Wanted: A Leopold Blake Thriller (21 page)

James looked at Rose, registering the note of concern in her voice. He squeezed her hand. “We’ll be back below deck in no time. You better start thinking about our next sleepover.”

She squeezed his hand back. “I’ll try not to get too distracted.”

Rose let go as the guard re-entered the room, followed by a tall man in a dark suit. James recognized him as the Director, although he seemed a little thinner than James remembered. The Director took a seat behind the desk.  

“Please, sit down,” he said, as the guard brought over two chairs. “Do you know why you’re here?”

The two operatives obliged, settling into their seats. James felt the shadow of the security guard fall across his back, making the hairs on his neck stand on end.

“No, sir,” said James. He glanced at Rose.

The Director leaned forward. His face was hard and angular, as though sculpted from rock. His eyes were dark, almost black, and there were faint scars around his forehead and chin.

“No, sir.” Rose shook her head.

“You spoke with one of the technicians yesterday. Asked him to trace some electronic payments for you.” The Director paused. “Why?”

James coughed. “Just following up on a lead, sir.”

“I trust you got the results you were looking for?”

“Yes, sir,” said Rose. “We’re getting really close now.”

“Good, good.” He nodded at the security guard who was standing somewhere near the back of the room. “Although the technician in question had a slightly different story.”

James felt movement behind him and tensed up. The security guard crossed the floor and positioned himself behind Rose’s chair. He grabbed hold of Rose’s head in both hands and twisted hard, wrenching her head backward. James heard a sickening
crack
as the guard snapped her neck like a twig. He began to hyperventilate.

“Disloyalty is a cancer that can spread quickly,” said the Director. “One has to destroy it at the source before it gets chance.”

James’ instinct was to jump to his feet, but his muscles weren’t responding. He was rooted to his chair, unable to move. The guard let go of Rose’s head and her body fell forward, toppling from the chair and onto the floor. James felt his stomach lurch.

“You really should have known better, Mr. Cullen,” the Director continued. “I had high hopes for you.” He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a large syringe, laying it down in front of him. “Do you know what this is?”

James shook his head, unable to speak.

“It’s something we’ve been working on. In small doses, it can be used as a muscle relaxant. In slightly higher doses, test cases have been known to experience feelings of euphoria. We anticipate quite a market for this one.” He held the syringe in one hand and studied it. “In heavy doses, it causes the body to shut down. Unfortunately for our animal test subjects, this ultimately resulted in death by asphyxiation. We’ve not been able to secure any human trials yet.”

James felt the security guard grab hold of his arms, forcing him to keep still.

“Which is where you come in,” said the Director. He stood up, syringe in hand, and stepped over Rose’s body. Taking hold of James’ sleeve, he rolled it up to expose the skin. “This might hurt.” 

A jolt of pain shot through James’ arm as the needle punctured his flesh and the Director emptied the contents of the syringe into his blood stream. The security guard let go. James tried to get to his feet, but his legs wouldn’t respond.

“How are you feeling?”

James couldn’t have replied, even had he wanted to. He felt gravity take hold and toppled forward, his abdominal muscles unable to keep his torso upright. Slipping off the chair, he hit the carpet and rolled onto his side. Unable to move his head, he could only look ahead. Rose stared back at him, her eyes dull and empty. He held her gaze.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this,” said the Director, his voice somewhere above. “But I trust you’ll both be very happy together.” The voice trailed off.

Although all life had left Rose’s body, in the moments before James died he was certain he saw her smile.

Chapter 40
 
 

“HERE,” SAID SOPHIE, handing her cell phone to Leopold. “Please don’t throw this one out the window.”

He thanked her and turned his attention to the Mercedes’ onboard computer. Punching in a code, he synced the phone to the car’s hands free system and dialed a number from memory.

“And you’re sure it’s him?” asked Mary.

“It can’t be anyone else,” said Leopold. The call connected and began to ring through. “This ends now.”

A voice answered. “
Bonjour
,
comment puis-je vous aidez?
”

“I’m afraid to report we’re still alive,” said Leopold. “And your options are running out. Call your man off.”

“Leopold? Is that you? Are you okay?”

“Drop the act, Harris.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You must have known we’d figure it out eventually,” Leopold continued. “Otherwise you’d have let the police take us down.”

“I don’t know what –”

“You were the one who sent Gerard. You knew he’d activate the tracer, so you arranged an intercept.”

“What are you talking about? Why would I want to –”

“I know about Chemworks,” said Leopold. “With me out of the way, you get full control. I trusted you.”

“What about Chemworks? That business is a dog. I’ve barely heard from them in months.”

Leopold turned to Mary and nodded.

“Not according to the WHO,” she said. “Oh, and by the way, next time you send someone after me, tell them not to follow so close. You think I can’t smell a tail?”

“I have people looking into your movements over the last few months, Harris,” said Leopold. “They’ll find something that ties you to this. You can’t run.”

The line was silent.

“Let’s end this now,” said Leopold. “You’ve got nowhere left to go.”

“They won’t find anything,” said Harris, “because there is nothing to find. And who are they going to believe? Me, a respected member of the business community, or a disgraced playboy billionaire who’s wanted for murder? I doubt the board will have any issues in following my recommendations.”

“What recommendations?”

“You handed the company over to me three years ago. You gave me this worthless job, on top of my regular duties, which, by the way, you don’t pay me
nearly
enough for. Well, Chemworks has a real shot of making some actual revenue. We just need some outside investment, that’s all. And I’m the one who’s going to make it happen.”

“Harris, what are you doing? You can’t let that research fall into the wrong hands,” said Mary.

“There’s nothing more to discuss,” said Harris. “I’m recommending the sale of the company, including Leopold’s shares, to an outside investor – for twelve times their current value. Given the circumstances, I doubt the board will refuse.”

“Don’t do it,” said Leopold. “You don’t know what will happen. They’ll have full control.”

“I know. I’m the one who drafted the contracts,” said Harris. “Perhaps if you hadn’t gotten yourself arrested for murder… I wouldn’t be forced to take such drastic action.”

“Bullshit,” said Mary.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, there’s nothing you can do about it now. All I need is the board to vote on this. I’ll have an answer within the hour.”

“We’re coming for you, Harris,” said Leopold. “I’m not going to let this happen.”

“I look forward to seeing you,” he replied. “You know where to find me.”

With a burst of static, the line went dead.

“We need to get to the La Defense office,” said Leopold, planting his right foot to the floor. “We’ve got less than an hour. If Chemworks has found something
that
valuable, it can’t be anything good.”

The engine roared as the twin turbos pumped more air into the combustion chamber, forcing the car forward. The speedometer nudged ninety miles per hour.

“He’ll call the police,” said Sophie. “We can’t go after him.”

“He won’t,” said Leopold, weaving in and out of the slower traffic. “He’ll want to keep us quiet.”

“He’ll use the German.”

The consultant nodded. “Right. Which means we’re going to need a little help.”

Chapter 41
 
 

PRISON WARDEN JEAN Guinault’s office was smaller than Marty had expected, and messy as hell. Stacks of paper covered every available surface and the trash can looked like it hadn’t been emptied in weeks. Marty sat in a cheap plastic chair, hands cuffed together, watching the warden pace the room. The old man wore a suit, but he’d tossed the jacket somewhere and his tie was halfway undone. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing thick forearms. After a few minutes of waiting, there came a knock at the door and the warden pulled it open.
 

“
Allez
, bring him in” said Guinault, sticking his head through the doorway. A uniformed guard entered, followed by Jerome, whose hands were cuffed behind his back.

“Thank you. Leave us now.”

“Sir?” The guard looked puzzled. “This man took out three
Familia
with his bare hands. You shouldn’t be left alone with –”

“I can handle this myself, get out.” The warden ushered the C.O. out of the room, locking the door behind him. He turned to look at Jerome. “Please, take a seat.”

Jerome sat down next to Marty, straining the chair.  

“That was quite a stunt you pulled in the cafeteria,” said Guinault. “It’s safe to say you have my attention.”

“Good,” Jerome said.

“We can speak freely here, I’ve made sure nobody will disturb us. But be very aware,” the old man stepped forward, “one wrong move, I’ll throw you back to the wolves.” 

“I’m not interested in the wolves, we’re here to talk about you. Specifically, why you ordered
La Nuestra Familia
to take me out.”

If the warden was surprised, he didn’t show it. “I hear you’ve had trouble with our Spanish friends. Why is this my problem?”

“You’ve met Dión?”

“I’ve had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting most of the inmates here.”

“Then you’ll know Dión isn’t exactly the sharpest shank in the cell block,” said Jerome. “And the idea of him getting
a
hold of stolen prisoner transfer papers doesn’t sound right to me.”

“Get to the point.”

“He must have had help. I’m guessing you know something about that.”

The warden’s face twisted. “I think you’re forgetting where you are. You have no power here, no friends. I was prepared to help you out,” he leaned in close, getting right in Jerome’s face. “But you can just rot in here, for all I care.”

Marty nearly jumped out of his chair as Jerome kicked out and hit the warden in the knee. There was a crunching sound where the warden’s kneecap and cartilage were crushed together and Guinault flopped forward onto his front with a yelp of pain. Before he could get up, Jerome was out of the chair, his legs wrapped around the warden’s neck.

“Let’s try this another way,” said Jerome, his hands still cuffed behind his back. “I’m going to keep squeezing until you give me an answer I’m happy with.” He applied extra pressure and the warden groaned, arms thrashing at his side. “If you don’t play ball, I’ll make sure to crush your larynx before snapping your neck. Just to make sure you get my point.”

“Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing?” said Marty, getting to his feet. “We won’t make it through the night if anything happens to him.”

The warden’s eyes were bulging out of his head, but he appeared to be nodding.

Jerome grinned. “Warden Guinault is going to cooperate and everything is going to work out. Aren’t you?” He squeezed a little tighter and the old man slapped a palm down on the carpet. Jerome eased off a little. “I thought so.”

“You’re insane,” said Marty. “Jesus Christ, you’re completely insane. What exactly are you expecting him to tell you?”

“He’s going to tell me who’s pulling the strings. Somebody went to a lot of trouble to make sure I wound up here, and the only way they could have arrange it all is to go through official channels.” He relaxed his hold a little more. “So,
Monsieur
, shall we start at the beginning?”