Nick Stephenson - Panic

“So what chance do we have?”

“Our only option is to catch up with Stark before anything happens to Christina. Then we’ll have our proof.”

Mary nodded grimly. “Speaking of proof, you still haven’t explained how Stark managed to get in and out of a sealed apartment.”

“Oh, that’s easy. Follow me.”

Leopold marched through to the kitchen and grabbed a large carving knife from the counter top. He walked back over toward the bedroom and stopped in the hallway. The others watched him from the bedroom.

“How does someone get in and out of a room without using the doors or the windows?” said Leopold.

The others shrugged.

“Simple. There’s a way in and out that we haven’t seen yet.”

Leopold turned and brought the large knife down hard against the bare drywall behind him. He cut a rough circle and ripped out a hole about twelve inches in diameter. He could see straight through to the apartment next door, which was completely empty.

“Stark leases the apartment next door and cuts his way through to Hank’s place. He waits for Hank to get home with Christina and kills him. Once he’s done arranging the body he simply hangs a fresh sheet of drywall behind him and escapes with his hostage. With all the renovation work going on, nothing looks out of place.”

“Why not just break down the door?” said Albert.

“Like I said, Stark makes his kills look self-inflicted. That way, if he’s ever caught, a good lawyer can use reasonable doubt to acquit him of any charges.”

“So what’s our next move?” said Mary.

“Our only hope of finding Christina alive is catching Stark. If we make it in time, we’ll have all the evidence we need to put Stark away for a long time.”

“If we can find them in time,” said Mary. “Where do we start to look?”

“Logan said he was coming back into the city this afternoon,” said Leopold. “The most logical place to hold Christina is at Logan’s town house, where nobody’s going to walk in on them.”

“The senator’s not going to let them do that! He’d call the police the minute he suspected anything,” said Mary.

“Senator Logan is dead,” said Leopold. “No doubt about it.”

A few seconds passed where nobody spoke. Albert shuffled uncomfortably and glanced around, presumably hoping someone would break the silence. Eventually, Mary obliged.

“Okay, let’s say you’re right.”

“I am,” said Leopold. “It was always Stark’s intention to kill the senator, but it made sense for him to wait until he had a better idea of what was happening before making his move. The minute Stark sent his men after us back at the library, I knew the senator was dead.”

“Okay, I believe you,” said Mary hurriedly. “So we know where Christina is. And Stark. But how the hell do we get her out of there? The senator’s place is going to be locked down. How do we get in? We won’t get any support from the NYPD or the FBI without a warrant, which could take days. We don’t have that long.”

“Then we get her back ourselves,” said Leopold.

“And how do we do that? We’ll need a small army just to get through the door.”

Leopold grinned. “I have an idea. Let’s take a drive.”

The fluorescent lights that illuminated the windows of the high-class department stores and restaurants lining Fifth Avenue cut through the evening gloom as the VW Beetle rattled up to Leopold’s apartment building. The sun had just begun to disappear beneath the skyline and the streets were getting a little quieter as most people were inside eating dinner, starting work on the night shift, or hitting the town for a few weekend drinks.

Leopold cringed as the car hit a pothole, feeling his teeth rattle in his skull. Albert pulled up to the building and entered the pass code into the keypad that opened the underground garage and the heavy gates opened up to let them through. The metallic knocking of the VW’s old engine echoed loudly as Albert drove the car through to the reserved space at the back of the lot, closest to the elevators.

The four of them piled out and rode to the top floor, where Leopold punched in a six-digit pass code and the elevator opened silently into the penthouse apartment’s cavernous entrance hall. The automatic lights came on and bathed the room with a warm glow. Albert whistled, clearly impressed.

Leopold led them through the enormous apartment, just as messy as he had left it earlier that morning, and opened a door that opened into a brightly lit room lined from top to bottom with glass-fronted storage cabinets. This particular room was unique in that it was meticulously neat. The cabinets were filled with laboratory equipment, and a large white counter filled most of the floor space, with a slim touchscreen monitor built into its surface.

“What’s this place?” asked Mary, looking around with interest.

“Store room,” said Leopold. “I keep most of my research equipment in here, but Jerome keeps some items in here too. Items I think we’ll find useful.”

Jerome stepped forward and entered a code into the touchscreen panel. A gentle whirring sound emanated from the unit and the entire countertop slid away, revealing a large storage cabinet underneath. Mounted to the interior walls were a dozen handguns, each of varying caliber, as well as hunting knives, throwing stars, and even a crossbow. In the center, on the floor of the unit, was a collection of chunky black objects that looked a lot like hockey pucks.

Mary turned to Leopold, hands on her hips. “I assume you have a licence for these weapons? They’re not exactly standard issue .”

“Of course,” said Leopold. “And being a major shareholder of the country’s biggest supplier of military weapons means I get access to some of the more interesting pieces.”

“What are those things?” asked Mary, pointing at the hockey pucks.

“Anti-personnel explosives,” said Jerome, before Leopold could answer. “Not as high-tech as the micro-explosives, but they pack a bigger punch.”

“What kind of punch?” asked Albert, reaching out his hand to touch one.

Jerome grabbed his wrist and growled. “Enough to super-heat the blood in your veins to boiling point within ten seconds.”

Albert gulped loudly.

Jerome reached his own hand out slowly, and picked up one of the explosives. “A simple twist of the casing and the explosive is armed,” he continued, holding up the black disc. “The case is made from very low-friction alloy, so it slides easily across most surfaces toward your target’s feet. A second or two later, and the device ignites, setting the target on fire rather than blowing him across the room. Makes for enhanced mayhem in confined spaces, with little impact damage to the surrounding area. Useful if you’ve got someone cornered.”

“And why do we need to know this?” asked Mary.

“Like you said, we need the right tools to get to Christina. Take a look around; I think you’ll find what we need,” said Leopold, picking up one of the handguns and examining it.

As he held the weapon in his hands, he noticed a slight tremor in his grip and realized he hadn’t eaten all day. He was hungry. Starving. “Show them the rest,” he said, patting Jerome on the shoulder. “I’m going to fix us some dinner. It’s not good attempting a daring rescue with low blood sugar.”

Leopold left the others and went through to the kitchen. The automatic lights flicked on as he passed through, set for low ambient lighting at this time of the evening. The kitchen was modest compared to the rest of the apartment – which wasn’t an issue for Leopold, who had most of his food delivered – but it still contained all the equipment needed to cook just about anything. The surfaces were reflective black marble and the appliances were finished with brushed aluminium and glass, except for the industrial-grade Viking gas oven which was stainless steel and took up most of the space.