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

by Nick Stephenson

“This area isn’t safe, sir,” the taller of the two men said. “We’re investigating a possible gas leak.” He pointed to the letters “NYLD” embroidered on his chest.

  “Relax, we know what’s going on,” said Leopold. “Besides, how many gas pipes were you hoping to find in the stairwell?” He looked down. “And dress shoes? I have to say, I’m disappointed at your lack of commitment to the role.”

  The shorter man reached inside his jacket, pulling out a handgun. “FBI. Get down on your knees.”

  “Calm down. Marshall, would you do the honors?”

  The special agent sighed and pulled out his badge. “We’re on the same team, fellas. Director Ward should have briefed you. What’s the situation?”

  The shorter man peered at Marshall’s ID before slipping the gun back into its holster. “Special Agent Simmons,” he nodded, “and this is Special Agent Curtis.” He gestured to his taller partner. “We made contact with Sergeant Jordan via text message, as advised. Based on the description she gave of the device, we’re looking at some kind of remote trigger.”

  “Blast radius?” Marshall asked.

  “Unknown. Without checking the device myself, it’s impossible to estimate. I’d go so far as to say setting the damn thing off would be a bad move.”

  “Very perceptive,” said Leopold. “Now, how the hell do we get her out of there?”

  “Sergeant Jordan has checked the entry points and there doesn’t appear to be any proximity sensors. But we don’t know whether somebody’s watching. Entering or exiting the building could be a major risk.”

  “Yes, and doing nothing is even worse. The people who are responsible for this want me in their sights. If they are watching the building, they know I’m here already. They also know Mary’s here. Doing nothing is not an option.” Leopold looked over at Jerome. “What’s your take on this?”

  Jerome shook his head. “Whether we stay here or go upstairs, the risks are uncalculated. We’re in the dark whichever option we choose. But staying down here doesn’t help Mary.”

  “There you have it,” Leopold said. “We move in.”

  Simmons glanced at Marshall. “It’s your call, sir.”

  Marshall sighed. “Either of you trained in explosives?”

  “Both of us, sir. Get us next to the device, I’m pretty sure we can deal with it.”

  “Then call it in. Get backup down here and tell them to hold fast at a three-block radius. If someone is watching, I don’t want them getting spooked.” He looked over at Leopold. “Let’s move.”

  Chapter 17

  “WHAT THE HELL took you so long?” Mary stood in the hallway, arms folded. Leopold, Jerome and the three agents filed out of the elevator, treading carefully.

  “You can cut that tiptoeing out right now,” she continued. “I’ve been pacing up and down this damn hallway for the last two hours. I’m bored out of my goddamn mind.”

  “The threat of a fiery death isn’t enough to keep you occupied?” Leopold said, making his way to the study. “Where is this thing, anyway?”

  “Yeah, once the novelty wears off it’s not that interesting,” Mary said. She glanced at the three FBI agents. “Nice disguises,” she said. “Maybe wanna rethink the shoes next time.”

  Simmons and Curtis looked at each other but didn’t reply.

  “Sergeant? Maybe we can focus on the task at hand?” Marshall said. “We can deal with the pleasantries later.”

  “Fine. This way.” Mary pushed past Leopold and led the way into the dimly lit study. “There, under the desk.”

  Simmons stepped through and got down on his knees.

  “Anything?” Curtis asked.

  “It’s not like anything I’ve seen before,” Simmons said, peering in close. Strapped to the underside of the desk, a jumble of cables and circuit boards were arranged around a steel cylinder. The soft light from the device’s display bathed the room in a warm red glow.

  “Maybe turn on some lights,” Curtis said.

  Marshall obliged, flicking the light switch.

  “That’s better.” Simmons pulled a glasses case out of his jacket pocket, slipping the spectacles over his nose. “Internal power source. Wiring suggests RF receiver, for remote triggering. I can’t tell what kind of explosives are inside without cracking open the chassis.” He looked up. “And I’m not going to even try that without a set of body armor. We need to evacuate the building. Now.”

  “That’s not happening until we figure out what’s been taken,” said Leopold. “Whoever broke in here was looking for something. This is all just...” he trailed off. “This is all just another distraction.”

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “You said it’s unlikely there’s any proximity sensors in the house?”

  “The device is set to detonate remotely, meaning someone is most likely controlling it manually. There are bound to be safeguards built into the device itself, but you’re probably safe otherwise.”

  “Probably?”

  “That’s the best I can give you without my equipment and a few hours,” Simmons said. “Even if we try jamming all the radio signals in the area, that could trigger an explosion too. It’s too risky.”

  Leopold frowned. “Then you and your friend keep an eye on things in here. I need to figure out what’s missing from the apartment.”

  “Fine. Just tread carefully and keep your eyes open.”

  “Same goes double for you.” He turned and walked out of the study, beckoning for Jerome and Mary to follow.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Mary said as they left the room. “What the hell is going on? You owe me an explanation.”

  “We should check the safe,” said Leopold. “Main bedroom.”

  Jerome nodded and stalked off. Leopold turned his attention to Mary. “What were you doing barging in to my apartment at two in the morning?”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  “How is that changing the subject?”

  “We were talking about bombs.”

  “I think they prefer the term ‘explosive devices.’ Just answer the question.”

  Mary gritted her teeth. “I came to talk.”

  “At two in the morning?”

  “You weren’t picking up your phone.”

  “I was in D.C. In case you don’t remember, I was busy interrogating my own supposedly dead father. It’s been a bit of a busy evening, all things considered.”

  “All I know is you flaked out on me back at the restaurant and I wanted to find out what the hell is going on with you.”

  “Going on with me?”

  “You know what I mean. All this crap with Chemworks, people in your company going behind your back. You should have better control over what goes on. It’s like you don’t care who gets hurt.”

  “This doesn’t sound like you. Did you talk to your sister again?”

  “No,” said Mary. “She’s not the only one who thinks you’ve crossed the line.”

  “So your mother has an opinion too, is that it?”

  “You know damn well she’s got an opinion, and it’s one that makes a whole lot of sense.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  “You’re the genius, you figure it out,” Mary said. “You’re slipping. Something’s getting to you and you need to work out what you want to do. I can’t hold your hand forever.”

  Leopold felt his cheeks flush and hoped to God Mary didn’t notice.

  “You know I’m right,” said Mary. “You should have known what was going on at Chemworks. You should have seen it coming. And now it’s too late to turn back – and you’re acting as though you don’t even care what they’re getting up to. For all we know, they’re the ones responsible for all this.”

  Something in Leopold’s mind clicked. “You’re right,” he said, “I have been slipping. The signs were all there, pointing to Robert’s involvement, but I never let myself see the truth. I got too caught up believing the lies to figure out what was really going on.” He
took a step forward. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

  Mary raised one eyebrow. “You? Apologizing?” She softened a little. “Then I guess you must really be as screwed up as everyone thinks you are.”

  “And then some.”

  “This person they’ve got locked up in the dungeons, you’re sure it’s him? Your father, I mean.”

  “I’m positive. He’s had work done to his face; he’s a little older, sure, but it’s him.”

  “Why come back now?”

  “Think about what you mentioned before,” Leopold said. “That everything is linked. The people behind Chemworks must have had in-depth knowledge of how my company works. They must have had solid relationships with the people on my executive teams. Not to mention considerable funding. It’s a little too much to swallow that all this is a coincidence.”

  “So Robert took over the research division, then handed himself over to the FBI? Why?”

  “It’s safe to say he’s unlikely to have turned over a new leaf,” said Leopold. “He’s right where he wants to be. The question is: what does the FBI have that he wants so badly?”

  Mary shrugged. “My tax returns for the last decade? Hell, it could be anything. How do you fit in to all this?”

  “Whatever he’s planning, he needs my resources. That’s why he wanted me out of the apartment. That, and I’m guessing he wanted the chance to gloat a little.”

  “How can he control your resources? He’d need…”

  Jerome marched back into the hallway, cutting her off. “The safe is empty. He got everything.”

  “What’s in the safe?”

  Leopold swore. “Banking codes, credit card information, passwords, DNA records, you name it. Everything a person would need to steal my identity.” He massaged his temples. “He’s planning a goddamn takeover.”

  “How’s that going to work?” Mary said. “All you need to do is change them all and get in touch with the banks, or whatever.”

  “Which brings us back to the issue at hand,” Leopold said, glancing over at the study. Simmons was still on his knees, peering at the device mounted underneath the desk. The LED display started flashing.

  “You getting anywhere with that?” Mary asked. “Is it supposed to flash like that?”

  The explosive expert looked up, eyes wide. “Blake, Jordan, you better get in here,” he said. “You better get the hell back in here right now.”

  Chapter 18

  “TARGETS IN POSITION, sir.” Campbell looked up from the infrared scope. The hotel room had been cleared, the surveillance and computer equipment packed up into suitcases. The smell of industrial solvent lingered, all fingerprints and DNA scrubbed from the room’s surfaces. Nothing left to chance.

  Hawkes hoisted his heavy rucksack onto his shoulders. “Any calls for backup?”

  “No, sir.” Campbell shook his head. “They must assume we’re watching.”

  “ID on the other three?”

  “No, sir. I’ve got Blake, Jordan, and the bodyguard. The others might be FBI.”

  Hawkes nodded to Grayson and Kowalski. “Get cleared out. Take Higgs and Stanton and get the gear loaded. We’ll follow behind.”

  The soldiers saluted and left. The colonel turned his attention back to the window. “If they suspect someone’s watching, it won’t be long until they figure out where we are. Move over.” He stepped over to the scope as Campbell shifted out of the way. Peering through the lens, he noticed six heat signatures grouped in Blake’s study. The rest of the penthouse looked deserted. He looked over his shoulder at Campbell.

  “Start the detonation procedure,” he said.

  “Sir? Our orders were…”

  “I know our orders, soldier. I’m in command of this operation. We take no chances. Now, start the detonation procedure.”

  “Yes, sir.” Campbell took out his cell phone and entered the command. “Device armed, sir.”

  “Good,” said Hawkes, turning back to the scope. “The targets are within range. Advise.”

  “The blast radius should take them all out, now we’ve got them in a group,” Campbell said. “We should detonate now.”

  “Agreed.” Hawkes kept his focus on the apartment. “Get to it, soldier.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hawkes heard Campbell punch the command codes into his smart phone.

  “Pass code verified. Permission to proceed?”

  “Make it quick.”

  The colonel slowed his breathing. He lived for these moments. Shutting out the sound of his own heartbeat thumping in his ears, Hawkes concentrated on the six figures across the street. The precious final seconds of a man’s life. If only they knew.

  One of the figures started moving, heading for the door. The others followed. Before they could get more than a few feet, a blinding flash burned through the scope, a dazzling white-hot explosion of light. A split-second later, the deafening whoosh of raging fire and the deep, guttural rumble of stonework crumbling and the groans of twisting steel.

  From far below, the sound of people screaming.

  Hawkes heard the windows rattle as the shockwave hit the hotel building, but he kept his eyes glued to the lens. His vision cleared. The apartment had vanished – in its place, an open wound of charred debris, glowing red and orange in the viewfinder. Thick clouds of ash and smoke poured from the exposed interior, billowing up into the sky.

  “We need to move out, sir,” Campbell said. “Emergency teams will be here soon.”

  “Wait.” Hawkes switched off the thermal imaging. “I need visual confirmation.”

  Blake’s penthouse had been gutted. The walls were black with smoke, small fires burning in every room. The outer wall was gone, along with the plate windows, and most of the furniture lay in pieces. The internal partitions were in ruin, but too much smoke remained, blocking his view.

  “Sir?”

  “The apartment is too hot to make out any signatures,” Hawkes said, looking up from the scope. “And there’s too much smoke. I need visual confirmation of the kill.”

  “I can find a position nearby, sir. Out of sight.”

  “Good.” Hawkes got to his feet. “Pack up and move out. Find a suitable vantage point and stay close until you have verification.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Average response time for emergency services is six minutes, so find somewhere fast. Stay low and keep off your phone and radio.”

  “If there’s anything left of their bodies, sir, they’ll be carrying pieces out in bags,” said Campbell, packing up the infrared equipment and stuffing it into a rucksack. “I’ll find a position on the roof.”

  Hawkes nodded. “Good. When you’re done, get over to the rendezvous ASAP.” He headed for the door. “We’ve got a deadline to meet.”

  Chapter 19

  DIRECTOR WARD FELT his stomach lurch. The call had come through to his cell phone minutes ago on the internal network, but it felt like hours. A voice on the other end of the line asked him something, but Ward couldn’t focus.

  “Sir? Can you hear me, sir?”

  The director shook his head, blinking hard.

  “Are you there, sir?”

  Ward felt his hands tremble. “Yes, yes,” he said quietly. “Thank you for the call.” He hung up, feeling his skin growing hot. The corridor felt smaller all of a sudden, the walls pressing in on him, the air thick and unbreathable. Still in a daze, Ward opened the door to his office and stepped back inside, where Burke and Carter were waiting. They stood up as he entered.

  “Richard, you look like hell,” Burke said. “What’s going on?”

  Carter kept quiet, trying not to look uncomfortable.

  “Richard?” Burke repeated.

  Ward sank into his chair and took a deep breath. “That was the commissioner. There’s been an attack in New York,” he said, feeling his pulse thumping in his ears. “Leopold’s apartment was the target.”

  “What happened?” Carter asked, still standing.

  “Th
ere was an explosion, large enough to take out the entire floor. Blake and the others were in the apartment when it happened. We’ve lost contact with Marshall and the explosives team.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Burke sat down again.

  “No other reported fatalities,” Ward continued. “But whatever Blake was after – the older Blake, I mean – it’s safe to assume he found it.”

  “Did they recover the bodies? Anything?”

  “Emergency teams are dealing with the fires now. The commissioner said the building is still structurally safe, but the whole apartment was burned out. It’ll take them a while to go through the debris.” Ward rubbed his temples. “I’m being kept in the loop.”

  “Sir,” Carter said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, “why is he doing this? Why lure Leopold here, only to send him to die? What kind of monster does that to his own son?”

  Ward stood up. “I don’t know, but I’m damned sure not going anywhere else until I find out.” He headed for the door. “Let’s go find out what this bastard knows.”

  ***

  “Good to see you again, Director.”

  Ward stood in the viewing room, the thick glass separating him from Robert Blake. The prisoner stood serenely in the center of his cell, hands folded lightly in front of him, still wearing his suit jacket.

  “I had expected you a little earlier, but no matter.” Blake smiled. “I trust you have news.”

  Carter and Burke stood to the rear, near the door. Ward could hear them breathing, their clothes rustling as they shifted from foot to foot.

  “Okay, Blake,” Ward said. “Let’s talk.”

  “Be my guest.”

  The director stepped forward, his face almost touching the glass. “Six people are dead. Six good people. I want to know why.”

  “The way you look at me, Richard,” Blake said, ignoring him. “You have such hate in your eyes. Do you hate me?” He shook his head. “You don’t even know me. You have no idea why I’m doing what I’m doing. If you did, you might change your mind. Some people would call me a patriot.”