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

by Nick Stephenson

  “Three million? You want me toying with pocket change, or do you want results?” The American slumped back in the chair, obviously a little too at ease.

  Chung bristled, but fought the urge to retaliate. If the American was as good as Zhang apparently thought he was, it would be best to keep him happy. At least for now.

  “You are unproven,” Chung said, “and therefore a liability. I shouldn’t need to lecture you about risk.”

  “Greater risk equals greater reward.”

  “It also equals greater risk of a bullet through your skull.”

  The American sat up a little straighter.

  Chung continued, “There are other forces at play here. We are not the only group making a run at the stock market. I expect results, but I’m a patient man. I focus on the long play.” He hesitated. “You will start with three million. You will invest as you see fit. But I expect to see results. If you succeed, we will give you more to invest on our behalf. You’ll get a cut of ten percent from the profits.”

  The American shook his head. “Twenty percent.”

  “You’re not in a position to negotiate.”

  “Funny. I was about to say the same thing about you.”

  Chung opened his mouth to answer but a series of loud noises cut him off. Somewhere outside the office, the sound of gunfire rattled and boomed, echoing off the hard concrete surfaces. Chung tensed, his survival instinct kicking in. He heard a gurgling scream, then more gunshots. Someone was shouting something in English.

  The American didn’t flinch. Chung realized too late what was happening and lunged for his desk drawer, where he kept his gun. He fumbled with the handle as the noise outside intensified, but couldn’t get it to budge.

  Locked.

  Chung glanced around frantically for the key. He heard another muffled scream and the sound of something heavy slamming against the door.

  “If you’re going to do something,” said the American, “can you hurry it up a little?”

  Chung bit down a scream of rage and gave up with the drawer. He jumped to his feet and lunged at the gweilo, giving up any plans involving the SIG Sauer locked away in his desk.

  He grabbed hold of the American’s jacket and drew back a fist. He let his instincts take over, drawing on fifty years’ experience inside Shanghai’s most ruthless crime syndicate. The adrenaline rushed through him, feeding his aging muscles. Whatever happened next, at least he’d go down fighting.

  An honorable death.

  Chung threw his fist forward, aiming for the American’s nose. He heard a splintering crash, and the office door exploded from its hinges, sending shards of wood flying across the room.

  His concentration wavering, Chung didn’t notice the American writhe out of his grip. The gweilo ducked and shoved forward, sending the Triad boss stumbling backward into his desk. Chung yelped as his back slammed into the hard wood.

  There was movement in the doorway and a figure stepped through into the office. He saw a white woman with bright red hair, dressed in dark combat clothes. She was holding a submachine gun in both hands.

  Chung ignored the pain stabbing through his body and clenched his fists. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and composed himself.

  All of life is a dream walking, all of death is a going home.

  Chung opened his eyes and let out a roar. Pushing off from the desk, he charged at the woman with the submachine gun, his mind sparking off a thousand frantic thoughts at once.

  She raised her weapon and fired a burst of shots, hitting him squarely in the chest. He went down hard, his vision spinning as he hit the carpet. No pain, only a vague sense of disorientation.

  Then his heart stopped beating.

  In the split second before his death, Chung Mon felt a smile cross his lips. Then there was only peace.

  Chapter 54

  “YOUR TIMING IS impeccable.” Leopold glanced down at the body of the Triad boss and then back at Kane.

  “Did you get anything useful?” Kane shouldered her weapon.

  “You could say that.”

  “Spill it.” She turned to face the door. “Walk and talk. We need to get out of here.”

  Leopold followed her outside the office. The reception area outside had been ripped to shreds. Bullet holes littered the bare walls, the bodies of the gang members slumped all over the floors. He noticed Zhang, his suit all bloody and torn, lying up against the desk. The computer had been blown to pieces.

  “They gave me a list of stocks,” Leopold said, “and asked me to advise some trades.”

  “Anything suspicious?” asked Kane, stepping over one of the bodies.

  “They weren’t interested in my first proposal. They got a little more excited when I suggested a different tactic.”

  “What was your first proposal?”

  “Taking advantage of currency fluctuations and embedded derivatives.”

  Kane blinked. “I won’t bother pretending I know what that means. What was your second proposal?”

  “Fear.”

  “Come again?”

  Leopold took a deep breath. “The market drops when the public gets uneasy. The simplest way to predict that is to be the cause of the unrest.”

  “You’re advocating terrorism?”

  Leopold shrugged. “It’s an effective plan.”

  Kate opened her mouth to reply, but her team’s arrival cut her short. They appeared to have finished checking the building.

  “Area secured,” one of them said, shouldering his weapon. Leopold couldn’t remember his name.

  “Damage report.”

  “Fifteen down, including the Dragon Head.” He kneeled down and picked up a shell casing. “We should make sure they find these.”

  Kane glanced back at Leopold. “We picked up a crate of ammo from the same guy who supplies some of the rival gangs,” she explained. “Just in case.”

  “Very thorough,” said Leopold.

  “Speaking of which...” Kane turned as she noticed Li Huan approach. He looked a little shaky.

  “You holding up okay?” Kane asked.

  Huan nodded. “I wasn’t sure the boss would be here. I met with Zhang, as usual, but today is the first time I’ve met Chung.”

  “Well, they always say you never get to make a first impression twice.” She looked him up and down. “Better get ready.”

  “Are you sure we’ve got to do this?” Huan asked.

  “Afraid so.”

  “Do what?” Leopold asked.

  Kane unholstered her sidearm. “It’s got to look authentic. We can’t sell the story of a rival gang with Huan here looking like he’s just come out of the spa.”

  Huan screwed up his eyes. “Just make it quick.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  “Yeah. Get it over with.”

  Kane aimed the pistol at Huan’s shoulder. “I’m only going to clip you. When the others find you later, just say you hid.”

  Huan nodded feverishly, his eyes still bunched shut.

  “Ready? Three... Two...”

  Kane fired. With a yelp, Huan spun around as the round slammed into his shoulder. He was lifted off his feet and landed hard on the cold ground. Eyes wide, he clutched at the wound, a pool of blood already forming on his shirt.

  “Y-you said y-you were just going to c-clip me,” he said, gasping for air.

  Kane stepped over and kneeled down. She inspected the wound. “Didn’t catch any major arteries.” She lifted his arm carefully, making him wince. “Bullet went straight through. Keep pressure on that, you’ll be fine.” She stood up and turned to address her team. “Clear up any evidence we were here. Make sure Huan is comfortable, then let’s move out.”

  The three men nodded. Two of them marched off toward the back of the room, while the third helped Huan to his feet, presumably to find a suitable hiding place.

  “You were saying?” said Kane, holstering her weapon.

  “Uh...” Leopold couldn’t shake the image of
Huan pirouetting through the air like a ragdoll in a hurricane.

  “You were giving me a reason not to leave your sorry ass behind,” said Kane, brusquely. “Better make it quick.”

  “Okay,” Leopold said, collecting his thoughts. “These guys are looking for some serious action. I showed them a relatively safe way to make some cash, but they wanted more.”

  “Sounds like a typical triad to me.”

  “No, this was different. More than just greed. It was almost as if these guys were desperate.”

  “And?”

  “And they seemed pretty interested in my idea about taking advantage of public unease to make propitious trades.”

  Kane nodded. “Leveraging the bomb attack to make money as the stock market takes a dive. Yeah, I got that much. It’s smart.” She paused. “Pure evil, but smart.”

  “They wouldn’t be the only ones to ever profit from human misery,” said Leopold. “There were five new billionaires the day after the Twin Towers fell. All they’d have to do is figure out when and where the next major attack might happen, and...” he trailed off.

  Kane looked at him. “What?”

  Leopold felt his pulse quicken. “Jesus, it all makes sense.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The data he stole from my apartment, the company accounts...”

  “Blake. Spit it out.”

  Leopold turned and headed for the door.

  “What the hell are you doing?” asked Kane, catching up and matching his pace.

  “Where’s Jerome?”

  “Outside. Watching the perimeter.”

  “Good,” said Leopold, quickening his step. “You’d better call ahead and get that plane fired up – we need to get back to New York. Now.”

  Chapter 55

  MARY AND MARSHALL stepped out of the elevator and headed down the hall. The RTCC, or Real Time Crime Center, was an information center housed on the eleventh floor of 1 Police Plaza, and was the NYPD’s pride and joy. The center, built in 2005, had been designed to house an immense data warehouse of more than thirty-three billion public records, as well as provide real-time access to CCTV feeds and satellite imagery.

  The sound of the air conditioning and the click clack of keyboards were the only sounds Mary could hear as she and Marshall stepped into the control room. Mary felt a blast of chilled air against her skin, the HVAC systems obviously working overtime to keep the processors cool.

  The control room took up a large proportion of the floor. A sealed off area with wall-to-wall computer monitors and workstations, the RTCC housed a dozen-strong team of expert operators. Mary noticed the giant view screen mounted to the far wall, displaying a variety of different surveillance feeds from around the city. The whole place reminded Mary of the way NASA’s control rooms looked in the movies, only about a fifth the size.

  Some of the operators looked up as they entered. The team supervisor, Jean Hackman, sat at his desk just a few feet from the door eyeing his visitors with obvious displeasure. He was thin, middle aged, and balding, and wore a short-sleeved white shirt, no jacket. Mary wondered how he hadn’t frozen to death.

  “I was told I should expect you, Sergeant,” Hackman said, irritably. “I understand you want me to drop everything and help you out.”

  Mary walked up to Hackman’s desk. “I’ve got the commissioner’s support on this,” she said. “We need your team focused on a priority case.”

  “And what might that be?”

  Mary told him. Hackman didn’t say anything for a few moments.

  “You don’t do anything half-assed do you, Sergeant?” he said, eventually. Standing up, Hackman crossed the floor to one of the computer terminals. The operator looked up at him.

  “This is Walters,” Hackman said, waving Mary and Marshall over. “She runs our Strategic Surveillance Unit. She can hook you up with the CCTV network and get you real-time satellite feeds.”

  Walters, a young, slightly plump woman with dark hair, nodded in response.

  “I’ll brief everyone in full later,” said Hackman. “I need you to work with Sergeant Jordan on a potential bomb threat.”

  “No problem, sir,” said Walters.

  “I’ve got a list of likely hot zones,” said Mary. “Can you get us eyes on the locations?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Walters said. “Send the details to my workstation, I can set you up.” She turned her attention back to her computer monitor. “I can get you a live satellite feed, assuming we stay in geo-sync.”

  “Geo-sync?”

  Walters nodded. “We don’t actually control the satellites, but we can piggyback off a certain number of the ones cleared for our use. We just have to wait for them to line up with our current location. We’re currently good to go.”

  Mary frowned. “How long will we have?”

  “I’ll check. But at least a few hours. I’ll be able to tell you if we’re going to have any drop out. I can also get you real-time updates in the field, if you give me your cell details.”

  “Will they work on this thing?” Mary held up her chunky mobile phone. “It’s a little old school.”

  “If it can receive SMS messages, we’re all set.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Mary dropped the handset into her jacket pocket. “I’ll need you to pull up a map of the potential target areas, then issue an all-personnel bulletin. We need as many officers as possible working the scenes. We might get lucky and find something.”

  Walters looked up at her. “And if they do find something?”

  “Tell them to call in the location and wait for backup,” said Mary. “Under no circumstances should anyone try to move the devices themselves. I’m on my way to brief the bomb squad now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mary flinched, but let the comment slide. She headed for the door, Marshall keeping pace.

  “You ready for this?” he asked as they walked.

  Mary nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” They reached the door and stepped out into the hallway. “Let’s just hope we’re not too late.”

  Chapter 56

  MARY PREPARED TO address the room full of people, keenly aware she was running out of time. The New York Police Department Bomb Squad, an elite team of thirty-three detectives, or bomb technicians, as they preferred to be called, had hauled ass across town and were now waiting patiently for their orders.

  Lieutenant Torres, the squad leader, was a tall, brusque man of around fifty, with cropped salt-and-blond hair and a muscular physique. Mary had checked his file while she waited for him and his team to arrive. Torres had assumed the role of lieutenant after his predecessor retired, well stocked with hard-earned overtime, the year after the Twin Towers fell.

  He had run a tight ship ever since.

  Mary had requisitioned a briefing room on the fourth floor of 1 Police Plaza, and the place was crammed full. All thirty-three bomb technicians stood present and alert, including Torres, and all listened intently as she and Special Agent Marshall outlined the situation.

  “These are the areas we need to focus on,” said Mary, pointing at a projected image of Manhattan on the wall behind her. “Based on our intel, we believe that the threats will be contained to these key points.”

  Torres cleared his throat. “They look like live evacuation routes,” he said. “How do we deal with any public backlash?”

  “We want to avoid starting a panic,” said Mary. “If the general population finds out what we’re doing, our chances of finding the devices in time drop to almost zero. We can’t risk anyone finding out, so try to stay under the radar.”

  “I need to put the safety of my men first.”

  Marshall nodded. “We understand, Lieutenant. Your men can concentrate on reconnaissance for now. Once we find the devices, then we break out the gear. Until then, we’ll need you in plain clothes. I assume that won’t be an issue?”

  Torres frowned. “We can issue the light body armor. It shouldn’t be too obv
ious underneath a jacket. But the first sign of imminent danger, we’ll need to clear the area. I suggest you make sure you have a plan in place for when that happens.”

  “If the worst happens,” said Mary, “we need to focus on containment. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  “I understand the explosion at the apartment block in the Upper East Side may be connected,” said Torres. “If my men had been called out, we might have a better idea of what to expect.”

  “We don’t believe the apartment block was a true representation of what we can expect here, Lieutenant. We understand the devices we’re looking for contain a nerve agent. The explosives are a secondary payload.”

  “Then the bomb that went off earlier was what? Some kind of diversion?”

  Marshall stepped forward. “We believe it was designed to wipe out a specific target rather than cause widespread casualties. These bombs are a different story.”

  “I suppose it’s out of the question to get the HAZMAT team on the scene,” said Torres.

  “Until we find the devices, HAZMAT will stay out of sight. Our primary goal is to locate. And, based on our intelligence, we believe there may be several hundred devices scattered throughout these hot zones.” Marshall pointed at the projector screen. “Can you and your men handle this, Lieutenant?”

  Mary suppressed a smile. Marshall was good. Using the bomb squad leader’s professional pride as leverage was a risky move, but it seemed to be working.

  Torres grunted. “We can handle it. Just make sure you hold up your end. I’m going to need real-time intel on this. Thirty-three men and a handful of officers isn’t going to cut it without some major support.”

  “It’s in hand,” said Mary. “And we’ve already found eighty-seven officers to support you on the scene. I suggest you split off into small teams. I’ll assemble our personnel and have them report to you. They’re good people, but they need you to tell them what to look for.”

  Torres nodded. “Anything else, Sergeant?”

  “That’s it for now, Lieutenant. I’ve registered your cell phones with RTCC. Our analysts are working on trying to figure out what kind of chemical agent we’re dealing with. Expect updates once you get out there.”