Текст книги "Panic"

Автор книги: Nick Stephenson

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“Let’s get you fixed up first. Then we’ll think about our next move. I’ve got a feeling we’re getting close to finding some answers.”

Chapter 27

Leopold helped carry Albert down the tunnel, stopping at one of the bulbs that hadn’t been shattered to allow Jerome to inspect the injuries under the hazy light. The bleeding had mostly stopped, leaving a deep, clean gash. The bodyguard dabbed at the wounds gently with a cotton ball and a splash of liquid antibacterial, making his patient flinch in pain. Leopold saw the look of concern on Mary’s face.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”

“I know. It’s just that we shouldn’t be putting civilians in danger like that.”

“Technically, Jerome and I are civilians too.”

“That’s not the same. You both knew what you were getting into. Albert had no idea. We lied to him and nearly got him killed. Don’t you care?”

“Of course I care. I know I don’t always exactly speak my mind,” he smiled as Mary rolled her eyes in agreement. “I’m not as callous as you think.”

“I don’t think you’re callous. I just find you impossible to read, that’s all.”

“A product of my upbringing, I’m afraid. My father wouldn’t approve.”

“Letting people know how you feel isn’t a weakness. Your father was a good man, but he didn’t always get it right when it came to emotions,” said Mary, resting her hand on his shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine.

Leopold paused before considering a reply and felt a clawing in his chest. He brushed it off and forced a smile.

“You didn’t know him like I did,” he said.

Mary squeezed his shoulder, making the hairs on Leopold’s forearms stand on end. “It’s not your fault, you know,” she said softly, looking into his eyes. “No one could have predicted what would happen.”

 “I should have. The signs were all there.”

“Nobody’s perfect, Leopold. Not even you. And I still stand by what I said. We’ll find out what happened, eventually.”

He nodded, and the pair sat in silence as Jerome finished cleaning their tour guide’s wound. Albert inspected Jerome’s handiwork and gave a thumbs up, then lifted his arm so that a bandage could be fitted.

“What do we do now?” he asked, once Jerome had finished.

“We need to get hold of the security logs that coincide with the time stamps we found on the computer,” replied Leopold.

“The security guard’s not just going to hand them over,” said Albert.

“Let me worry about that,” said Mary. “I can be very persuasive.”

“Can we avoid any more shooting?”

“No promises,” said Jerome.

“We’ll try, Albert,” said Mary.

Leopold lead the group back through the basement and into the corridors of Uris Hall, each of them squinting as the halogen lights hit their eyes. In less than a minute they had found their way back to the main lobby, the floor littered with scuff marks and dirt from where the fire fighters had trampled through in search of the non-existent emergency. The room was empty, the students having returned to afternoon classes.

“Hey, you! Stop!” a voice rang from the other end of the hall.

Turning, Leopold saw a portly security guard, red-faced and panting, jog over to where they were standing. He reached them after a few seconds of obvious exertion and took a moment to catch his breath.

“You! I know you!” he glared at Mary. “My keys! They went missing after you ran into me outside! What have you done with them?”

“You mean these?” the police sergeant held up a set of keys and jiggled them in front of the guard’s face.

“Give them to me!” he reached out a pudgy hand, but Mary drew back out of his grasp.

“Not so fast, Marty,” she eyed the guard’s security ID badge. “We need a little favor from you.”

Marty’s face, already red from running across the lobby, turned the color of beetroot. “Give me those keys, now!”

“Not a chance. We need you to do a little search of your security logs and give us the names of everyone who was in this building two days ago at midnight.”

Mary dangled the keys again for effect. The fat security guard trembled from what Leopold could only assume was rage. Or perhaps indigestion.

“And just why the hell should I help you? You have exactly two seconds to give those keys back or I’m calling the cops.”

She pulled out her badge and held it up to Marty’s face. “No need.”

He glared at the metal shield and grinned. “I’ve got your badge number now! Don’t think I won’t call your boss. You can’t just take private property without a warrant. I know the law! You’re in big trouble, lady!”

“I don’t think so. Let’s think about this a minute, Marty. How is this going to look when your boss finds out?” she said, stepping in close.

“Finds out what?”

“That the entire business and economics department was disrupted for the best part of the afternoon. That the fire department had to come out for no good reason, at a cost of several thousand dollars, which I’m sure they’ll be billing the University for, and that somebody’s been breaking in to Pupin Hall for the past month to send threatening emails from a computer you’ve got hidden in the basement.”

Marty paused a second or two before answering. “What’s any of this got to do with me?”

“I’ll tell you why you should be worried, Marty. When the board of trustees finds out, they’ll want to know who’s to blame. I think starting with the security guard who can’t keep hold of his keys is a pretty good place to start, don’t you?”

The chubby guard blanched, an impressive feat considering his original color. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I? A quick call to my contacts in the press and the whole thing goes public in a matter of hours. How valuable are you to this place that you think you’ll be able to keep your job after that?”

Marty opened his mouth to respond, but was quickly cut off as she continued.

“In fact, I’m pretty sure that I’ll have some questions for you myself in relation to a recent kidnapping involving someone using University computers to send illegal emails, which would certainly require some help from the inside. So, we can continue this conversation like responsible adults, or I can make a few phone calls.”

The rent-a-cop’s eyes bulged, but he stayed quiet. After a few seconds he nodded and motioned for them to follow him to his desk. He led the group over to the security office and logged on to the computer. The room was small, with just enough room for Mary and Leopold to lean in over Marty’s shoulder and give instructions. Leopold tried not to look at the dog-eared Playboy calendars hanging on the wall. Jerome noticed a black windbreaker hanging on the back of the door and held it up to his chest, checking the size.

“Hey, that’s mine,” said Marty, pointing at Jerome.

The towering bodyguard scowled and pulled off his Armani jacket, revealing his handgun and bloodstained shirt. Marty gulped, and turned his attention back to the computer screen.

“Okay, here you go,” coughed Marty, jabbing an oily finger at the monitor. “Two days ago around midnight. Only person to clock out of Pupin is Professor Brian Locke. Works in the Department of Computer Science.”

“Where can we find him?” said Leopold.

“He’s got a home address listed, but he holds office hours on Friday afternoons, so he won’t be there.”

“Where’s his office?”

“His usual office is at the Shapiro Center, just across campus, but it’s being renovated, so they’ve found him a spare room at Butler Library. You’ve got about an hour before he locks up for the weekend.”

“Good. Mary, I assume this is good enough reason to hold off giving your friends a call about Marty here?”

Mary nodded and handed the keys back to the sweaty guard, who hastily clipped them back onto his belt.

“If this doesn’t pan out, I’m coming back for you,” she said, pulling aside her jacket to reveal the gun underneath.

Marty glanced at the firearm nervously, then sank back in his chair and sighed deeply. “Don’t worry about me. I need this job. If there’s anything else you need, just let me know and I’ll make it happen.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” said Leopold. “I need to borrow one of your labs. There’s something I want to take a look at.”

Chapter 28

“Fascinating.”

The research laboratory was deserted and smelled faintly of sulphur and wood polish. Leopold hunched over a tall microscope, adjusted the focus with his right hand, and waved Jerome over with his left, never taking his eye off the scope. The bodyguard approached, zipping up the windbreaker he had taken from Marty’s office. He had tossed the ruined Armani jacket into the laboratory incinerator with some regret.

“Found something?” asked Jerome, peering over Leopold’s shoulder.

“Look at this.”

The consultant stepped back and Jerome placed his right eye over the lens. “What am I looking at?”

“One of the plastic coins we took from our German friend downstairs,” said Leopold. “It’s a micro-explosive. I managed to get one open.”

“Did you figure out how they work?”

“Oh yes, and they’re very clever. Can you see the two reservoirs of liquid?”

“Yes; what are they?”

“This is the clever bit. It uses a binary explosive to create a potent detonation that is restricted to a very small radius – perfect for targeted attacks with little or no collateral damage. You take two chemicals, either of which is harmless by itself, and mix them together to form a volatile explosive. Add a battery and circuit board, and you can detonate remotely. I can’t tell which chemicals have been used here without further testing, but I’m guessing nitromethane and ethylenediamene.”

“How does it work?”

“When the device receives the signal, it releases an electric charge strong enough to melt the layer of resistor-impregnated plastic that separates the two chemicals. After a few seconds, the chemicals mix and a second signal is sent, which triggers another charge and detonates the device.”

“I’ve never heard of something like this,” said Jerome, still squinting into the microscope.

 “It’s cutting-edge stuff. This sort of technology isn’t around in the public domain yet. These must be the prototypes that were stolen from the military facility a few days ago.”

The bodyguard stood up straight again, his face grim. “There’s enough of the chemicals stored in this capsule to blow a hole in solid rock. Just think what that would do if you planted it on a person.”

Albert started patting his pockets frantically, his eyes bulging in horror as his fingers found what turned out to be his keys. “Phew! Sorry guys, carry on.”

“That’s certainly a possibility,” replied Leopold. “Considering how small they are, it would be almost impossible to notice someone slipping them into a bag or coat. They don’t give off any radiation, and they use the same radio technology as cell phones, so they’d be difficult to detect by scanning devices. In short, the perfect anti-personnel explosive for busy urban areas.”

“How many are left?” asked Jerome.

“There were three recovered from our friend in the tunnels, so we’ve got two left that I haven’t dissected. I’ll be holding on to those for further study; they don’t have all the equipment here that I need to determine the exact composition of the chemicals.”

“Make sure you keep them in their case. I don’t want to have to scoop you off the sidewalk.”

“Don’t worry, they’re harmless without the remote trigger. I could smash them with a hammer and still not set them off.”

Leopold closed the lid of the metal case holding the remaining two micro-bombs and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He buttoned his jacket and motioned for the others to follow him.

“It’s time we found Professor Locke,” he said, turning off the light to the microscope. “Office hours are officially open.”

Chapter 29

It was four p.m. and the sun was still bright in the sky above the Columbia University lawns, though the air had cooled and the wind had blown away the smell of hot asphalt from earlier in the day. Leopold led the others toward Butler Library with a quick, determined step and ran over the events of the day in his head.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Mary sidled up beside him.

Snapping out of his daze, he looked around as they continued walking. She was wearing that warm smile that had always been so effective at disarming him in the past.

“Just running through the facts of the case in my head,” he replied.

“Any conclusions?”

“None at this point. On the one hand, there’s at least one person who wants me dead. On the other, we have only a few hours to track down a kidnapped girl before she ends up dead, and our only lead is just a few hundred feet away.”

“Not our only lead,” said Mary. “You already said you didn’t trust the senator, so maybe he’s involved somehow.”

“Possibly. I know he’s hiding something, but I’m not sure what. But I am sure he’s no killer. He could have taken me out at his house this morning if he’d wanted me dead.”

“Then who else would try taking you out?”

“The list is almost endless. Being in my line of work doesn’t exactly make you new friends,” said Leopold, smiling grimly.

Mary nodded and rubbed her arms as the wind picked up, her thin jacket providing little protection. Leopold wondered where the warmth of the morning had gone and gritted his teeth a little.

“So what’s the plan?” said Albert, trotting up to join them, leaving Jerome to take up the rear.

“According to Marty, Professor Locke’s office is on the sixth floor, behind the rare books and manuscripts collection,” said Leopold. “I’ll need to make sure no students barge in on us, so I’ll need someone to watch the corridors near the office and stop anyone trying to get in.”

“I’ll do it,” said Albert, enthusiastically.

“Are you sure you’re up to it? You’re still injured,” said Leopold.

Albert nodded animatedly. “It’s fine. The bleeding’s stopped and the pain killers Jerome gave me are doing a great job. Let me do this. I can help!”

Mary caught Leopold’s eye. He knew it was a risk to put Albert in danger again, especially after he had been nearly killed in the tunnels, but he didn’t foresee any real issues. He put a hand on Albert’s uninjured shoulder as they walked.

“Okay. But I don’t want you playing the hero again, understand? At the first sign of trouble, come and get us. You’re not trained to handle situations like before, and it could get you killed.”

“I’m fine! And besides, I reckon I saved your life. Without me, who knows what that sicko would have done.”

Pausing for a moment, the consultant turned to face Albert. “You’re right, I owe you a debt of gratitude. If you ever need anything from me, just ask. I officially owe you one.”

The group reached the heavy wooden doors that opened out into the entrance lobby of the library. The doorway itself was nearly twenty feet high, but was dwarfed by the fourteen enormous columns above that helped support the library’s hulking stone frame and its contents of nearly two million books.

Inside, the cavernous main hall rose over three stories from the polished floor to the gilded ceiling, with long, three-tiered chandeliers that hung at regular intervals across the room. Despite the ornate lighting, the room received most of its illumination from the tall windows that stretched the height of the walls, letting in enough sun that Leopold wondered why the lights were switched on at all. The library smelled of cold stone and polished oak, and was silent enough that he felt a little self-conscious breathing. The only faint noises were the soft clacks of computer keyboards and the scribble of pens and pencils on notepads.

After a short ride in the elevators, the doors opened out onto the sixth floor of the library and Leopold set off in the direction of the faculty offices, with the others close behind.

The rare books and manuscripts section was more modern than many of the other areas of the library, with controlled lighting and glass-fronted display cabinets stretching out the full length of the corridors. As they walked through, Leopold glanced with interest at the selection of ancient texts, artwork, and tablets that sat behind the reinforced displays.

“There’s over four thousand years of history housed up here,” he said. “And around fourteen miles of manuscripts stored alongside about half a million books detailing the entirety of human civilization. Right here is the culmination of all mankind’s achievements since we learned how to write.”

“Thanks for the history lesson,” said Mary. “I’ll be sure to check something out on the way back. Do you think they’ll give me a library card?”

He gave up and sighed. “Just don’t touch anything.”

“Roger that.” She gave a mock-salute and rolled her eyes.

They soon found the office area, exactly as Marty had described. There were five offices in total, each facing out onto a central reading area with three tables and some scattered chairs. The only sound was the buzz of an overhead neon light in its final throes and the soft thrum of the air conditioning. Leopold spotted Locke’s office in the far corner, just a windowless door with his name written in magic marker on a scrap of paper and taped to the wood. Leopold knocked gently.

“Come in,” a muffled voice came from inside.

Leopold opened the door and stepped inside, followed closely by the others. Professor Locke’s office was a mess, with boxes of stacked papers lining the edges of the walls and loose manuscripts and battered textbooks scattered around the floor. Locke himself stood with his shirt sleeves rolled up, sweating from what Leopold assumed was the effort of unpacking all the heavy books. The professor was short and overweight. His dark hair was slicked back with greasy hair gel, and his white shirt was littered with various stains, both old and new, all of varying color. Set on one of the shelves where he had finished unpacking was a half-eaten sandwich. The room smelled like mustard.

“What do you want?” Locke asked, leaning against the bookshelf and wiping his brow with the back of his forearm.

“Professor Brian Locke?” asked Leopold

“Yeah. Like I said, what do you want? You ain’t students of mine, and I got work to do.”

“We’re here to talk to you about Christina Logan. One of your students, right?” said Leopold, taking a step forward.

“Who wants to know?”

“My name is Leopold Blake, and this is Mary Jordan of the NYPD. The tall gentleman is my security officer, Jerome, and this is a private consultant, Albert Fitzgerald. We’re working with Christina’s father, Senator Logan.”

Locke took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, contemplating. He picked up the unfinished sandwich and took a large bite, dropping crumbs onto his already-filthy shirt. He continued speaking with his mouth full.

“Yeah, that’sh me. What’sh thish all about?”

“When was the last time you saw Christina?” asked Leopold.

Locke finished his mouthful of sandwich and made a smacking noise. He kept the rest in his hand as he spoke, pausing only to wipe his mouth.

“Erm… Must have been a couple days ago during class. Why? Where is she?”

“She’s been kidnapped,” said Mary, holding up her police shield.

Locke dropped his sandwich. “Wh – what? Is she okay?”

“We have evidence that you were sending Christina threatening emails. Can you explain?”

“No! I w – wouldn’t! She’s a student of mine. Why would I want to do that?”

“The computer in the basement. I have a copy of the entire hard drive, along with security records of you in the building at the time the emails were sent.”

Locke began to sweat, tiny beads of perspiration forming on his greasy brow. Jerome cracked his knuckles and Locke flinched slightly, considering his options.

“Okay, okay! I admit it! I sent her some… unsavory emails. But I would never hurt her!” said the professor, palms up.

“What relationship existed between you and Christina?”

“There was no relationship. Nothing more than professor and student.”

“Then why send those messages? Were you in love with her?”

“I – I asked her out once. She said no.”

“That’s it?” said Mary, folding her arms.

“W – well, I asked her out again and she got pretty mad. Threatened to report me to the dean. Little bitch. I got a little mad,” said Locke, avoiding the police sergeant’s stare.

“The last email said that you knew some kind of secret. What did that mean?”

“N – nothing! I was just… bluffing! Wanted to scare her a little, that’s all. I swear!”

Mary frowned. “You’re lying, Brian. Tell us the truth.”

“I’m not lying!” he said, trembling.

“Your voice raises in pitch by several tones when you lie,” said Leopold, interrupting. “You also stutter, and you can’t stop playing with your hands.”

Locke looked down at his hands and shoved them into his pockets. “Fine. Ask your damn questions.”

“There’s only one thing I’m interested in,” said Leopold. “Tell me about this so-called family secret. Then I’ll decide what to do with you.”

Locke slumped in his desk chair and took a deep breath. “There was a fundraising benefit held at the University last month, and my department was invited. I noticed that Christina and her father were there as well, so naturally I kept and eye on them during the meal.” He paused.

“Keep going,” said Leopold.

“I first noticed something was a little odd when I went to the bathroom just after the appetizers. I remember, it was this really great French onion soup with the nicest little –”

“Get to the point, Brian,” said Mary.

“Oh – right. Yeah, so I go to the bathroom and I see these guys out in the hallway, all dressed up in business suits and looking like they were waiting for someone. I heard one of them mention Logan’s name. Sounded like they were pretty desperate to speak to him.”

“So, what happened?”

“Well, I went back to the table and waited for the senator to get up and leave. Then I followed him. He met with the guys in the suits and they went into a room together. It all felt a little cloak and dagger to me, so I listened in.”

“Go on.”

“I went into the room next door and put my ear against the wall, which was pretty thin. I heard the senator getting really agitated about something to do with raising money, and I heard one of the others tell him that they couldn’t help him without a show of good faith, or something like that. They pretty much stopped talking after that, so I slipped back to my table before anyone noticed I’d been gone too long.”

“Then what?” said Leopold.

“Nothing more happened at the dinner, but when I got home I looked up some of the details of the organization running the fundraiser. Turns out the company is a subsidiary of a corporation owned by a private equity firm that invests on the behalf of a trust fund. And you can guess who the beneficiary to the fund is.”

“Senator Logan,” said Leopold.

“Damn right! Seems a bit of a coincidence that a charity event set up to help starving children or whatever was managed by a company that one of the major donors actually owns. Smells pretty rotten to me. So I did some digging and found about a dozen other cases where a company owned or part-owned by the senator was involved in some kind of baloney charity deal,” said Locke.

“What do you mean, ‘baloney’?” asked Mary.

“Keep up, honey. For every fundraiser his company organizes, the senator makes a large cash donation in his own name. The charity’s sponsors match the donation into one of the company’s holding accounts,” said Locke. “Next, the company pipes the money through enough fake accounts to make sure nobody can trace it, and then skims a huge amount off the top. The charity ends up receiving about 25% of the total money raised. The whole thing is a massive front.”

“How did you find all this out?”

“I’m a professor in Columbia University’s computer science department, one of the leading centers for research in the world. I know a few people who can do useful things with computers,” said Locke, sarcastically.

“Okay, so why was the senator so agitated at the dinner, if he’s getting so much money?”

“Who knows? Could be that whatever he’s into requires a hell of a lot more than he can raise. That’s my theory.”

“So why email Christina?” asked Mary.

“I figured I could email Christina and really freak her out. After she realizes what dear old dad has done, she tells her father about the emails and then I propose a meeting. That way I can put Daddy’s little angel in her place, and expose the senator for the fraud that he is.”

“Unless the senator happens to change your mind somehow,” said Leopold, raising his eyebrows.

“You mean blackmail?” replied Locke, in mock horror. “I prefer the term financial persuasion. Besides, how is it different from accepting campaign donations from companies wanting to affect government policy? I say it’s about time politicians started listening to taxpayers like me!”

“We’re not here to discuss politics. Why did you go to so much trouble to hide your tracks?” said Leopold.

“Are you kidding? The whole point was to harass Christina enough so that I’d eventually get through to her father, who’s not exactly going to be overjoyed at the whole thing. Senator Logan could find a guy like me in a matter of minutes if he wanted to. So, unless I hide what I’m doing, I’m dead meat.”

“You might still be,” said Mary.

“Huh? What do you mean?” said the professor.

“Christina was kidnapped by the same person who murdered three senators in cold blood. Chances are he already knows who you are, and he’ll be wanting to know what you know. There’s someone out there, someone dangerous, who isn’t going to want any loose ends. Catch my drift?”

All the color drained out of Locke’s face, and his jaw fell open. He didn’t make a noise for a moment and then suddenly began to hyperventilate.

“Calm down, Professor Locke,” said Mary, rolling her eyes. “If you cooperate with us, I can offer you police protection.”

“W – what do you want me to do?” asked the flustered professor, panting.

“We have a special job in mind for you,” said Leopold. “But first, I need some time to think. You need to stay here in case any of your students show up for office hours and people start wondering where you are. In the mean time, where’s the nearest room we can use?”

“Erm… j – just round the corner. G – go left out of here and through the double doors. It sh – should be empty,” said Locke, trying to control his breathing.

“Good. We’ll be back soon. Don’t move.”