Campbell unbuckled Ward’s seatbelt and shoved him out the door. The director landed hard on the blacktop and sprawled out on his back.
“You’ll get your motor skills back soon enough,” Blake called out. “This is a good opportunity for a little practice. You might want to move before another car comes along.” He turned to Hawkes. “Get us out of here.”
The colonel started the engine, dropped the transmission into Drive and pulled away, tires spinning. The rear vehicle followed. Blake turned the radio down a little. A Creedence song was playing.
Blake said, “You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”
Hawkes shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Spit it out.”
The colonel gripped the wheel a little tighter. He could feel Blake’s eyes boring into him. “Nothing important, sir. I’m just not a fan of loose ends.”
“We need Ward alive. For now.”
“He could be a liability.”
“Perhaps. But he’s the only person who can follow the trail of bread crumbs we left. We’re not working in a vacuum here. We need eyes on us. Every good show needs an audience.”
“Yes, sir.”
Blake settled back in his seat. “Speaking of loose ends, tell me what happened in New York. I gave you very specific instructions.”
“It was unavoidable, sir.”
“How, exactly?”
Hawkes felt Blake’s eyes on him again. He chose his words carefully. “They brought bomb technicians with them. We risked them figuring out how to defuse the device.”
“And you calculated this risk personally?”
“Yes, sir.”
Blake sighed and nodded. “Give me your hand, Colonel.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
Hawkes held out his hand and Blake took it.
“You know, Colonel, when a person lies, their blood pressure increases. An unavoidable consequence, and one that is easy enough to detect.” He paused. “Slow down a little.”
Hawkes complied, dropping the Range Rover down to fifty. He felt Blake grab hold of his index finger, holding it tight. He felt his pulse rate quicken, his finger started throbbing from the increased blood pressure. The colonel kept his eyes on the road, reduced their speed to forty.
Blake continued, “While I’m sure you did what you thought was necessary for the good of the mission, you disobeyed a direct order. Leopold Blake was not to be harmed.”
“I had no choice, sir.” Hawkes felt the pressure on his finger increase.
“I’m sure you didn’t. But for every action, there are consequences.” He paused. “I do, however, applaud your focus. I’d like to see just how focused you can be.”
“Sir?”
“Whatever you do, Colonel, keep your eyes on the road.”
Hawkes yelled out as Blake wrenched his finger up and to the side. He felt the crunch of bone. Pain shot through his skull. He kept his free hand on the wheel, desperately trying to hold the vehicle steady. The SUV rocked from side to side and Hawkes took his foot off the gas, a thousand needles stabbing through his brain. He pushed the intense pain from his mind and concentrated on keeping the vehicle on the road. He felt the traction control and steering assist kick in, coaxing them back into a straight line. The Range Rover swerved, but kept to the blacktop.
Blake let go. “Very good.” He let the colonel’s hand drop. “You can speed up a little now. We’ve got a deadline to meet.”
Hawkes gritted his teeth and nodded. “Yes, sir.” He eased back onto the gas. The pain in his hand increased. He tried to ignore it, steadied his breathing. Deep breaths in, slow breaths out. The throbbing intensified, sending waves of agony all up his arm and into his shoulders. It felt like a proximal phalanx base fracture. Agonizing but manageable. The next two hours were going to be hell, but Hawkes was damned if he was going to let it show.
“I’ll get us there just fine, sir,” he said.
Chapter 34
MARSHALL PULLED THE Suburban over to the side of the road, still talking on his phone. Mary yawned and stretched, the two-hour drive taking its toll on her tired body, and glanced out the window. The Port of New York and New Jersey stretched out ahead, spilling over toward the Hudson River and the Atlantic Ocean a little further south. The largest port on the East Coast, third largest in the US, the operation handled upward of five million cargo shipments each year. Mary figured it would be easy enough to sneak something through, even with modern security and scanning systems. It was never possible to check everything.
They were in some kind of industrial area, maybe a half mile or more from the waterfront, with warehouses and storage depots on either side of the road, fenced off behind tall metal gates or sealed up behind steel shutters. Most of the structures looked like they had seen better days, but their designs favored function over form. Structurally, they were sound. Mary glanced around, took in the view. She couldn’t see any other traffic, no signs of life. Other than the distant sounds of the city, the air was silent and dull.
Marshall killed the engine and hung up the phone. He turned to face Mary and she noticed a trace of worry in his eyes.
He said, “We’ve got a problem.”
Mary glanced up at him. “So, what else is new?”
“I’m serious. Something’s happened.” He hesitated. “Robert Blake escaped.”
Mary blinked hard. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It happened this morning,” Marshall said, shaking his head. “Nobody knows how, exactly. They’re still checking the security tapes. The alarms went off, triggered by someone apparently accessing the main servers. Caused a building-wide shut down. Blake got out in the confusion.”
Mary closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “How? No way he could have pulled that off from inside his cell. He couldn’t have been working alone.”
“No doubt. He must have had help. Nobody can get in and out without the right security passes.”
“You’ve got a leak?”
Marshall sighed. “Looks that way. But it gets worse.”
“How could it be worse?”
“Nobody’s seen Director Ward since the alarms went off. He’s MIA.”
Mary rubbed her temples. Shit.
“Prevailing theory is whoever got Blake out must have got hold of Ward too. In the meantime, Deputy Director Burke is running the show,” said Marshall. “Suffice to say, he wasn’t exactly overjoyed to hear from me. You know, once he got over the fact I wasn’t dead.”
“Ward didn’t brief him?”
“Guess he didn’t have time.”
“What did he say?”
Marshall took a moment. “We can trust Burke, if that’s what you mean. He agreed we need to find out more. Off the record, of course.”
“No official support on this?”
“Not yet. We don’t have any evidence right now. There’d be too many questions, ones we have no chance of answering.”
Mary folded her arms. “Then we’d better go find something we can use. The location Kate sent through isn’t far from here. We should get moving.”
“Agreed,” said Marshall. “Let’s just hope the trip was worth it.”
***
Mary spotted the car within a few seconds. They had left the Suburban a little further up the road, parked out of sight, and now she and Marshall were on foot. They had headed south, Mary checking the directions her sister had sent through, and were now on Tripoli Street.
“That her?” Marshall asked, squinting ahead.
Mary nodded. The car was an old Ford, white, and a little run down. It stood about two hundred feet away, parked up near an old storage unit housed behind a tall wire fence. This unit looked even shabbier than its neighbors, adorned with hastily sprayed graffiti and with a rusted-over corrugated steel roof. It was the equivalent height of a two-story building, though it probably didn’t have a second floor, and looked large enough to house four or five city buses side by side within
. The white Ford seemed to be the only vehicle on the lot.
“Looks like her car,” Mary said. “Guess she hasn’t traded up in a while.”
“Perfect vehicle for her kind of work. Bland, almost invisible.”
“The FBI could learn a thing or two.” Mary smiled and quickened her pace.
“Maybe. But you’d struggle running down a perp in a beat-up sedan.”
Mary laughed, almost catching herself by surprise. She felt a smile linger on her lips for a few seconds. Things were starting to look a little better. The weather had improved, her fatigue had taken a back seat, and Marshall was turning out to be a pleasant road-trip companion. He’d even paid for breakfast. Not bad to look at, either. Mary stole a quick glance behind her and caught his eye. He smiled.
“Something on your mind?” he said.
“Nothing important.” Mary turned back to face the front, feeling her cheeks get hot. “Keep your eyes open. Kate’s probably hiding around here somewhere.”
“What does she look like?”
Mary didn’t reply. Up ahead, she spotted an open gate in the fence. “This way,” she said. “She must have driven in through here.”
Leading the way, Mary marched through the entrance and into the mostly empty lot, scanning the area for movement. Her brain whirred, trying to process her environment, but it proved more difficult than usual. Between finding out about Robert Blake’s escape, Director Ward’s apparent kidnapping, and the prospect of seeing her sister for the first time in years, Mary found it tough to focus.
They reached the car and Mary slowed her pace. Her hand drifted instinctively to her hip before she remembered she hadn’t taken her off-duty weapon from her apartment the night before. She made a mental note to blame Leopold for that one.
“I’ve got you covered,” Marshall said from behind her. “Let’s try not to draw too much attention. Keep it slow and natural.”
“This isn’t my first time at the rodeo, you know,” Mary said, feeling a flash of irritation. “Just make sure you’ve got my back.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mary caught the note of sarcasm. “And don’t call me ‘ma’am.’”
A scuffling noise made both Mary and Marshall flinch. Marshall reached for his weapon, his hand at his hip.
“Am I interrupting you two?” A woman’s voice sounded from somewhere in front of them. Mary heard the sound of footsteps and a figure appeared from around the corner of the warehouse. She was dressed in casual clothes; slim-fitting jeans, dark blue halter top and a light raincoat. Her hair was shoulder length and brown and she stood a little under five eight. Mary felt her stomach lurch.
The woman took a few steps closer and then stopped, folding her arms. “What’s up, sis?”
“Kate,” Mary said. “Making a grand entrance, as always, I see.”
Kate ignored her and looked over Mary’s shoulder. “Who’s your friend?”
Marshall took a step forward. “Special Agent Jack Marshall.” He kept his hand on his hip.
“Relax,” said Kate. “I’m unarmed. Not that I’d be particularly interested in shooting anybody.” She glanced at Mary. “That’s more her thing.”
“Let’s keep this professional, shall we?” said Mary, pushing any remaining irritation from her mind and switching into cop mode. “How about you give us an update on the situation?”
“Like I said, the CDC sent us a bunch of red flags and I’m following up. This place,” she jerked a thumb at the beat up warehouse, “came up plenty of times on the network chatter. I wouldn’t have paid it any attention if it weren’t for the Chemworks fiasco, but the leads match up. So I figure this is a good place to start looking.”
“Doesn’t look like much,” said Marshall.
“That’s kinda the point.”
“Security?”
Kate shook her head. “I’ve scoped it out best I can, and all I’ve seen is a big ol’ rusty padlock. Not that I was expecting anything high tech.”
“Why?” Marshall sounded surprised.
Mary decided to join the conversation. “State-of-the-art security systems require you to be plugged into the telecom grid,” she said. “Any number of law enforcement agencies could pick up the signal, even if they found a way to reroute it. Besides, having a bunch of fancy cameras stuck onto a crappy shed like this is going to draw unnecessary attention.” She paused. “The real security of a place like this is anonymity.”
Marshall nodded. “Okay, so how do we get in? I’m guessing they didn’t leave the key under the door mat.”
“Leave that to me,” said Kate, striding over to her car and popping open the trunk. “I’ve got a key of my own.”
Chapter 35
“STILL AWAKE?”
Leopold heard Jerome’s deep voice and looked up. The hotel suite was bathed in dim yellow light from the automatic systems, dropped down to the lowest ambient setting, and Leopold sat in the living room. He had tossed and turned in bed for over an hour, sleep clawing at him, but had been unable to settle. His brain hadn’t stopped whirring since his head had hit the pillow.
“Can’t sleep either?” Leopold replied, eyeing the glass of Scotch he had poured himself and left on the coffee table. It was half empty.
“I heard you get up.”
“You’re always on duty, aren’t you?”
“Kinda have to be with you around.” The giant bodyguard settled down on the opposite couch, the frame groaning slightly under his weight. “Something on your mind?”
Leopold picked up the crystal whisky tumbler and took a sip of the musky liquid. It tasted like Scotch should taste, peaty and full of warmth. “Isn’t there always?”
“Come to any conclusions?”
“Only questions.”
“Well, that’s not so bad. You need questions before you can get answers.”
Leopold snorted. “Since when are you so philosophical.”
“Like I said before, maybe it’s time we reevaluated my job title.”
“You’re still not getting a raise.”
Jerome cracked a smile and settled back into the plush leather. “What questions did you come up with?”
“There’s the obvious ones, of course. Like how the hell my father managed to convince the world he was dead for the best part of two decades, and what made him do it. And why he’s decided to show himself now.” Leopold took another hit of Scotch. “And why go to all the trouble to draw me out of the apartment only to have me killed once I get back there? Why not just shoot me in the back of the head? It all seems so…” He trailed off.
“Unnecessary,” said Jerome.
“Right. And the only explanation I can fathom is that he never intended for me to be killed in the first place. Which invites the question: why does he want me alive? Why not have me out of the picture?”
“He is you father, remember.”
“By blood, sure. But if those files the FBI showed me are even partly true, none of that counts for much. I need to understand why he’s doing these things. Then maybe I can figure out what he’s planning.”
“Any thoughts?”
“He must have scouted the apartment back in New York at some point. No way he’d assume everything he needed was in there.”
“We’re out often enough. Even our security systems aren’t impenetrable. And with your father’s resources…”
“Exactly. So he knew that I had everything he needed to take control of my assets stashed in the penthouse. But he needed a distraction. And, for some reason, he needed to get inside the FBI headquarters.”
Jerome frowned. “They must have information he wants.”
“So, while everyone thinks I’m the main target, he’s actually hitting two places at once. Setting the explosion makes for a nice distraction.”
“Or maybe a show of force. A sign of things to come.”
“Let’s hope Mary and her new friend figure that out in time. Otherwise we’re stuck here sitting on our hands.”
Jerome sighed. “It’s late. Maybe figure this out in the morning when your head’s in the game.”
“My head is always in the game.”
“Except we’re not winning.”
“We will. We always do. We’re just going to need some help.”
Jerome nodded. “Any ideas where to start?”
“A few. We’ll get started in the morning. I think I know someone who might be able to help. Assuming I don’t get shot before I get a chance to ask.”
“Sounds like a safe plan,” said Jerome, sarcastically.
“It’s the only one we’ve got right now. And I’m damned if I’m going to sit here and let everyone else fix this situation without me.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Sun Tzu said that the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting,” said Leopold, getting up and draining the last of his drink. “But personally, I think it’s time for a serious ass kicking.”
Chapter 36
ANY TRACES OF the morning dew had long since vanished, and Richard Ward started to feel the heat even though summer had come and gone. The sun was hiding behind a thick coat of clouds and it wasn’t exactly warm, but the humidity out in the open country felt oppressive. The damp air hung stifling and sticky, and the director knew he wasn’t exactly dressed for a hike in his tailored suit and black leather brogues. He had loosened his tie, but he could still feel the sweat trickling down his back as he strode through an overgrown meadow toward the silhouette of an old farmhouse on the horizon. Or, what he hoped was a farmhouse.
The gas station had been derelict, the pumps all grimy and the registers unmanned. Nobody had bothered much with boarding up the place; a simple padlock and some spray paint over most of the windows seemed to have done the trick. Ward wasn’t sure whether Robert Blake had known the gas station would be of no help, but the director wouldn’t have put it past him.
A two-hour hike along the highway, all for nothing. And now, Ward was stomping over some Godforsaken farmland in the hope of finding someone with a telephone, and maybe a cold glass of water and something to eat.
Fallen: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers Book 5) Page 13