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

by Nick Stephenson

  “Sir?”

  “Listen – Blake lost control of his company, and a few days later his supposedly dead father shows up? Someone with links to terrorist cells and working knowledge of how his son’s company operates? Not to mention possible connections with the executive board. You can’t tell me this isn’t setting off alarms, Marshall.”

  The special agent inhaled sharply. “So we’re looking for any noise about possible attacks? The CIA isn’t going to be very accommodating, sir.”

  “Let me worry about that,” said Ward, stepping out into the hallway and making his way to the elevator. “Just get in touch with the CDC and find out what you can.”

  “What will you do, sir?”

  Ward hit the elevator call button and took a deep breath. “Thankfully, there’s somebody else who might be able to give us some answers.”

  He hung up.

  Chapter 26

  “BACK AGAIN SO soon?” Robert Blake stood behind the glass, a passive expression on his angular face. His eyes looked tired, but his tone sounded jovial. Mocking.

  Ward didn’t bother sitting. “This game of yours, or whatever it is you think you’re doing, is over. I’ve got you in my own personal storage locker. Give me some answers and maybe I’ll think about moving you somewhere a little more pleasant.”

  Robert glanced around the holding cell and smiled. “This isn’t so bad.”

  “I can make it a lot worse.”

  “I don’t doubt you, Director. But the winds are changing. You’ll want to be rid of me soon enough.”

  “What’s your connection with Chemworks?”

  The prisoner blinked. “I see you’ve been doing some research.”

  “You orchestrated the takeover, then you show up here. It was only a matter of time before we put two and two together.”

  “I can see basic arithmetic didn’t stump you for too long,” Robert said. “Bravo.”

  “Cut the crap. I know what kind of research Chemworks was involved in. Potential development of biological weapons, according to the files. Luckily for me, that gives the CIA power to lobby the UN and the EU courts for immediate release of company records. I doubt we’ll have much trouble linking you to all this – and you can imagine what the US government does to people planning attacks on domestic soil.” Ward folded his arms. “Or maybe you help me out a little, and I’ll see what the Attorney General can do about your long-term living arrangements. And when I say ‘living,’ you know what I mean.”

  Robert chuckled. “All very threatening, but by the time the UN decides to help, it will be too late.”

  “Why are you here? You could have stayed under the radar.”

  “You know why.”

  Ward clenched his teeth. “Your son.”

  “Indeed. He had information I required.”

  “You killed your own flesh and blood for a few banking codes?”

  Robert stepped forward. “Oh, it was much more than banking codes, Director. People have died for far less.” He paused, looking the director in the eyes. “Although I had hoped he would stay in the game a little longer.”

  Ward glared back, catching what he thought looked like a hint of remorse in the prisoner’s tone. The FBI director had seen it before: enemy combatants faced with the realities of what they had done. But if Robert Blake had regrets, he wasn’t showing it.

  “Lost for words, Richard?”

  Ward snapped out of his thoughts. “Just enjoying the idea of you rotting away in solitary,” he said. “This is your last chance to appeal to my generous nature. Tell me about what you’ve got planned. There are no more moves open to you.”

  Robert stepped backward, his hands clasped serenely in front of him. “Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.”

  “Sun Tzu,” said Ward, “isn’t going to help you now. You can’t win this.”

  “On the contrary, Director,” Robert said, smiling. “I already have.”

  Chapter 27

  THE MORNING SUN had risen in earnest, blazing its white light across the chilly streets of Washington D.C. as the pair of black Range Rovers pulled up to the curb. The early frosts showed no signs of melting, the eager winds still cold enough to sting Hawkes’ cheeks as he stepped out of the SUV and on to the sidewalk. The back streets were deserted, most of the locals out at work or shut indoors, and Hawkes blew into his hands as the rest of his team assembled, his warm breath fogging in front of his face. Dressed in ugly dark suits, handguns holstered to their ribs, the others converged around the lead vehicle and stood ready.

  “Do we have confirmation?” Hawkes said, aiming the question at Grayson.

  “Yes, sir.” Grayson straightened his tie. “The remaining codes came through a few minutes ago, as planned. We should have the most recent iterations, which gives us an hour before they rotate again.” He checked his watch. “Fifty-seven minutes and forty seconds, to be exact.”

  The others checked their own watches and set the countdown. Hawkes pulled out a security pass with the FBI logo printed on the front. “Let’s hope Patel came through for us. For his sake.”

  “They look legit, sir. He’s not likely to mess with us.”

  Hawkes grunted. “Time to move out.”

  The team nodded in unison and Hawkes marched off, crossing the street and heading toward the hulking J. Edgar Hoover building just a few blocks away. With everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, the colonel knew tensions would be running high at FBI headquarters – a fact he hoped would keep most of the bureau busy while he and his team completed their mission. Still, in the pit of his stomach, Hawkes felt the familiar unease that accompanied any incursion into enemy territory gnawing at him. Gritting his teeth, he focused his mind on other things.

  After thirty years’ service with the United States Marine Corps, a field injury had left the colonel unable to serve. Coupled with what the unit psychologist considered “mental trauma,” Hawkes had been forced to endure the indignity of an early discharge. With more than half his life spent in service, it might as well have been a death sentence. With no family to support, no career left, and no desire to sit behind a desk for the rest of his life, Hawkes had quickly descended into hopelessness. Ten years of sobriety had quickly turned into nightly drinking sessions, then daily. After that, the whiskey never stopped flowing. A mere shadow of the man he once was, Hawkes had come dangerously close to hitting bottom.

  And then Robert Blake had shown up and given him something to believe in again. Had shown him what true freedom meant; freedom from desire, freedom from oppression, freedom from everything modern America stood for. In a country where millions were starving in poverty, he had shown Hawkes that true freedom could only be bought with blood.

  And it was time to cash in.

  Hawkes held up a fist as they drew up to the FBI headquarters. “Game faces, gentlemen,” he said, turning his head to address the others. “ID badges out, eyes down. Don’t look into any of the cameras, and keep close behind me. I’ll do the talking.”

  The team nodded silently. Hawkes turned and headed toward the main entrance, taking the shallow steps one at a time. He felt his pulse quicken, thumping in his ears, and quickly sucked in a deep breath. Reaching the summit, the automatic doors slid open, blasting warm air into the colonel’s face. He caught the scent of floor polish as he stepped inside, the sounds of air-conditioning units humming along in the background. Ahead, the main security checkpoints complete with bulletproof booths, each housing a bored-looking attendant waiting to check visitors’ ID. The employees’ entrances stood a little further back, watched over by an armed guard dressed in a gray uniform.

  Security badge clasped tightly in his hand, Hawkes walked calmly past the nearest booth toward the turnstiles, placing his handgun, wallet, cell phone, and keys into the plastic trays for inspection. The security officer stalked over, producing a metallic wand from his belt. He waved the device over the con
tents of the tray. Apparently satisfied no contraband was present, he returned the wand back to its holster and turned his attention back to Hawkes. The colonel held up his FBI badge, a painstakingly exact replica complete with photograph ID and barcode.

  The guard glanced at the photo and then at Hawkes’ face. “All good sir, go ahead.” He took a few steps back.

  Swiping his card across the reader, the colonel held his breath. A metallic chirp announced the security pass had been accepted, and the turnstile clicked open. Hawkes pushed through, nodding at the security officer as he retrieved his possessions from the tray. The others followed suit, congregating in the hallway.

  Hawkes checked his watch. “They bought the IDs, so as far as anyone here is concerned, we’re just regular special agents. We should have a pretty clear run of the building, assuming Patel’s codes are legit, so move fast and keep your eyes down. Don’t draw your weapons unless you’re forced. We’ve got fifty minutes to clear the building and we’re behind schedule.” He glanced at Grayson. “Take Higgs and Kowalski up to the server room. Get in touch when it’s done. We won’t be able to keep this quiet for long.”

  “Yes, sir.” Grayson waved his team forward.

  “You’ve got eight minutes,” Hawkes said. “Campbell, Stanton - you’re with me. Visiting hours are officially open. Let’s move.”

  Grayson marched off in the opposite direction as Hawkes turned and led his team toward a set of double doors. Swiping his security card, Hawkes pushed through the doorway and headed straight for the elevators at the end of the corridor.

  The metal doors rumbled open, and Hawkes stepped inside, pulling out his cell phone. He scrolled through his messages as Stanton and Campbell entered, the doors sliding closed behind them. Hawkes found the message he was looking for and punched a sequence of numbers into the elevator’s control panel.

  “Seven minutes,” he said, the carriage rocking slightly as it began its descent. “Then all hell breaks loose.”

  Chapter 28

  RICHARD WARD SLAMMED the viewing room door behind him, stepping out into the harshly lit and deserted corridors of Level Zero, anger welling in his gut. Robert Blake had given him nothing, had taunted him with his delusions of escape, and Ward knew he was no closer to understanding what Blake had planned than he had been twelve hours ago. The FBI director sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear his mind, and ran through the facts.

  Robert Blake had shown up just a few weeks after masterminding a hostile takeover of a chemical and biological research company, a division of Blake Investments controlled by his son, who had presumed him dead. Further, he had allowed himself to be taken into custody to draw out his son, seemingly for the purpose of gaining access to whatever Leopold had stashed in his apartment. It was too much of a leap of faith to assume these acts were unrelated.

  So, what the hell is he planning?

  Ward sighed and shook his head. Whatever Blake knew, he was keeping it to himself, and the FBI wasn’t equipped for dealing with uncooperative prisoners. Thankfully, Ward knew plenty of people who were. Maybe it’s time for a prisoner transfer, he thought, setting off at a brisk walk toward the lobby. The idea cheered him up a little.

  Chapter 29

  HAWKES STEADIED HIS breathing as the elevator plunged them deeper and deeper into the belly of the FBI building. Rattling to a standstill, a chime sounded and the doors slid open, flooding the dark carriage with fluorescent light. Ahead, a bright foyer opened up, a fastidious-looking agent manning a reception desk just a few feet in front of a locked door. The colonel glanced at Campbell and Stanton and the two men nodded back silently.

  “ID please, gentlemen,” the agent said, looking up from his desk as the three men approached.

  “No problem.” Hawkes produced his security pass and badge and looked around. “Looking a little empty around here.”

  “Everyone’s on alert since we got the news from Manhattan. Can’t spare the men down here, not when everything’s automated. It’s just me for now.” The agent studied the colonel’s credentials closely before swiping the pass over a magnetic reader. A red light flashed.

  “You don’t have clearance for this area, sir,” he said, handing back the security card. “This is a restricted section. You’ll have to leave.”

  Hawkes felt his heart thump against the inside of his chest. Patel screwed us. “There must be some kind of mistake,” he said. “Try it again.”

  The agent sighed and swiped the card once more. Another red light. “There’s no mistake,” he said. “You’ll have to go back up.”

  Feeling the adrenaline surge through his body, Hawkes instinctively reached down for his handgun. The agent must have noticed, immediately flinching and taking a step back. The colonel reacted, drawing his weapon in one fluid motion, index finger held over the trigger. He felt movement behind him as Stanton and Campbell did the same.

  “What the hell are you doing?” The agent froze, his hand hovering over his jacket opening. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Don’t move,” Hawkes said, his voice steady. He raised the handgun. “This doesn’t have to get messy.”

  The agent held up both hands. “Security will be here any second. There’s no way you’re getting out of here alive if you do anything stupid.”

  “Bullshit. You’re bluffing.” Hawkes studied the agent’s face. “We both know there’s no cameras outside the cells down here. And you haven’t been able to reach the silent alarm.” He waved the gun at the desk. “You need to let us on through. Nobody needs to get hurt.”

  The agent paused, his eyes flickering down, presumably at the alarm button just out of reach beneath the desk. “You’re not going anywhere without the right security clearance. Even I can’t get in there.” He tilted his head at the locked door behind him. “Looks like you’re shit out of luck.”

  Hawkes gritted his teeth. “You’re one to talk.” He took a step closer. “And unless you want to find out what a bullet through the throat feels like, I suggest you find a way of getting us past that door.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “Then it looks like we’re going to have to improvise.” Hawkes gripped his weapon a little tighter.

  Ahead, the sound of locks disengaging forced the colonel to break eye contact. The door blocking their path swung open and a man stepped through. He was dressed in a dark suit, with cropped graying hair and an exhausted look on his face. The man froze in the doorway as he looked up.

  “What the –”

  Hawkes smiled. “Director Ward, I presume?” He switched focus, aiming his handgun at the FBI director’s chest. “Very glad you dropped by. It looks like we’re having a little issue with security.”

  “How the hell did you get down here? Who are you?”

  “That’s not your concern.” Hawkes stepped around the desk and moved toward his new target. “You might be thinking about doing something honorable, but I wouldn’t recommend it.” He nodded at the agent. “He’ll be the first casualty if you try anything stupid.”

  Ward stood his ground. “Do you have any idea where you are?”

  “This place?” Hawkes nodded. “Officially, this place is no-man’s land. An official secret. ‘Level Zero,’ as you like to call it. Catchy name.”

  “Just setting foot in here is a capital offense,” said Ward. “What do you think they’re going to do to you for pulling a gun?”

  Hawkes laughed. “Who’s ‘they’? I don’t see anyone. I guess you’re all a little busy right now.” He glanced at his watch. Three minutes. “Getting inside wasn’t as difficult as most people might think, although running into you has certainly made things a little easier. You people really must learn not to rely on computers for everything.”

  Ward inched forward, his hand still resting on the door handle.

  “Don’t be a hero,” Hawkes said, aiming the gun at the director’s head. “I’d rather get out of here without leaving a pile of bodies if I can help it.”

  “Wh
at do you want?”

  “We’ll get to that. Right now, you’ve got a guest who’s ready to check out.” He waved the gun toward the door. “I suggest you take us on through.”

  “Not going to happen.” Ward shifted his weight.

  Hawkes gritted his teeth. “I’ve read your file, director. You’ve not seen field action in over a decade. What do you think you’re going to achieve?”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Let me tell you how this is going to work. You’re going to march us through to Robert Blake’s cell and you’re going to open it up. Then, you’re going to accompany us out of the building. If you don’t, people are going to get hurt.” He pointed the gun at the agent stood behind him. “Starting with your man here.”

  “Anyone gets hurt, you’re not walking out of here alive.”

  “Last chance, director. You can lead us on through, or we can kill you both and take your security pass. Your choice.”

  Ward shook his head. “Go fuck yourself.”

  Hawkes pulled the trigger. A deafening blast filled the room and the handgun recoiled, sending shockwaves through the colonel’s arm. The agent crumpled, his lifeless body hitting the floor hard. Campbell and Stanton took an instinctive step back.

  “Let’s try this again, shall we?” Hawkes turned his attention back to Ward, whose eyes lay transfixed on the body of his dead colleague. “Eyes on me, Director. Now’s not the time to get distracted.”

  Ward switched his gaze and met the colonel’s stare.

  “That’s better. Time to move.” Hawkes stepped forward and brought the butt of his handgun across the director’s cheek, knocking him sideways. Clutching at his face, Ward stumbled to the side and Hawkes waved his team forward.

  “Which cell?” Hawkes asked, shoving Ward in the back with his free hand. “This isn’t a courtesy call. Pick up the pace.” He pressed the barrel of his gun into the director’s spine and kept moving.