Wanted: A Leopold Blake Thriller (24 page)

“Sir, orders?” One of the uniforms asked.

“They couldn’t have gone far,” he said. “Split up. I’ll take the second floor.”

The security guards nodded and set off up the stairs, each headed for a different level. Reiniger followed, veering off at the top of the first flight. He pushed through the fire door and glanced around. Ahead, another identical office area opened up. In the middle was a bank of meeting rooms, surrounded on all sides by desks of varying sizes and shapes. The open-plan design seemed to encourage employees to get up and walk around, and Reiniger noticed that anyone not chained to a telephone was either chatting with a colleague or in the process of making themselves coffee. The noise and hustle was enough that it was unlikely anyone would notice two women pass through.

Reiniger made his way toward the meeting rooms in the center, glancing around as he walked. Human nature, he knew, would compel his targets to seek a hiding place rather than risk engaging him, but they could only stay hidden for so long. Reiniger only hoped he had the chance to find them before the others did.

Although the security guards were well paid and generally did as they were told, Reiniger doubted their stomachs could cope with what he had in mind. In his years as a contract assassin, the German had been given plenty of opportunity to hone his skills at extracting information from unwilling subjects, and he was keen to revisit some of his old practices. Though many of his contemporaries preferred the shock and awe effect of complicated torture equipment, Reiniger liked to keep it simple. Often, the tip of a knife blade was all that was needed to exact maximum pain. On many occasions just the threat of having one’s skin peeled off was enough to ensure compliance. If more persuasion were needed, Reiniger had seen great success with removing a subject’s fingernails. The pain was excruciating, but there was very little blood loss – meaning the interviewee almost never died as a result. Almost.

The assassin wasn’t sure which method would be needed in this case. All he knew was that he looked forward to finding out.

Chapter 49
 
 

THE MEETING ROOM was dark and empty, except for a conference table and ceiling-mounted projector. The walls were thin, probably made from the same material as the desk partitions, and there was practically zero soundproofing. All the noise from the printers and fax machines outside seeped through, along with the babble of a hundred different conversations going on. Though she was running for her life, Mary caught herself wondering who the hell still used fax machines.

“He’ll find us in here,” whispered Sophie.

Both women sat on the floor, away from the windows.

“Just keep quiet,” said Mary. “This building has twenty stories, and each floor must have at least two dozen meeting rooms. By the time they check them all, Leopold will be done.”

“Or they’ll catch him too.”

“Don’t worry, they won’t.” Mary wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince.

Sophie opened her mouth to say something, then changed her mind.

“What is it?”

“
Pardonnez-moi
, it’s nothing. I mean, given the circumstances.. really, it’s nothing.”

Mary sat up a little. “No, go on. What is it? It’s not like we’ve got anything else to talk about.”

Sophie bit her lower lip. “It’s just… I don’t get what the deal is with him, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s got all this money, a big company to run, all these responsibilities – and he spends his time playing Sherlock Holmes? I just don’t get it.”

“It’s a little complicated.”

“People keep saying that. I think I have the right to know.”

Mary sighed. “You ever heard of Robert and Gisele Blake?”

“No. Are they related?”

“Yes, they were Leopold’s parents. Very well known in their time, always in the papers for one thing or another.”

“They died?”

“Yes. A mountaineering accident, but Leopold doesn’t talk about it much. It took me years just to get that far with him. He never really accepted the fact they were gone, you know?”

“Why?”

“His mother’s body was recovered, but they never found his father’s. Leopold was convinced he was still out there somewhere. Even when the courts declared Robert Blake legally dead and Leopold inherited the company, he never gave up.”

“His dad meant that much to him?”

Mary frowned. “No, it wasn’t that. Not exactly. They way Leopold tells it, his father wasn’t exactly a role model. Though he never speaks about it, not directly anyway, it’s possible his father was violent toward him and his mother. It’s not something I tend to bring up in conversation, but I have my own theories.”

“So why does he look for him?”

“I think he wants answers, to find the truth. Getting to the truth has always been an obsession, ever since I’ve known him. He’s always felt like he needs to help other people find answers too. I guess it helps him come to terms with his own issues.”

“He’s a little crazy in the head, isn’t he?” said Sophie.

“Oh undoubtedly. But not in the way you think. He’s really quite brilliant, you know. Impulsive and reckless, but also brilliant.”

“How did you meet?”

“It wasn’t long after the mountaineering accident. Leopold was a complete wreck at the time, dosed up on God-knows-what, and trying to track down someone who was apparently trying to blackmail him. Let’s just say he’s come a long way since then.”

“What happened?”

Mary hesitated. “First time I met him, I arrested him for assault and being under the influence of illegal drugs. Once he sobered up, he explained what was going on. I said I’d help him if he agreed to clean up his act. He agreed, and actually proved to be useful in catching the blackmailer. The rest is history.”

“And I guess he never found out what happened to his father?”

“That’s the funny thing – whenever I ask him about it, he shuts down. It’s like he’s hiding something from me.”

“I guess he has a lot of secrets,” said Sophie.

“More than we’ll ever know.”

“And what happens if Leopold can’t get what he needs from Harris?”

“The police have enough evidence to put all three of us in prison. And from what I’ve seen today, I don’t think any of us would last very long in there – I doubt we’d even make it to a trial. If Leopold can’t get something on Harris, we’re screwed. And that’s if the psychotic German doesn’t catch up with us first.”

“You have faith in him, don’t you?”

“In the German? I’ve got faith he’ll torture us to death if he gets to us before the police do.” She noticed Sophie recoil. “Oh, you meant Leopold.”

“
Oui
, I can tell you think highly of him.”

Mary smiled. “He takes a bit of getting used to.”

“You don’t see the way he looks at you, do you?”

“What, me? Don’t be stupid.”

“And you always smile a little when you talk about him.”

Mary put a hand to her mouth. “Let’s just change the subject.”

“Okay, so this German guy,” said Sophie, obliging. “He’s going to torture us to death?”

“Don’t worry, he’s not going to find –” She froze. The unmistakable sound of scuffling feet coming from outside. “Keep down,” she said, turning to Sophie. “Someone’s coming.”

A shadow crossed the window.

“Get ready to run. When I say…”

The door handle moved.

“One… Two…”

The door opened.

“Three!”

Chapter 50
 
 

ROUSSEAU CIRCLED THE Dubois residence for the fifth time, in the process of deciding whether or not to chase down the tech who had promised him quick results. Just as he made up his mind, his cell phone buzzed. Before he could pull over to read the message, the car’s hands-free system registered an incoming call and the speakers started blasting out a shrill ringtone. Rousseau grimaced and answered.

“
Capitaine
, this is Jean-Pierre.” It was the tech from earlier. “I’ve successfully cloned the cell phone you gave me and sent the original down to evidence. I’m forwarding all incoming text messages and calls to you. It looks like you might have something already. Do the numbers ‘335962’ mean anything to you?”

“
Non,
not that I can think of. Do you have a trace on the owner?”

“The cell phone is registered to an American. I pulled some strings at the embassy and had them run the records – it belongs to a cop with the NYPD. Her name is Mary Jordan. The last call is from one of the suspects, Sophie Bardot.”

“A cop is mixed up in all this?”

“Looks that way.”

“Can you get a location?”

“
Oui
, I pinged Mlle. Bardot’s handset. We’ve narrowed it down to a cell tower near La Defense. The techs are working to get .”

“Good. Send the address to my GPS system when you have it. I’ll make my way there now. Arrange for a backup team to join me once you have the location.”

“Yes, sir. We should have it within five minutes.”

“I’ll be halfway there by then. Make sure you hurry.”

Rousseau hung up and activated the police cherry still fixed to his roof, turning the car toward the main road that led out to the Boulevard Périphérique – the highway that would take him straight to La Defense. The other cars moved to let him pass and Rousseau floored it.

He hit the open road at speed, and shifted into a fast cruise. Despite the breakthrough with the cell phone, something didn’t feel right. Who was the gunman who brought down his men in the parking lot? How did an American cop get involved? Why was she receiving phone calls from one of the other suspects, one she was traveling with? And, above all, how could a trained professional be careless enough to leave a cell phone where Rousseau could easily find it?

This whole case stank, and Blake owed him answers. Even if Rousseau had to lock the arrogant bastard up for twenty years to get them.

Chapter 51
 
 

LEOPOLD STRODE THROUGH the upper offices, having climbed nearly nineteen flights of stairs, and tried not to pass out. He knew better than to use the elevators with most of the building’s security looking for him, but the long climb had sapped most of the strength out of his legs and his head was spinning. If anyone caught up with him now, he’d have no chance of getting away.

With sweat starting to show through the front of his shirt, Leopold pulled his jacket tighter to hide the stains. With his head down, he made a bee line for the elevator, the only way up to Harris’ office on the twentieth floor. He grabbed a stack of important-looking papers from an empty desk and kept moving, hoping to pass for one of the associates. Nearly bumping into half a dozen people on his way through, he eventually reached the elevator and dumped the pile of reports into a trash can. He hoped he hadn’t just got someone fired.

Leopold jabbed the call button and stepped inside as the doors slid open. He used the buttons to punch in the code “335962.” The doors closed and the elevator shuddered to life, heading upward. Leopold took a deep breath and willed his muscles to stop aching.