Ratio(82)

“That building’s huge,” said Jameson. “No way we can search the whole place in time.”

Harper glared at the suspect, who was still on the sidewalk clutching at his ribs. “Get answers out of him,” she said. “Blake and I will head over and check this out. Call us if you get anything.”

“Ma’am.” The two agents nodded.

Leopold felt his heart race. He’d been so wrapped up dealing with Melendez he hadn’t paid attention to the alarm bells in his head. Johnson had been accommodating, far too accommodating. She’d stuck close by during their initial sweeps of the building, studying their every move. She’d made friends with the Secret Service agents, kept herself in the loop. Made the effort to keep watch on Leopold, even hanging around in the bar after hours when any sane person would have just picked up the telephone. She’d asked awkward questions, tried to deflect attention onto Harper. Expressed an interest in seeing him again, despite there being zero chance of any kind of relationship after the conference ended. Leopold had assumed she just enjoyed his company, but Jameson’s report was enough to put an end to that theory.

Nobody likes me that much, he thought.

“Blake, you coming?” Harper called out, breaking into a run.

Leopold took one last glance at the suspect on the ground and turned to follow. A loud noise from down the street caught him off guard, a roaring sound. Sounded like a big engine, coupled with the squeal of spinning tires.

Before anyone could react, a black pickup rounded the corner at the far end of the block and sped in their direction, covering the distance with blistering speed, engine screaming. Harper was already too far away. Leopold dashed to the other side of the road as the vehicle shrieked past. The two agents drew their weapons, but too late.

The Yakuza suspect looked up, closed his eyes. The two agents dived to the ground, guns clattering out of their hands. The pickup’s engine roared as the driver flashed past. Leopold heard another sound, the pop-pop-pop of gunfire, the noise reverberating down the street, bouncing off the brick walls.

The pickup increased its speed, took the next corner and fishtailed before accelerating away and out of sight in a cloud of burnt rubber. Leopold dashed back across the road, dropping to his knees as he reached the suspect, who was bleeding out on the ground.

He’d been hit. Looked like three entry wounds, all to the chest. Still breathing, just. Blood pooling around his body, splayed out on the sidewalk. He eyes were open, staring up at Leopold. The man smiled.

“Isa… Kimura…” he said. The words sounded peaceful, almost grateful. “Engawa no shita no chikaramochi.” He lay still.

Leopold felt for a pulse. Avoiding trails of blood, he tried a wrist, and then the man’s neck. Nothing.

Jameson struggled to his feet. “We need paramedics,” he said.

“Forget it. Leave him. He’s dead,” Leopold muttered. “Someone wanted him dead, and they got it.”

“Blake, we need to move,” Harper called out from across the street. “If you’re right about this, Kato and everyone else still in the hotel are still in danger.”

Leopold got to his feet and broke into a sprint, the dead man’s final words echoing through his mind.





Chapter 59





PATRICIA JOHNSON UNSCREWED the steel panel and felt her pulse quicken, heartbeat thumping heavily against the inside of her chest. The convention center had been evacuated quickly, better than any of the drills. Still, with less than half the planned capacity, that wasn’t a surprise. If anything it made her job easier, although no more palatable. By all accounts, most of the conference attendees had run next door and taken up a spot at the bar. She only hoped the police had managed to clear the building in time.

Please God, forgive me.

She checked her cell phone. The text message had come through minutes before, a blocked number. But the message had been clear:

Proceed with caution.

She had tried replying to the sender, but no use. The message bounced back, just like all the others. Johnson shook the thought from her mind, focusing on the job. The steel panel slid away easily and she tossed it onto the carpet. Standing on a table with the ventilation duct exposed, she peered inside. Using her phone as a flashlight, she spotted the device quickly, exactly where she’d left it.

Just a foot ahead a tangled mess of cables hooked up to a circuit board and the remnants of what looked like a cheap mobile phone. She grabbed hold and pulled it toward her, dreading what she had to do next.

The three men had visited her at home over a month ago. Tall, muscular, one of them was missing a finger. They had a photo of her son, Sebastian. He was smiling, playing on a swing set, pure joy shining through on his tiny face. Johnson had recognized the park immediately, just around the corner from his pre-school. The kids went there sometimes in the afternoons.