Wanted (Leopold Blake Series)

  He would just have to persuade them to cooperate.

  FORTY-SEVEN

   

  Half a dozen uniformed guards strode across the lobby in Mary and Sophie’s direction. A few paces behind them, the German was barking orders. He was still dressed in the charcoal suit, a slight bulge in his jacket giving away the handgun he wore holstered to his ribs. The guards began to fan out.

  “Time to go,” said Mary, grabbing hold of Sophie’s wrist.

  “Ow!”

  “Just follow me.”

  The police sergeant dragged the younger woman away from the reception desk, heading toward a set of doors that led through to some of the lower offices. Mary noticed a suit approaching the entrance from behind the glass, reaching for his key card. They broke into a jog, catching hold of the door as he passed through.

  “Hé, toi!”

  “Keep moving!” Mary snatched the man’s pass out of his hand as they barged past, slamming the door behind them.

  Ahead, an open plan office stretched out to the edge of the building, broken up by a series of partitions. The room was crammed full of workers hunched over their desks, with others scurrying between meeting rooms carrying stacks of paper. Nobody looked up.

  “Where now?” asked Sophie, out of breath.

  Mary looked through the glass door panels and saw the guards approaching from fifty feet away. “We need to hide, to keep them focused on us for as long as possible. Leopold won’t need long.”

  “What if they catch us?”

  “Don’t think about that.” She started walking, keeping a fast pace, and aimed for the fire exits at the far wall. “If we can get onto the next floor, we might have better luck.”

  They pushed on, weaving between the desks. A few of the employees gave them puzzled looks, but nobody interfered. As they reached the halfway point, Mary heard raised voices and turned her head. The German and his team of guards had arrived.

  “Keep going, nearly there,” she said, speeding up. Allowing herself one more glance, she saw the German lock eyes with her from across the room. She quickly faced forward again. “Try not to look back. Through here.”

  They reached the far end of the office and Mary pushed through a heavy wooden fire door, leading to a set of concrete stairs. She looked up.

  “These go all the way to the top. We need to keep the guards on the lower levels if we can.”

  “There should be plenty of meeting rooms to hide in,” said Sophie.

  “Let’s hope so.” Mary sucked in a deep breath before heading off, feeling her legs start to burn.

  FORTY-EIGHT

   

  Reiniger led the six guards across the office floor and through to the stairwell. He paused as they reached the steps.

  “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.

  FORTY-NINE

   

  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 was only a few years 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!”

  FIFTY

   

  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 travelling 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.

  FIFTY-ONE

   

  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.

  He was going to need them.

  FIFTY-TWO

   

  The blinds were down, the lights were off, and all the other meeting rooms were in use. Reiniger strode over, listening out for any movement inside. He turned the handle, slowly at first, reaching inside his jacket for his gun. Finger on the trigger, he kicked out with his foot. The door flew open.

  “What the hell, buddy?” the man spoke English, an American accent.

  The assassin froze. A conference table in the center of the room seated six people, each staring dumbfounded in Reiniger’s direction. On the far wall, a projected image of some sales figures. A few pie charts.

  “What do you want?” the man asked again. His tone had shifted from surprised to pissed off.

  Reiniger straightened, taking his hand out of his jacket. “My apologies, wrong meeting room.” He turned and walked out. As he closed the door behind him, he felt his cell phone buzz with an incoming message:

  “Blake used his pass code. On his way up. Come now.”

  Reiniger frowned. He had hoped to catch up with the two women first, maybe get some alone time with them. They owed him for all the trouble he’d gone through in the last twenty-four hours.

  Still, things could be worse.

  Just as Harris predicted, Blake had acted like a reckless fool. By forcing a confrontation, he had put his life, and the lives of others, at risk. Having escaped twice already, a sensible man would have cut his losses and made a run for it. Instead, Blake was walking right into a trap. And for what?

  The assassin headed for the elevators, keen to ask Blake for an answer in person.

  FIFTY-THREE

   

  The elevator doors slid open at the twentieth floor, reserved for the company’s top brass. Ahead, Leopold could see Harris’ corner office, backed up against the tall windows that looked out at the midmorning city skyline. The door was cl
osed and the blinds were drawn. Between Leopold and the office, several dozen executives and interns busied themselves with paperwork and morning coffee runs.

  He stepped out onto the carpet, looking around. Leopold had visited the Paris office several times over the last few years, and his face was well known to the more senior executives. Several employees glanced up as he walked past, conversations halted mid-sentence, and some even reached for their cell phones – presumably to call security. Or maybe the police.

  It didn’t matter now. Leopold knew this was his last chance to make a stand and, whatever the outcome, it was better than the prospect of spending the rest of his life on the run. He drew closer to the office door. A small crowd was starting to form around him now, and the consultant felt fifty pairs of eyes following his movements.

  His heart starting to pound, Leopold took out the cell phone he borrowed from Sophie and hit redial. He dropped the handset back into his pocket as he reached Harris’ door, praying everything went to plan.

  FIFTY-FOUR

   

  The squints over at forensics sent the cell phone’s location through within five minutes, better than promised. Rousseau was following the route set by his smart phone’s satellite navigation software and was getting close when the handset started to ring. The capitaine nearly slammed on the brakes when he realized who was calling. He patched the call through to the car’s speakers.

  Something on the other end of the line he couldn’t make out. Was that static? Rousseau hit the ‘record’ button and concentrated on the road ahead. The Blake Investments building loomed ahead, a column of polished glass among a dozen other identical structures. Backup was on the way, a few minutes behind. He would need to find somewhere to wait for them. A sound from the speakers grabbed his attention. Voices. Muffled, but unmistakable. He could just about make out what they were saying.

  Rousseau swore and dropped a gear, revving the car’s engine to the redline.

  FIFTY-FIVE