Ratio: A Leopold Blake Thriller (A Private Investigator Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers) (8 page)

“You ready, or what?” Jonny said. 

“Like I have a choice, right?” she said, her Filipino accent betraying her nerves; it always broke through when she got stressed. Jet black hair, toned body, dark skin, she knew she looked good and wasn’t afraid to flaunt it a little. Her deep brown eyes settled on the mannequin laying on the garage floor. “You’ve been busy.” 

“Just pay attention.” He took a few steps back from his setup, pulling out his phone. “This handset is tied in to the chip in the detcord. So long as I’m not too far out of range, I can use it to detonate.” He pointed at the mannequin. “Manny here is our willing test subject.”

“
Diyos ko po
! You’ll blow the damn house into the sky.” She retreated a little into the kitchen. 

“What did I tell you about getting hysterical? The blast is powerful, but it’s confined to a small radius. They use this stuff for cutting down trees.” He took another step back. “Besides, how are we going to know this will work unless we try it?”

“You’re going to get us both killed.” 

“If you screw this up, Mariel, I’ll kill you myself.” Jonny turned his attention back to his cell phone. “Just remember the deal and hold up your end. And don’t do anything stupid.” 

Mariel folded her arms but didn’t reply.

“Good. Now watch this.” He punched in a telephone number and hit ‘send’. The call connected. A deafening
crack
and a flash of white light filled the room. Jonny flinched, his ears ringing. Mariel yelped in fright, clapping her hands over her ears.

Jonny shook his head, clearing his vision, and took a look around. Manny’s head had been flung ten feet across the garage, severed cleanly from the rest of his body. The acrid smell of melted plastic filled the air. Jonny bent down to examine the remains. 

“Looks like this will do just fine,” he said. The pillow had been torn to shreds, charred along the edges, stuffing flung all over the floor, like polyester snowfall. “Anyone standing too close is going to get hurt, but not too badly. It’s only going to work if she’s lying on the bed.” 

Mariel uncovered her ears. “You want to kill this woman so bad, why not put a bullet in her? You don’t need my help with that.” 

Jonny pocketed the cell phone and walked over. “She’s protected. No way of getting close enough. Besides, I’ve got my orders.” He tried to push past into the kitchen.

“You think you’re a big man, playing Yakuza,” Mariel said, blocking the doorway. “What, they promise you a badge of honor this time?” 

Jonny whipped the back of his hand across her cheek. She stumbled backward, clutching at her face. “Watch your tongue, or I’ll cut it out,” he said, striding through into the kitchen. 

“The Oguchi family won’t let you into their club, asshole,” Mariel said, recovering. “You don’t have what it takes. You’re just another
gaijin
to them. No matter what your uncle says. They’re playing you.”

Jonny held up his hand again, but thought better of it. “You like living in this country?” he said, taking a step closer. “Because if you want to stand a chance of staying here, you’ll hold up your end. And you can keep your damn opinions to yourself. Understand?” 

Mariel let her hand drop from her cheek. “Yeah. I get it.”

“Good.” He opened the fridge and took out a cold bottle of beer, unscrewing the cap. “Now, we need sixteen more pillows stuffed with detcord. Enough for all the beds on the VIP floor at the hotel.”

“Four suites on the VIP floor, two bedrooms per suite, one king-size bed per room, with two pillows per bed. I know how to count. You don’t need to keep reminding me.”

“We won’t have a second chance at this.”

Mariel folded her arms. “You mean
I
won’t have a second chance. I’m the one putting my life on the line, not you.”

“Where do you get that idea? It’s my uncle that’s paying us to do this. And I’m the one that thought up this plan, not you. If they find me out, I go to prison for the rest of my life.” He took a deep swig of beer. “Or worse. You’d only get a slap on the wrist, if they even figure out you’re a part of this.”

She shook her head. “Slap on the wrist? You’re such a dick! If something goes wrong and they discover I put these pillows on those beds, I’m the one that gets burned. And if something really goes wrong, I’m the one that gets blown up by these things.”

“Pretty unlikely, as long as we both follow the plan. And think of the payday.”

“Yeah, yeah. You get to play gangster, I get my green card.”

“And enough money to buy a nice place somewhere quiet,” Jonny said. 

“Yeah, great.” Mariel sighed. “Like I said, it’s not like I have much of a choice, is it? I can’t go back home. You know that.”

“Just do as I tell you and America is your new home. A new identity, a new life. No more running.” He downed the rest of the beer and tossed the bottle into the trash. “All you need to do is wait until the guests have checked in, finished their security sweeps, then swap out the pillows. Think you can manage that?” 

“I’ve worked there long enough. People trust me to get on with my job,” she replied. “One of the benefits of working on staff, people don’t notice you moving around the place. Should be a piece of cake.”

“And make sure you swap out all the pillows. No way of knowing where either of them will be sleeping. Need to cover all the bases.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not stupid. Just make sure you don’t mess up the wiring.”

Jonny smirked. “Let me worry about that. Just make sure not to crimp any of the pillows when you lay them out. Putting them on the bed is safe enough, but just don’t step on them or bend them too much.”

“Or what?” she asked.

He grinned at her. “Or you go boom instead of June Kato.”

Chapter 11

TREVOR’S STOMACH GROWLED, the sound echoing noisily in the narrow crawl space. He resisted the urge to swear out loud, and tried to think about something else. He flicked on his flashlight, trying to locate his satchel of supplies. The light bounced off the metal surfaces, coming to a rest on one of the fake panels he had installed the day before. Sure enough, even to Trevor, the effect was indistinguishable from the original walls. The layers of insulation should also do a good job of hiding his heat signature. 

The perfect hiding place.  

He knew he had limited time to move about in his self-imposed solitary confinement. Gustafson, the idiot, had let on that a security team would arrive later today for their inspection of the Seventh Floor, and to make their own arrangements. Between now and then was the last chance to move around or make any noise whatsoever. He checked the alarm on his watch, made sure it was set to vibrate, and began searching for something to eat. 

This is where all the beers bought for military veterans paid off. He had prepared well, learning how to arrange his gear in order of use, from soonest to last. Laying his blanket in one corner, stowing his pistol next to it, he reached for his breakfast. Nearby, the plastic tote with a stash of non-perishable food in plastic ziplock baggies, a row of water bottles along the wall. He found the first of several baggies of granola bars, pulling one out and unwrapping it as silently as he could. He bit off one end of the bar, chewing slowly, trying not to spike his blood sugar too high. 

He finished the first, then picked up another, and then another. He drank half the first bottle of water, and immediately felt the urge to piss. At the far end of the narrow space, a collapsible bucket and a bag of cat litter to use as a latrine. It wasn’t going to be pretty in there for the next twenty-four hours, but he had novels, flashlights, batteries, and caffeinated drinks to keep him occupied during the long dark.

He had learned from the soldiers in the late-night bars that one of the hardest things for snipers was keeping themselves alert for long periods of time. If possible, they would sleep only during the dark, and stuff sharp pebbles under their bodies to keep them uncomfortable, keep them dozing lightly. The last thing a sniper wanted was to get caught sleeping. 

Caffeine pills and sporadic anaerobic exercise helped during the daytime, stimulating the body and keeping the blood pumping. However fatiguing or painful the long wait might become, it was critical to remain alert. And that was exactly what Trevor planned for; he had to rely on catnaps during the quiet of night, and remain awake during the day by reading, doing silent push-ups and sit-ups, and taking caffeine pills.

Ready and steady when the time comes
. 

He relieved himself into the bucket, tossed some litter in, and settled back into his corner. Using his flashlight, he unloaded his pistol, and removed the rounds from the magazine. He set each one down in front of him in a tidy row. He turned off the light.  

Plunged into pitch black, he reached forward, found a bullet, and knocked it over. In the dark, his hearing had become acute, and he heard the bullet roll away. He reached forward again, relying on the memory in his muscles to find the next bullet. Finding it, he turned it around and slid it into the magazine in his other hand. One round after another, he played the game of loading his gun. Once fully loaded, he unloaded it again, and repeated the exercise. 

After what felt like hours, he felt himself dozing off. With several hours until the security team was due to show up, Trevor figured a short nap was acceptable. He just needed to relax a little first.

Fishing out a slim tablet, he read one of his books at the lowest brightness settings until his eyes grew heavy. Finishing the chapter, he stuffed his pockets with marbles and lay down, feeling the glass orbs digging into his legs. Flicking off the tablet, he set it to one side, making sure his pistol was well within reach. 

In the darkness, with only the sounds of the air conditioning systems and his own heartbeat to keep him company, Trevor pretended he was camping on a moonless and starless night before finally dozing off.

Chapter 12

THE AMERICAN AIRLINES transcontinental flight landed without incident, touching down at Sea-Tac a few minutes earlier than scheduled. The first class cabin had been a little cramped, but after a few measures of bourbon Leopold had drifted off to sleep within half an hour of takeoff. He woke up with a start as the plane hit the asphalt, the thrust reversers kicking in with a deafening roar.

After collecting their luggage at baggage claim at the main Seattle airport, Jerome led the way to the automobile rental area in the parking garage. Checking in with the clerk on duty, they waited only moments before two large Cadillac Escalade SUVs were brought around. Both vehicles were styled in metallic black paint, with tinted windows and dark leather seats. Each had been fitted with satellite navigation, wireless connectivity and a GPS tracker. 

Leopold climbed in to the nearest vehicle and fired up the engine. A deep roar from the six-liter V8 filled the cabin, over four hundred horses at its disposal. Checking the rear-view mirror, Leopold watched Jerome climb into the other Escalade, signaling he was ready to move out. Leopold activated the satellite navigation and headed out the parking lot, aiming for the airport exit. Once they hit the freeway, Leopold called Jerome on the wireless system.

“I want to inspect the rooms at the hotel before we check in,” he said, as Jerome picked up. “In case anyone’s monitoring the reception desk.”  

“Agreed.” The bodyguard’s voice came through loud and clear. 

“I’ll check maintenance records while you do the inspection tour of the seventh floor suites. I guess you know what you’re doing.” 

“This isn’t exactly my first rodeo.” 

“See you there.” Leopold hung up. Drifting into the fast lane, he let the SUVs big engine loose, the tachometer nudging four thousand RPM.

For all his reluctance, a small part of Leopold welcomed the opportunity to get out of New York for a few days. With the Paris mess still hitting headlines and tax season fast approaching, looking after Melendez and his new girlfriend felt like a vacation. Still, with all eyes on Seattle this weekend, and the President dropping in for a chance to impress the media ahead of the primaries, there was plenty of opportunity for things to go wrong.