Ratio: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers) (2 page)

“Sources confirm Ambassador Melendez will arrive in Seattle early this week,” the news anchor said, turning to his co-host. “Looks like it’s going to be quite an event, Sally, don’t you think?”

The bimbo named Sally nodded. “That’s right, Jerry. It’s not often we get the chance to see political history in the making.” She looked into the camera and smiled, polished teeth gleaming. “And Channel 7 will be there with all the latest reports. Stay tuned, Seattle.”

Eyes still glued to the newscast, the killer finished dressing, pulling a full-length black body suit over his naked torso. On top of that, simple work clothes, a set of dusty coveralls to complete the effect. Tattered baseball cap in one hand, he took one last look in the bathroom mirror.
Perfect
.

Locking up, he stepped outside and felt the cool air hit his face, scents of salt water and wet grass filling his nostrils. Keys in hand, he climbed into his old pickup and started the engine. He took a deep breath, allowing himself a moment of focus.

Jimmy old boy, I’m gonna do right by you.
I got him right where I want him, and I’m not giving up until Mission Accomplished.
He smiled.
And that means dead.

The pickup’s V8 engine growled as the killer shifted into gear and rolled the truck onto the deserted road out of the suburbs. He drove the few miles from his small rental home in the north end of the city to downtown, eschewing the freeway for surface streets. Even though Seattle had only been his home for a few short weeks, he knew the city inside out.

The reconnaissance process had been simple, but effective. Long walks at lunchtime, early morning jogs on weekends, and various routes home in the evening after work had given him all the education he had needed. Every traffic signal, every street corner, every dark alley and broad boulevard was burned into his memory. At the center of his focus, Washington State Convention Center, the largest of its kind in Seattle, and the new luxury hotel recently built next to it. Some very important guests were due to check in any day, and he wanted to be ready. 

With the roads and exit routes mapped out, his attention had turned to tactical strategy. Instead of heading straight for internet searches, a sure-fire way to catch the attention of the FBI, the killer had taken a more personal approach. One that couldn’t be traced back to him. He had become a frequent bar customer, almost a nightly activity of late, visiting taverns and clubs haunted by ex-military men with stories to share. With enough beer and whiskey, a man could talk for hours.

On top of the interviews, as he had called them, the killer had spent months reading up on sniper habits, priming his mind to be cool, stealthy, and sharp. “Steady and ready” had become a mantra, something he muttered whenever he needed to settle his nerves or focus his attention. He already knew how to shoot; what he needed to know was how to hide, not just from plain vision, but from infrared sensors. He needed to learn how to disguise smells and sounds, how to conceal his presence, become a ghost. It had cost him a lot in beer money, but it would be worth every penny when the time came to pull the trigger, plunge his knife, or strangle with piano wire.

He had everything he needed; food in silent wrappers, water in easy-open containers, a jug for piss and shit, and kitty litter to keep the smell down. Above all else, he had at least three ways to kill a politician in his sleep. He thought about the foil-lined styrofoam panels he had fabricated, designed to fit floor to ceiling, one wall to another. Thanks to some clever engineering, they folded up small enough to be concealed inside a rucksack, to be taken out when the time was right. 

For several painstaking hours, he had studied the hotel and Convention Center architectural plans, making certain he had the panels just barely oversized for a tight fit. He had painted one side of the panels to mimic bare concrete, but they hadn’t looked right. Instead, he had taken photographs of concrete and had a full size banner made. 

Attention to detail was crucial. 

Up ahead, the busy afternoon traffic signaled he was getting close to his downtown target. He thought of his old friend then, a man he had worked with for several years, his old partner. “Partners in Petty Politics” they had called themselves. And now one of them was dead, killed before his time, leaving the other behind to pick up the pieces. 

But justice would be done. 

***

A few slow minutes later, he took the exit into the city and headed for Pike Street. Traffic had eased a little, and the hotel quickly loomed into view. He pulled the truck into the loading dock and killed the engine. Climbing out, he grabbed his cap and tool belt from the seat, snapped the previously prepared fake credentials to his lapel, hoisted his heavy rucksack of supplies over his shoulder, and headed for the security booth at the far end of the courtyard.

The loading dock clerk looked up as he approached the window. “Yeah?” 

“Where do I find building operations?” 

The clerk pointed at the main entrance behind him. “Just through there. You got ID?” 

The killer tapped his pass. “I’m kinda in a hurry here. Last minute call. You know how it is, right? These guys expect you to drop everything at a moment’s notice.”

“You got that right.” The clerk pressed a button on his console. “Go on through. You want Rick Gustafson. You know the way?”

“Yeah, got it. Thanks.” He nodded briskly and set off, pushing through the heavy doors into the polished corridor within. A short walk later, he reached a small office manned by a young, plump blonde man. The door was open. 

“Are you Rick Gustafson?” he asked, rapping on the door and stepping inside. He remembered to smile, something not habitually easy for him. “I’m told you’re the man to see if I need to get something done around here.”

Rick tossed down a clipboard and sat forward. “Yeah, that’s right. The manager is out from work on maternity leave right now, but I’m getting it done for her.”

“Great.” He handed over a business card, “Seattle HVAC” emblazoned on the front. The card included a name and contact number, one of his many aliases. “I’m Trevor Hanson. I’m here for the building inspection that was ordered.”

Rick picked up his clipboard again, flipping through several pages. “I don’t see anything about an inspection.” He looked up. “That’s something that’s handled internally anyway. Our ventilation systems get checked every quarter, no issues.” He tossed the clipboard down again. “Who called you, exactly?”

Trevor smiled and forced out a chuckle. “Wouldn’t you know it? The biggest conference of the year coming to town in a couple days, and nobody told you about what needs to be done.”

“Yeah, well…”

Trevor found a work order of his own, something he had fabricated the day before. “I think someone’s keeping you out of the loop, Rick. Here’s the order, you’ll notice the top-level clearance.” He handed it over, giving Rick a hard stare. “I assume you’ve been  cleared to work here for the duration of the conference?”

Rick waved him off. “Oh, yeah. We run a tight ship here in plant ops.” He took the memo from Trevor and studied it carefully. “Jesus…”

Trevor nodded. “Yeah, you’re getting it now. You have two high-level VIPs coming for the conference this weekend, and they’ve ordered their own inspection of the place, every part of it. I’m the guy they send out for mechanical inspections and crawl spaces.”

“So, you’re like a Secret Service agent or something?” Rick asked with a hushed voice.

“Yeah, I guess. Kinda. At least, they’re the ones signing the paychecks.” He smiled again. “But let me explain. Nobody is supposed to know I’ve been here. You need to do your bit too, and keep this to yourself.”

Rick nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I can do that. No problem, boss.”

“These inspections always get done before big conferences like this. It’s pretty simple stuff, mainly routine. It’s nothing you have to help with. We just like to make sure the place is up to scratch and that there’s no possible security breaches.” He took the work order back. “Mostly I just need access to the basement and attic mechanical levels to inspect and do any alterations, if necessary.”

“Today?”

Trevor looked at his watch. “It was scheduled for five minutes ago. The sooner I get started, the sooner I get out of your hair and let you get back to the real work of running a hotel.”

Rick pushed out of his chair. “You got it, boss. Follow me.”

Nodding, Trevor held the door open. As the operations manager blustered past, Trevor fished out a white plastic key card from his pocket and dropped it onto Rick’s desk. 

***

A few flights of stairs later, Rick wrenched open a heavy steel door leading through to a dark room that smelled of damp and oil. “This is the basement level,” he said. “I can let you in the mechanical room where we house the ventilation systems, but I can’t leave you alone in there. Both the hotel and Convention Center are controlled from here.”

“Lead the way.” 

Under Rick’s watchful gaze, Trevor spent twenty minutes bluffing his way through an inspection. The ventilation systems were huge, taking up most of the room, but the heat and noise were enough to mask Trevor’s improvised attempts. A few fake electronic monitors helped, not that Trevor figured Rick even knew what to look for, but it wasn’t worth taking the risk. He spent a few more minutes poking through corners with his flashlight, opening up a few panels. Finally, he switched off the monitors and took a deep breath. 

“Looks like the system’s in good shape,” he said. “But I won’t know for sure until I check some of the ducts in the hotel. I’ve got everything I need in here.” He patted the rucksack slung over his shoulder. 

“Which floor?” Rick asked. 

“Your VIPs are on seven, right?”

“Yeah. We got an elevator goes right up. You’ll need a ladder.”

***

The seventh floor of the hotel was deserted, the plush carpets recently cleaned. The corridors smelled of wood polish and air freshener, something with a hint of lavender. Rick looked over at Trevor as the elevator doors slid closed behind them.

“We keep the seventh floor available for VIPs and large parties,” he explained, holding on tight to a steel stepladder he had found in the supply room. “This elevator is for VIP use only, and it goes only to three places: the seventh floor, the lobby, and to the basement. Otherwise, the stairwells have to be used, and those are always locked.” He pointed at a door at the end of the hallway. “Nobody’s using the floor right now, not until tomorrow. That’s when private security is due to show up for another inspection.”

Trevor nodded. “You got everything from me you need, Rick? Because this will take me some time, and I can let myself out when I’m done.” The last thing he needed was the kid hanging around too long, watching. 

“Yeah, I’ll take care of things for you,” said Rick. “I saw your ID, and I’ll put your business name on the schedule.” He lowered his voice. “When’s the main man get here?”

“The boarder? Sorry, buddy, top secret, you know? But even I don’t know that. Like I told you before, I’m just a lackey that does inspections. I don’t do all that real agent stuff.” 

“Got it. Sorry.” Rick led Trevor down the hall, dragging the ladder behind him. “On this level, there are only three access points to the attic. One here, just over the elevator up above the false ceiling, and one in each stairwell. I gotta tell ya, it’s pretty crowded up there. Won’t be a comfortable fit, man your size.” He unfolded the ladder and checked the safety latch. “Good to go. Here’s the access point.” 

Trevor smiled, looking up at the ceiling panel feet above him. “Thanks.” 

“It should just slide out,” Rick said, holding on to the ladder’s frame. “I’ll keep you steady.”

Trevor nodded and climbed up, pushing the panel to one side. He looked over his head at the metal plate in the concrete ceiling, just big enough for him to fit through. It had a locking mechanism.

“Good, it locks,” said Trevor, stepping back down to the floor. He held his hand out. “I’ll need a key.”

Rick jangled the keys in his pocket. “I’m not sure…”

“You can keep the key but I’ll need a key card for the elevator to let myself out later.”

“Now, wait a minute. This is…”

“Work with me, Rick. The sooner you turn over the key card, the sooner you can get back to your desk and get some real work done.”

Rick continued to stall, but handed over his keyring. Trevor unlocked the trap door into the attic and let it hang down. Handing back the key ring, he held out his hand for the elevator key card. 

“Help me out, buddy,” Trevor said, softening his eyes, pushing out the fake smile one more time. “I need that card if you don’t want to hang around here doing nothing for the next couple hours.”

“That long?” Rick asked.

“At least.”

“Maybe I better check with my manager.”

Trevor sighed. “I thought you were in charge, Rick? Part of being a leader is learning how to make decisions. You saw who ordered this inspection, right?”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“How do you think you’re going to look if you’ve got to ask permission for every little thing?”

Rick folded his arms and frowned. “Not every little thing.”

“C’mon, take some initiative. Save everyone the trouble. It’ll make you look good.”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture,” said Rick, taking a deep breath. “Just make sure you clean up after, okay?”

“You got it.” Trevor paused. “
Boss
.”

Rick smiled. “I get off in a few hours. If you’re not done by then, I’ll sign you out myself. We don’t want too many questions, right? Not if you gotta keep this under wraps.” He held a finger up to his lips. “Just don’t tell anyone, okay?” 

“Good man.” Trevor held out his hand. “You got that card?” 

Rick handed the white plastic pass over. Trevor climbed the steps once more and hoisted himself into the tight space, lugging his rucksack up behind him. He looked back down at Rick, looking up at him.

“You need help up there?”