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

by Nick Stephenson

  “Something on your mind?” Marshall asked.

  “Yeah. I was just thinking: what’s out next move?”

  “How about breakfast?”

  Mary smiled. “No, I mean, we’re supposed to be dead, right? Where do we go from here?”

  Marshall got up and headed for the door. “I’m still voting for breakfast.”

  ***

  They found a diner a few miles down the highway. Marshall had collected the security deposit from reception, minus a few bucks for “administrative fees”, or so the clerk had said, and stuffed the rest of the bills back into his wallet. A short drive later, they had found a booth at some joint that served breakfast late.

  Mary had bacon and pancakes with syrup, more coffee on the side. Marshall ordered poached eggs on whole grain toast and a glass of orange juice. The pancakes tasted good. The cooks served them to order, the smell of fried batter and the sound of hissing griddles filling the place. The diner was packed, but the servers kept pace.

  “We need to find Ward,” Mary said, polishing off her breakfast.

  “And tell him what?”

  “Maybe he’s got a lead.”

  “He would have called.”

  “Your cell phone working?”

  “I had a spare.”

  Mary sighed. “You got a better idea? We can’t do much by ourselves.”

  “We need to figure out what was in Blake’s apartment. Someone wanted something out of there bad. If we can link his father to this, we might figure out what’s going on.” He paused. “Can you think of anything? Anything at all that Leopold might have in his possession that his father would kill for.”

  Mary sipped her coffee. It wasn’t as good as the gas station stuff. “We were working on something before all this happened. A while ago, there was some kind of mess involving an obscure division of Leopold’s company. They were wrapped up in a scandal involving chemical research. Before we knew it, someone on the board of directors staged a coup and sold it off to some private buyer. We weren’t able to trace it.”

  “And you think it’s connected?”

  “Leopold said whoever orchestrated the whole thing must have had intimate knowledge of how Blake Investments worked. Not to mention a personal connection with the people who worked there. Leopold actually said the only person he could picture pulling it off was himself.”

  “Or the next best thing.” Marshall finished his toast. “Any way to verify this? Anyone on the inside we can talk to?”

  Mary gritted her teeth. “I was afraid you might ask that.” She drained the last of her coffee. “I’m going to need to borrow your phone.”

  ***

  Back in the Suburban, Mary cranked up the heaters and used Marshall’s phone to dial a number from memory. She was surprised she could still remember the digits after all these years. The call went through, and a female voice answered.

  “This is Jordan,” the voice said.

  Mary felt herself tense a little. “Kate. Hope this isn’t a bad time.”

  A long pause.

  “Kate? You there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.” Another pause. “Though I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

  “I wasn’t expecting it either.” Mary sighed. Felt her toes warm up a little. “I need your help with something.”

  “Let me guess; Blake’s up to something again?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “I’m late for a meeting,” said Kate. “You’ll have to get to the point.”

  “Last time we spoke, you tried to warn me about Chemworks. The company that Blake Investments used for chemical research.”

  “Yeah. The WHO has had its eye on them for a long time.”

  “You mentioned you had an informant. One who might be willing to blow the whistle.”

  “What’s this all about?”

  Mary gripped the handset a little tighter. She’s not making this easy. “There’s been a complication.”

  “I’ll say. At least when Blake ran the damn thing, we could keep tabs on him. Now, we have no idea who’s pulling the strings. Based on what we think is going on, that’s not exactly good news.”

  “We think your informant might be able to help with that. We have an idea of who might be behind all this.”

  “Care to fill me in?”

  “Quid pro quo, Kate. Tell me about your informant.”

  “You first.”

  Mary shook her head. Really not making this easy. Marshall looked over at her from the driver’s seat.

  “Fine,” Mary said. “But you’re going to be late for your meeting.”

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, Mary finished speaking. The line went quiet for a while. She turned down the heaters a little. Marshall looked at her again, his eyes quizzical. Mary heard a rustling noise on the other end of the phone and pressed the handset to her ear.

  “That’s a lot to take in,” Kate said eventually.

  “A lot’s happened.”

  “And you’re officially supposed to be dead?”

  “For the time being.”

  “Gotta say, you don’t do things half-assed, do you?”

  “Can you help or not?”

  Kate hesitated. “There’s a problem.”

  “Isn’t there always?”

  “My informant, the one working for Chemworks; I haven’t heard from him in months.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “Yes. He would usually send some kind of update on a weekly basis. Since the company was sold, nothing.”

  Mary swore. “So I guess we’re screwed.”

  “No more than usual,” said Kate. She sucked in a deep breath. “There might be something else we can do.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “There have been rumors, unsubstantiated of course. The CDC watch files have records of everything and anything that might represent a threat to public health and safety. They pull from the Coast Guard, local PD, FBI. There’s too much in there for one department to handle, of course. But some of the leads wind up at the WHO, and some of those wind up on my desk. It’s my job to investigate and verify.”

  “And you’ve got something?”

  “It might be nothing. We got notice of a shipment that came through New Jersey last week. Paperwork raised a few alarm bells.”

  “Something unusual about it?”

  “Not really. Not enough to get any sort of official movement, but the shipment was bound for an address that’s shown up a few times in the watch files. It’s all circumstantial, of course, but that’s my job. Figure out what’s real, what’s not. With everything you’ve told me, the timing seems a little suspect.”

  “And you were planning on telling me this when?”

  “C’mon, Mary, we’ve barely spoken in years. Why the hell would I? I had no idea what was going on until you told me.”

  “When are you heading out?”

  “I hadn’t planned on checking it just yet. I had other priorities. But now…”

  “Now I think you need to get your ass in gear,” said Mary. “When can you get out there?”

  “I can be there later today.”

  “Good. Text me the address, I’ll meet you there.” Mary hung up and handed the phone back to Marshall.

  “Check your messages in a few minutes,” she said. “We’re going on a little road trip.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  Marshall dropped the Suburban into gear and rolled it out of the parking lot. “I’ll need to call in to Washington, let Director Ward know what’s going on.”

  Mary nodded. “Sounds like we’ll have plenty to tell him. Find out what support we can expect, if any.” She settled back into her seat and closed her eyes. “We’re going to need it.”

  Chapter 32

  IT WAS ALREADY ten p.m. local time when Leopold and Jerome touched down outside Shanghai. Generally reserved for private and domestic flights, Longhua airport was the smallest
airfield within driving distance of the city, making it an ideal spot to touch down without much fanfare. Captain Gray arranged for a shuttle car to take them to the edge of the airfield and wished them luck. Leopold wasn’t sure he meant it. Outside, the temperature hovered around a brisk fifty-five degrees and the sky was a muddy blur. The light pollution from downtown Shanghai blocked out most of the stars, but the moon shone clearly through the gaps in the clouds.

  The car dropped them by the main gate. The driver hadn’t spoken a word. He drove off into the night, leaving Leopold and Jerome alone. They found themselves in a residential area, a wide highway separating them from the rows of apartment blocks on the other side of the road. Despite the late hour, the vehicle traffic was considerable.

  “Nice place,” Jerome said, stalking off toward the busy streets. “We’re going to need a taxi.”

  “You got any cash on you?”

  Jerome stopped and turned. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I don’t carry cash. And we can’t use credit cards if we want to stay hidden.”

  “I got a couple hundred dollars, American.”

  “That’ll do.” Leopold caught up with him. “When we get to the safe house, I know a place. We’ll get some supplies, then go looking for intel.”

  “One thing at a time,” Jerome said. “First priority is finding somewhere to spend the night. I don’t relish the idea of sleeping on the streets.” He set off again, heading for a bar across the road. The windows glowed bright as people spilled out onto the sidewalk.

  Jerome pushed through the doors and Leopold followed. The bar looked full, playing loud music. Leopold didn’t understand the words, but the song seemed popular. A few of the more inebriated clientele sang along. He noticed the smell of cigarettes, the national smoking ban obviously not well enforced, and an odor of stale beer, sharp and tangy. Jerome slapped a ten-dollar bill on the bar and asked if the barman spoke English. After a few minutes of negotiation, Jerome borrowed the man’s cell phone and called a cab. He handed the phone back.

  “Let’s wait outside,” he said, turning to Leopold. “We’re not exactly blending in right now.”

  “Agreed. And if I have to listen to this music much longer, I’m taking the next flight back home.”

  ***

  The taxi was an old Volkswagen perhaps five years past its prime, with a torquey -diesel engine that propelled the car forward in uneven lurches. Leopold and Jerome sat in the back, holding on as the driver wove in and out of the packed traffic without dropping speed. On the backs of the seats, small LCD screens played cheerful commercials in Mandarin, Cantonese, and English. A small notice taped to the partition glass said the driver accepted American Dollars, as well as credit cards.

  Outside, Shanghai rolled past in all its jumbled brilliance; ancient architecture mixed in with modern skyscrapers, rundown apartment blocks, family-owned food carts, wide highways, and thumping night clubs flashed by. Car horns sounded in unison, a chorus of honking and bleating as pedestrians navigated the packed spaces between bumpers to get to the other side of the road while traffic waited at the lights.

  After thirty minutes, the driver wrenched the car through an intersection and pulled up near a hotel complex. He kept the engine running and tapped the meter with an index finger. Jerome handed three twenties over and the driver passed him a business card.

  “You call any time, I can be here,” the driver said. “Discount if you pay cash.”

  Jerome said he’d think about it.

  All paid up, they climbed out of the cab and shut the doors. The driver pulled away and merged with the other traffic, heading back toward downtown. Leopold glanced around, pulled his jacket a little tighter as the wind picked up. He noticed a cool, damp smell mixed in with the rotten-egg stink of sulfuric exhaust gasses. Ahead, an intersection linked up four three-lane roads, with a wide pedestrian crossing through the middle, which none of the cars seemed to notice. The main highway out to Pudong International Airport loomed above them, fifty feet up and on concrete stilts, and the Longchamps Hotel stood to the rear.

  “I think it’s about time we checked in,” said Leopold. “Maybe get some room service.”

  “In my day, safe houses didn’t do catering,” said Jerome.

  “What’s safer than a hotel? Try to relax a little. Nobody knows we’re here.” Leopold headed for the main entrance. “The suite is bought and paid for. And it doesn’t get much more incognito than this.”

  He stepped through a set of revolving doors and into the lobby. Jerome followed. Ahead, a lone receptionist waited at her desk. Behind her, a bank of elevators and a single uniformed porter. The decor looked Western, the staff’s clothes looked Western, even the music playing over the sound system was Western. Everything designed to make Americans and Europeans feel at home, a perfect place for two foreigners to lay low. Hidden in plain sight, lost in a sea of fellow strangers, with an army of hotel employees to keep watch.

  Off to the side, a bar was still serving drinks. A dozen or so tired-looking guests sat in the leather armchairs, sipping beer or glasses of wine. A few of them chatted, but most kept to themselves. Leopold headed for the receptionist. She looked up, smiled, and asked for a room number.

  “Imperial Suite Four,” Leopold said.

  The receptionist checked her computer. “And you must be Mr. Higginbotham,” she said, with a slight accent. “Good to see you again, sir. I hope you enjoy your stay.” She handed a plastic key card over. “Please let me know if you need anything. Anything at all.”

  ***

  “Higginbotham?” Leopold said, unlocking the door to the suite. “I thought I was supposed to be Hardcastle.”

  “I change the names every few months,” Jerome said. “Plus, you don’t really look like a Hardcastle.”

  “What does it matter what I look like?”

  “Higginbotham suits you better.”

  “Fine. And who are you supposed to be?”

  “The guest list has me down as Armstrong.”

  “Why do you get the good name?”

  “It’s just a name. Relax.”

  “Whatever. Next time, I get to pick.” Leopold opened the door and stepped inside. The suite looked spacious, Leopold guessed around fifteen-hundred square feet, with a large living area, eat-in kitchen, balcony, and two bedrooms. The decor was simple yet tasteful, with Western and Chinese influences. The plate glass windows presented a fine view across the city, the gentle roar of the heavy traffic below just about audible through the thick glass. Even at this late hour, the neighborhood was bustling.

  “We’ll get some sleep, then head out in the morning,” Jerome said. “And we’ll need some cash, some IDs, couple of prepaid phones.”

  “Cash first. The rest will come easy after that.” He paused. “What’s the cover?”

  “We’re board members for a motion picture production firm shooting in China. I’ve got the room on a long term lease, under one of the shell companies.”

  “How long until someone traces us?”

  “No way to be sure. If your father got his hands on your personal data and he’s looking in the right place, maybe a few days. But he won’t be looking for you, not if he thinks you’re out of the picture.”

  “Just to be safe, we’ll try to find somewhere else in the morning. God knows how long we’re going to be stuck here, I’d rather not have to sleep with a gun under my pillow.”

  Jerome grinned. “Knowing you, that’s a perfect way to get your head blown off. I’d rather avoid you dying twice, if I can help it.”

  “No promises,” Leopold said, heading for the bedroom.

  Chapter 33

  AN HOUR OUT of Baltimore, Hawkes turned off the Pulaski Highway and hit the back roads. The Range Rover handled the shift in terrain seamlessly, and the colonel kept one eye on the rear view mirror. The second vehicle kept pace, a few car-lengths behind them. Outside, the Maryland countryside rolled past, all green and wet and empty. Blake sat in the passenger
seat, Campbell sat in the back. The unconscious Richard Ward lay slumped next to Campbell. Hawkes heard him stirring.

  The colonel hadn’t expected him to wake up for another half an hour, but now was as good a time as any. This wasn’t the movies; a solid hit to the skull could put a man down for hours, then hours more dealing with nausea and disorientation. No jumping up on your feet after a serious concussion. Hawkes wondered how quickly Ward would recover.

  “Time to make a stop, I think,” Blake said.

  Hawkes nodded. They had spent most of the journey in silence. The radio was on, some local station playing old rock music that Hawkes figured was as good a choice as any for a short road trip. Somehow, it matched the scenery.

  Blake said, “Pull in here. Wake him up.”

  Campbell nudged the FBI director with his elbow as Hawkes rolled the vehicle to the side of the road and killed the engine. A few seconds later, the second Range Rover followed suit. Ward groaned and sat up, blinking.

  “Welcome back, Director,” Blake said, turning in his seat.

  Ward lifted a palm to his face.

  “You might feel a little out of sorts for a while. Try not to panic.”

  “Where the hell am I?” Ward asked.

  “The middle of nowhere,” Blake said. “As I said, I’m not planning on killing you, but I’m afraid we don’t have room for passengers.” He nodded at Campbell and Campbell opened the rear passenger door.

  “What are you doing?”

  Blake smiled. “We passed a gas station a few miles back. You can phone for someone to pick you up. Better get moving.”

  “Why are you letting me go?”

  “Killing you doesn’t benefit me right now,” Blake said. “And you’re no threat to me. Consider this a gift.” He nodded at Campbell again.