Panic (15 page)

“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 –”