and glanced around the dimly lit space.

  Against the back wall, a large mahogany desk. A slim computer monitor sat on top, a small red LED signaling the device was on standby. Hawkes heard his radio crackle.

  “Sir, apartment secure, sir, over,” a voice said.

  Hawkes thumbed the talk switch. “Confirmed. Collect the assets and regroup in the hallway and hold positions. Out.”

  The radio fell silent. The colonel shouldered his weapon and removed a USB thumb drive from his front pocket. Quickly, he walked up to the computer monitor and plugged the tiny device into the port along the side of the screen bezel. The LED flashed green and the computer woke up.

  The software coded into the USB drive kicked into action. First, it disabled the login screen, circumventing the password protection. Next, it scanned the hard drives for relevant information. Finally, it copied what it could onto its limited storage and sent the rest to a secured cloud server. As a precaution, the software shut down the host computer, ordering it to scrub its own drives.

  Once the system had powered down, Hawkes removed the thumb drive and slipped it back into his pocket. He reached fo
r his radio.

  “Grayson, bring the device, over.”

  “Sir, yes, sir. Over.”

  Hawkes smiled. Now for the fun part.

  Chapter 13

  THE BLACK CHEVROLET Suburban screamed out of the parking lot, its V8 revved to the redline. Special Agent Marshall aimed the vehicle toward Pennsylvania Avenue and kept his right foot rooted to the carpet. Director Ward rode shotgun while Leopold and Jerome sat in the back, holding on as the SUV swerved around the corner and barreled forward.

  “What the hell happened in there, sir?” Marshall said, both hands on the wheel.

  “We got played, that’s what,” Ward said. He turned in his chair to face Leopold. “Blake, I need full disclosure. Anything you might have in your apartment, anything he could use, I need to know.”

  Leopold frowned. “How about access to several billion dollars’ worth of assets and resources?” he said. “Banking codes, email accounts, confidential documents, old case files. You name it.”

  “Don’t you have protection in place?”

  “Of course I do. The penthouse is locked down.”

  “Obviously not well enough,” said Ward. “What about your data?”

  Leopold shook his head. “My files can’t be accessed remotely, but there’s not much I can do if someone manually forces their way through my security systems and copies the hard drives, is there?”

  “Jesus, Blake.”

  “You’re the one who invited me out here,” he snapped. “The only other protection I’ve got is riding next to me.” He glanced over at Jerome. “Like Robert said, we were all looking in one direction while he royally screwed us from another. If he gets hold of the data on my servers, who knows what he could do with it?”

  The Suburban hit Pennsylvania Avenue and Marshall steered the vehicle into the fast lane. The speedometer nudged eighty-five.

  “Whatever’s going on, we need to do some serious damage control,” Ward said. “Marshall will escort you back to New York. I need you to figure out what’s been taken.”