Ratio: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers) (10 page)

His heart thumping in his chest, Jonny waited until the three men had disappeared from view before slicking back his drenched hair, feeling cold water trickle down his neck.  Anger rose up inside his stomach, flushing out the last remnants of fear. He clenched his fists, took several deep breaths.

His cell phone vibrated. He checked the caller ID. 

Mariel
.

Rain streaming down his face, Jonny ignored the phone and stalked back toward his car, keen to grab a fresh change of clothes and as many prescription painkillers as he could find.

He had a feeling he was going to need them.

Chapter 14

AFTER HER SEAT mate had fallen asleep during the flight, June had the chance to look closer at the pendant Amy had given her. Almost the size of a child’s marble, it was set in a white gold spiral. The shine of the pearl equaled that of the polished metal in which it was set, but it was the deep, warm, golden glow of the stone was beyond anything June had seen before. She knew Amy must’ve spent a fortune on it, even if it did come from the company she owned. June’s plan to pick up a birthday box of fudge from Seattle just wasn’t going to cut it.

Just before landing, June was able to slip on silk hose and change from flats to three-inch black pumps in the airplane bathroom. After touching up her makeup, she dabbed a bit of shine cream in her hair. To complete her transformation, she draped the pendant over her neck. With one last glance in the tiny airplane bathroom mirror, she practiced an airport-greeting smile. She was satisfied when her dimple made an appearance.

Off the plane in record time thanks to the first class ticket, she made a beeline for the baggage claim carousels. Halfway there, she was sidetracked by a man in a dark suit holding a signboard with her name on it. He introduced himself as Ricardo.

“Good afternoon. Hope you had a pleasant flight, ma’am,” Ricardo said. “Your car is waiting.”

“Is everything okay?” June asked, looking him up and down. His suit fitted him poorly, a little extra fabric around the shoulders. She figured a driver’s salary probably didn’t stretch to custom tailoring. “I wasn’t expecting to be met at the airport.”

“Yes, everything is fine,” he said with a smile. “Let me help with your bags.” 

June pointed out her luggage as the carousel shunted into life, and Ricardo hoisted the heavy suitcase off the belt. June insisted on keeping hold of her purse and laptop. 

Ricardo made for the exit. “The car is waiting out front.”

June followed him quickly, momentarily wishing she had stuck with flat shoes. She hadn’t met the new security team yet in person, and couldn’t figure why she needed ferrying from airport. She had been planning to take a taxi into downtown Seattle to the hotel. The route had been submitted and approved well in advance. 

“Are you a part of the new security team?” she asked, settling into the back seat of the spacious limousine, a metallic black Lincoln Town Car.

“No,” Ricardo said, starting the engine. “You’ll be met in the lobby and your things will be delivered to your room. It’s all taken care of. There’s some traffic up ahead, but we should be at the hotel in a little over an hour. It’s going to be slow, I’m afraid.”

June glanced out the window as the limo pulled away from the curb and out into the sea of cars. It had been many years since she had visited Seattle, and those trips had only been for a few days at a time. Weekend modeling jobs had helped her pay her way through college and medical school, but rarely afforded any time to see the sights. Everything June saw out the window as they drove was new and different to her; shopping malls, department stores, apartment blocks, all gleaming with fresh paint and sparkling glass. It was hardly the image of Seattle she had stored in her memory all these years. She clasped her hands in her lap to prevent nervous picking and felt her stomach rumble. Despite skipping lunch on the plane, her digestive system was wreaking havoc with her nerves. 

“You have any antacid?” she asked Ricardo. 

He took his eyes off the road for a moment. “You’ve come to the right place,” he said, opening the glove box and handing over a roll of chalky tablets. “If nothing else, we always have antacid.”

“Thanks,” she said, swallowing one down. 

Downtown loomed into view in the distance, the tall buildings reaching up into the sky, casting murky reflections over the bay. A thin layer of gray cloud obscured most of the sunlight. As a thin mist of rain began to fall, June’s thoughts turned to Jack. 

Since their relationship had blossomed beyond that of doctor and patient, June had visited him in D.C, or New York where he still held private law offices. Each time, she had fostered hopes for romance, and each time she had gone home empty hearted. Now it seemed as if Amy’s prediction might be coming true; someone as high-profile as Jack Melendez, presidential hopeful and former US Ambassador, would be too busy to carry on a bicoastal relationship. June’s busy schedule as a neurosurgeon made things even more difficult. Not only had their relationship been difficult logistically, but their time spent together always felt a little awkward, especially if Jack had other things on his mind. 

This weekend, however, June had different plans.

Chapter 15

AFTER A HASTY and disappointing lunch in the hotel restaurant, Leopold and Jerome had gone back upstairs to complete their sweep of the living areas. Content everything was in order, they headed next door to the Washington State Convention Center to run a check of the auditorium and public areas. The short walk across the plaza allowed Leopold the opportunity to scout for possible vantage points. He concluded there were many. Above, tall buildings overlooked the courtyard, hundreds of windows providing plenty of hiding places for a sniper, all with a direct line of sight.  

Built in the late Eighties, the convention center had space for more than ten thousand people throughout its glass-and-steel-fronted halls. With dozens of entrances and exits, Leopold was sure the Secret Service had special agents in place to cover the event, but they would be focused on guarding the President, leaving Jack Melendez largely unprotected if anything went wrong. 

The center was busy, many of the smaller rooms hosting public events, but the main auditorium and ballroom were closed off. Leopold headed for the reception desk, ID badge held up in front of him. 

“Good afternoon, sir. How can I help?” the receptionist said. Male, early forties, clipped hair, his accent had traces of upper Midwest. 

“You had a call through from First Hill Suites. We’re here for the security sweep,” Leopold said. Jerome stood behind him. 

The receptionist checked both their ID cards. “Sure, I got you down. You need to speak with one of the teams on site. They should be able to let you through.” He pointed across the lobby. “You can check in with Peterson, just over there.”

Leopold nodded. Running mental checks in his head, he led the way across the hall toward the security offices. The convention center atrium was mostly glass, brightly lit, nowhere to hide. Beyond that, architectural plans suggested a more complex layout, with mazes of corridors and meeting rooms. On top of the complement of staff, there could be as many as eight to ten thousand people milling around on a busy day, making it easy to disappear into the crowds. 

As with any high-profile figure, the security detail was trained to keep to the shadows. In most cases, any assassination attempt would be attempted without breaking cover; traps set, rather than an ambush. Made for an easier getaway, assuming the attackers had any intention of getting out alive. The most likely approach would be explosives, set to detonate remotely or with a timer. With the convention center posting its schedules online in advance, either would be a possibility. 

After that, an attack using a long-ranged rifle was always an option, but rare for an indoor event. Any sniper would need to find refuge within the complex and stay hidden, and Leopold was sure the Secret Service had men posted in likely vantage points. Any gunman would also likely favor a suppressor to mask the sound of the shot, so accuracy would be compromised. Three hundred feet would probably be a safe enough distance for a head shot, especially without wind, but that limited the number of places to hide. 

A less likely, but more terrifying, prospect was chemical attack. A toxic payload could easily be hidden within the ventilation systems and released at will. This approach would also take out most of the bystanders in the building, meaning maximum chaos during egress. Thankfully, the chances of getting hold of chemical weapons without the CIA or FBI finding out about it were slim to none, and the costs associated with buying even the cheapest neurotoxins were astronomical. Success became even less plausible if someone tried importing them, thanks to strict border controls and an international crackdown on chemical terrorism. A potential attacker wouldn’t be able to purchase so much as rat poison without the UN, MI6, or the CIA finding out. 

The chances were unlikely, Leopold figured, but still worth checking. He bounced the idea off Jerome as they reached the security office. 

“The hotel and convention center share the same ventilation systems,” Jerome said, pausing outside the door. “Two units, both housed in the First Hill Suites basement.  That would be the most likely place for a breach. Gustafson said they’d had two inspections. The paperwork checks out.” 

“You trust that guy?”

“I’ve already made arrangements to run my own sweep.” 

“I guess that answers my question.” He knocked on the office door. “Let’s see how cooperative these guys can be.” 

The door opened and a large man appeared. Bearded, a little overweight, dressed in a gray uniform, he looked the two visitors up and down before speaking. “You press?” he said.

“You Peterson?” Leopold said. 

The guard nodded. 

“We’re Jack Melendez’s security detail. He’s due to give a speech here tomorrow, we’re here to confirm the itinerary.”

Peterson grunted, still blocking the doorway. “Listen, we’ve had people tear this place apart over the last three days.” 

“And I appreciate the disruption this must have caused.” Leopold kept his tone polite. “Mr. Melendez will be sure to recommend the venue once this convention is over. Assuming we can count on your assistance with the preparations. We’d hate to have to cancel. Might throw off the whole event.”

Peterson narrowed his eyes. 

“And with everyone dropping in, we wouldn’t want to disappoint so many people.” 

“Fine,” Peterson said. He turned his head to address someone in the room behind him. “Officer Johnson, take care of these guys.” Turning back to Leopold, “Just don’t touch anything. We’ve had Secret Service crawling up our asses. You got any problems, talk to them.” 

“They still in the building?”

“Permanent detail.” He stepped aside as a young woman approached, presumably Johnson, dressed in an identical uniform. She was short, maybe five-three, trim, and wore her brown hair in a tight ponytail. No makeup that Leopold could see. She looked tired, a little stressed.   

“Sir,” the woman said. 

“Take these two over the layout for this weekend. They’re looking after Melendez.” He looked at Leopold. “This is Patricia Johnson. The Secret Service seems to have taken a shine to her. She’ll get you where you need to go.” 

“Charmed,” Leopold said. Johnson nodded curtly. 

“Enjoy yourselves.” Peterson shut the door, a little louder than necessary, leaving the three of them alone. 

“So,” Johnson said, “you must be Blake.” 

“Guilty.”

“I saw your name on the roster and did a little digging. What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Call it a favor for a friend.” 

“You can afford better friends.” 

“You’d be surprised.” 

Johnson smiled. “I guess the job of playboy billionaire gets a little dull after a while.” She glanced up at Jerome. “I suppose he’s the one who knows what he’s doing?” 

Leopold smiled back. “He likes to think so.”

Jerome grunted. “Let’s just stick with the job at hand.”