Nick Stephenson - Panic

Leopold felt his cell phone buzz underneath his robe and reached into his jacket pocket to check who was calling. The name Mary Jordan flashed up on the screen and Leopold grinned. Finally.

“Morning Mary, long time.”

“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time,” said Mary, barely audible thanks to a bad signal. “I need you to meet me as soon as you can. There’s been another move on a state senator.”

The crowd began to take their seats and Leopold put a finger over one ear, trying to hear Mary’s voice through the noise.

“I knew it! Another staged suicide? Or has our killer given up the pretense?” he said, cupping a hand over his mouth and trying not to shout.

“Actually, it’s not a murder,” said Mary, “but we think it’s the same perp. This time we’re dealing with a kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping? The police don’t usually ask for my help unless there’s a body to examine.”

Leopold’s voice was loud enough that the elderly woman sitting next to him to raised an eyebrow. Leopold cupped his hand over his mouth again.

“The police aren’t the ones who called,” said Mary. “Christina Logan, the daughter of State Senator Christopher Logan, was abducted early this morning, and two of her friends were killed outside a mid-town nightclub. The senator received a phone call demanding thirty-five million dollars in ransom in exchange for her life. Logan asked for you by name. It seems you’ve earned yourself something of a reputation.”

Leopold leaned forward in his chair and took a moment to think. “I’m in the middle of something right now. Sounds simple enough for the police to handle,” he said, eventually.

“Just hang on, I’m getting to the good bit,” said Mary, her voice getting more animated. “The senator received the ransom demand yesterday, two hours before Christina disappeared. Now he can’t get hold of the kidnapper to agree to an exchange.”

Leopold sat up straight. She had his attention. “Okay, you’ve given me something to think about,” he said. “Tell Senator Logan I’ll take a look. When does he want to speak?”

“The senator wants to meet you today. In two hours. I’ll text you the address; just meet me there.”

“Good. I’ll make my way over there as soon as I can. There’s just something I have to take care of first.”

Mary hung up. Leopold stood and walked to the front of the stage, where the Master of Ceremonies was checking the microphone and leafing through his script. He could feel the eyes of the elderly woman with the raised eyebrows on his back.

“Excuse me.” he tapped the robed man on the back of the shoulder.

“Mr. Blake, hello! Good to see you here bright and early! What can I do for you?”

“Something’s come up, I’m afraid. Have to go. Please give my apologies to the Dean,” said Leopold, turning to leave.

“Something more important than receiving a doctorate from one of the world’s leading universities?”

“Honorary doctorate, actually,” he replied, “and yes, I’m afraid so. Please be kind enough to drop it in the mail. Thank you.”

He walked briskly away before the old man had a chance to respond, and texted Jerome to come and pick him up. He made his way down the steps and onto the lawns, squeezing his way through the thick crowd of students and parents. After a few minutes of jostling, Leopold finally made it off the campus and onto the street. Jerome arrived thirty seconds later and pulled the dark Bentley Mulsanne to the side of the road. Leopold pulled open the rear passenger door and slipped inside. He updated the bodyguard on the conversation with Mary, and they set off toward the senator’s East Hampton address.

“How do you know it’s the same guy?” said Jerome, turning his head.

“Who else would target a senator’s daughter on US soil? There are definitely easier targets. This is clearly someone trying to send a message.”

“What message?”

“That’s the thirty-five million dollar question. I’ll know more after a chat with the senator. How fast can you get us there?”

“It’s maybe two hours,” said Jerome, “but once we get out of the city I can probably make up for lost time.”

“Good. Don’t be afraid to put your foot down.”

Once free of the New York City traffic, the Mulsanne glided effortlessly through the Suffolk County back roads, lined on either side with green trees and a horizon specked with the occasional gated community and small town. Despite the ultra-high spec of the Mulsanne, Leopold hadn’t been able to help adding his own touches to the car’s cabin. In addition to the standard features, he had installed a wireless system that could sync directly with his cell phone and add extra functionality – such as call tracing, digital encryption, and satellite connectivity to ensure he always had a signal. Leopold always made sure he had the best equipment money could buy, and his money could buy a hell of a lot.

Jerome turned on the radio and tuned into a news channel to pass the time. The two men whose voices came through the Bose speaker system were discussing the stolen military weapons story, and the conversation was getting heated. He asked Jerome to turn up the volume. According to a reliable source, one of the men claimed, a large supply of prototype explosives had been stolen from a secure facility in Maryland three days before, and the authorities were at a loss as to how it had happened. Leopold wondered whether this was what had put Coleman in such a bad mood. The news story was cut short as the commercials started playing.

Leopold pulled his cell phone out of his coat pocket and noticed a missed call from an unknown number, probably Mary leaving another message about the case. He dialed his voicemail and punched in his access code, absent-mindedly rubbing his temple in an effort to numb a sudden headache. The morning’s workout hadn’t been kind to him, and he was looking forward to finishing the meeting with the senator as soon as possible and taking a long, hot bath. But that would have to wait. The electronically altered voice that greeted him wasn’t Mary:

Good morning, Mr. Blake, I notice you’ve been taking quite an interest in my recent work. I’m flattered by the attention, but I’m afraid this is where the fun has to stop. I look forward to finally meeting you in person, although I expect the feeling won’t be mutual.

Leopold frowned and hooked his cell phone up to the car’s wireless stereo system. After a few seconds, the devices synced and he cranked up the volume.

“Jerome, what do you think of this?” He played back the message through the car’s speakers.

“I’ll run the tracer and see where it leads,” said the bodyguard. “You do remember I told you to keep this cell phone number private, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. I haven’t shared it with anyone. Even Mary has to dial through a password-protected proxy to get through. Looks like whoever called me didn’t want to be found.”

“He probably just used a scrambled line,” said Jerome, pressing a series of keys on the car’s touchscreen panel. “The system will work out the origin of the signal eventually. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Unless he’s used a scrambled signal. In which case we’ve got no chance of tracking it.”

“Hang on. We’ve got company,” said Jerome, putting both hands back onto the wheel.

Leopold turned in his seat and looked out the rear window. A black SUV was approaching fast, straddling both lanes of the road. He could make out at least two people inside, although the windshield was slightly tinted so he couldn’t be sure. He could hear the roar of the SUV’s engine as it approached, straining to beat the pace of the Mulsanne.