Wanted: A Leopold Blake Thriller (25 page)

He was going to need them.

Chapter 52
 
 

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.

Chapter 53
 
 

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 closed 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.

Chapter 54
 
 

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.

Chapter 55
 
 

“YOU HERE TO kill me, Blake?”

Leopold stood in the doorway. Harris stood behind his desk, his back to the tall windows. The sun was behind him, an old trick. Leopold had hoped to open the conversation differently, but anything that got Rousseau there quicker was okay with him.

“And why would I want to kill you?” he said.

Leopold knew Harris well. For nearly a decade, he had entrusted the smooth running of the European Divisions to the man. Trust that had been horribly misplaced. But Harris was no fool, and certainly smart enough not to get drawn into a trap. Leopold would just have to be smarter.

“I understand this is a difficult time,” said Harris. “Just so you know, the board and I will give you our full support. We know these things the police are saying…” he paused. “Well, we’ll be sure to help you through this.” A smile.

“Thank you for your concern. But I’m not here to talk about that.”

“Oh?”

“The bodyguard you sent. Gerard. I’m sorry to say he didn’t make it.”

Harris raised an eyebrow.

“His blood is on your hands. Along with Dubois’. And the four other people at the cathedral.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Blake.”

“And if you let the sale of Chemworks go through, there will be even more blood. Maybe even yours.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m just outlining your situation.”

“Which is?”

Leopold took a step forward. “Best case scenario for you: the police figure out what you’ve been up to and have you arrested. You spend the rest of your natural life in prison.”

“Oh, I see. And, just out of curiosity, what’s the worst case scenario in this little fantasy of yours?”

“The police
don’t
arrest you and the very, very bad people you’ve gotten yourself involved with decide they have too many loose ends.”

Harris chuckled. “You sound like you have some experience with these people yourself, Leopold.”

“I do. Enough experience to know there’s someone else calling the shots. You have the stink of a powerless man, Harris.”

Leopold felt something cold and hard press into the back of his skull. He saw Harris smile.

“What was that you were saying about powerless, Blake?” a voice came from behind. Deep, with a German accent.

“Yes, I think you’ll find
I’m
calling the shots after all,” said Harris. He moved out from behind his desk and walked toward Leopold. Leaning forward, he reached into the consultant’s jacket and pulled out the cell phone. He dropped it to the floor.

“Is that the same gun you used to kill Gerard?” said Leopold.

“Don’t say a word,” said Harris, before the German could reply. He turned his attention back to the cell phone, now lying on the carpet. “This is just in case.”

Harris stamped his foot down onto the phone. He continued until it shattered into three separate pieces.

Chapter 56
 
 

ROUSSEAU HEARD THE phone line go dead. The Blake Investments building was the next right, and the captain didn’t even slow down to take the corner. The Renault sedan drifted, sliding over the asphalt at forty miles per hour before hitting the parking lot. By the time he slammed on the brakes, Rousseau had filled the cabin with the stink of burnt rubber.

The entrance lobby was fifty feet away. Rousseau switched off the ignition and jumped out of the car, leaving the vehicle parked haphazardly across two empty spaces. He broke into a sprint, aging bones crying out in protest. Reaching the automatic doors, Rousseau paused to let them slide open and felt his heart pounding in his chest.

Whatever Blake was doing, he was going to get himself killed.

The glass doors opened and the captain resumed running, ignoring the protests of the woman at the reception desk. A few people milling around the foyer looked over at him as he ran past, heading for the elevators. He jabbed the call button and stepped inside as the car arrived.

Double checking the photo message he had received earlier, Rousseau punched in the numbers ‘335962’ and felt the elevator start to move. He dialed dispatch.

“
Oui, vous-aider?
” The same bored desk jockey as before.

“This is Rousseau. I’m on scene at the Blake Investments Building. Where the hell is my backup?”

A short pause on the line. “I have the details, sir. Your backup team is en route. Five minutes.”

“I don’t have time to wait. Get a message to the unit leader and tell him to seal off the building. I’ll also need a team up on the top floor.”

No answer.

“Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then why are you still on the Goddamn line?” Rousseau hung up and took in a deep breath. Although he didn’t consider himself out of shape, he made a mental promise to start exercising more often. Maybe even try a diet.

He hit the seventh floor and felt the car start to slow. On the eighth floor, the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Four suits stood waiting in the hallway, each carrying a folder stuffed with papers. They stepped forward.