“He’s not here yet?” said Mary, trying to sound casual. “Okay, I’m sure the drawing room will be fine, thank you.”
“I’m sure they won’t be long getting here, ma’am.”
The security guard, whose name tag identified him as Viktor, led Mary through several long hallways before they arrived at a large, plush room with four luxurious armchairs positioned to face the open fireplace on the back wall. Another guard stood at the window, who turned to greet them as they entered. This man was of similar build to Viktor, but a few inches taller, with a shock of white-blond hair instead of the crew cut that Viktor wore.
“Please, sit,” said the blond.
Mary took a seat in one of the soft armchairs, and Viktor left the room without a word. She turned to look at the blond, who was also clearly carrying a multitude of hidden weaponry, and checked his name tag. She smiled.
“So, your name’s Dolph?” she asked. “Like Lundgren? Did your parents have a sense of humor?”
Dolph didn’t respond, but Mary was sure his blank expression flickered momentarily. Probably best not to test the patience of a heavily armed security guard who looked like he could punch through walls. She turned away and pulled out her cell phone. No calls yet.
Mary hoped Leopold would get there soon. He would arrive, no doubt, with some insane theory about the case and a list of unlikely leads to chase up. Not a shred of evidence of course, but Mary could usually rely on him to get results. At least professionally. On a personal level, Mary didn’t even know where to begin with Leopold, but she knew that life was always a little more interesting when he was around. She smiled to herself and kept her eyes on the door.
Chapter 10
Jerome pulled the crumpled SUV up to the set of heavy iron gates that shielded the senator from members of the general public. He announced their arrival on the intercom and the gates swung open slowly, creaking and groaning under their own weight. They were greeted at the front door by the senator himself, his face drawn and his eyes puffy. He looked like he had been awake for days.
“Oh good, you’re here, please come in,” said Senator Logan, pulling the door back and gesturing for them to come through.
Leopold stepped into the hallway and looked around, noticing the pristine marble and ornate staircase that wound its way up to the first floor, a good twenty feet above ground level. Leopold could make out the master bedroom upstairs through an open door and noticed the bed was still unmade. All the other doors were closed. Several uniformed guards stood in strategic positions throughout the upper levels, each wearing bullet-proof vests and what looked like SIG Sauer handguns holstered at the hip. Two of the security officers stood on the staircase, standing to attention.
“I’d like to introduce you to the head of my security team.” Logan gestured to the largest of the two men. “This is Jack Stark; ex-military man. Tours in Afghanistan and Iraq, I believe.”
Stark nodded dispassionately. He stood a little shorter than Jerome at around six feet four inches, but was just as muscular and looked a little younger. On his forearm was a tattooed insignia with something written underneath, but Leopold couldn’t quite make out the words.
“And this is Viktor Baikov,” continued the senator. “He reports directly to Stark and takes care of the day-to-day running of things around here.”
Viktor grunted in response but otherwise made no sign that he had heard what the senator had said.
“I decided to hire a third party to keep an eye on me,” Logan continued. “The police and the FBI can only do so much to keep me safe, and I’d rather put my life in the hands of someone earning more than minimum wage.”
“Keep you safe from what, Senator?” said Leopold.
“We both know what’s going on here, Mr. Blake. I know what they’re peddling in the news, but I didn’t get to where I am today without having contacts in all the right places.”
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Let’s just say the FBI should listen more carefully to your theories.”
“And just what would those theories be?”
“Don’t underestimate me, Mr. Blake,” said Logan. “I found out about Wilson before you even got the call, and I had Stark’s team installed last week after reading your reports on Carrera and Hague. There’s clearly a pattern, whatever the FBI might think.”
“That’s very prudent of you,” said Leopold.
“I checked Stark’s references and hired him on the spot. He’s certainly impressed me so far. Isn’t that right, Stark?”
“It’s my job, sir,” said Stark, keeping his eyes on Leopold.
They left Viktor and Stark on the stairs, and the senator led the group through a wide hallway that separated the entrance hall from the rest of the house. On the walls hung numerous framed photos, mostly from publicity events and press appearances the senator had attended through the years. Leopold noticed one in particular and stopped to look closer.
“Ah, a personal favorite of mine,” said Logan.
Leopold looked at the black-and-white photograph of the senator shaking hands with the president of the United States at a birthday celebration. The two men were both grinning with wide, bright smiles. A half-eaten cake was on the table in front of them, and a large banner was hanging in the background, the number fifty-three written in large, glittering letters across its width.
“Whose party was this?” asked Leopold.
“Oh, the president and I go way back. This was taken at his fifty-third birthday a couple of years ago. Most people notice that one; I’ve seen Stark staring at it a few times. Follow me.”
Logan ushered them through to a large room, with several empty armchairs arranged around the fireplace. Mary Jordan sat in the corner, dressed in civilian clothes, a look of impatience on her face. An enormous blond security guard stood by the window.
“Sorry we’re late,” Leopold offered. “Traffic was murder.”
Mary didn’t reply. The consultant settled himself into one of the armchairs and Jerome sat down near Mary, his weight straining the delicate sofa’s wooden frame. The senator took a seat in the remaining armchair opposite Leopold, took an unopened bottle of scotch and a crystal tumbler from the nearby cabinet, unsealed the whisky, and poured himself a healthy measure. He kept the bottle with him, leaving the drink cabinet empty save for a spare glass that had accumulated a thin layer of dust.
“Senator, I need to ask you some questions,” said Leopold, waiting for Logan to fill his glass. “Do you know of anyone who would have a motive to harm to you or your family?”
“No doubt the same person who killed Carrera, Wilson, and Hague,” said Logan, taking a short sip of scotch.
“Why kidnapping? The other victims were murdered. It’s unusual to see a killer change their approach like this.”
“That’s why Stark and his men are here,” said the politician, gesturing at Dolph. “With a team of eighteen highly trained security personnel on standby, nobody would be stupid enough to try coming after me direct. Instead, they come at me through my daughter. Like the cowards they are.”
“Do you have any idea why someone would want to get to you?” said Leopold.
“Could be anything. A man in my position makes a lot of enemies. Clearly money is a motive here.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The kidnapper asked for money. I would have thought his motivation would be obvious,” said Logan, the pitch of his voice raised in irritation.
“Not all kidnappings are financially motivated,” said Leopold. “And we know that the call came in a full two hours before Christina was seen leaving the nightclub early this morning. How do you explain that?”
“I can’t speak to the mind of a lunatic,” said the politician, drinking deeply from his glass of scotch. “Maybe he thought he wouldn’t have any issues grabbing her and wanted to catch me before I fell asleep for the night. Set the wheels in motion. Thirty-five million dollars is a lot of money to get hold of; it takes time.”