The jonathan quinn enrag.., p.11
The Jonathan Quinn Enraged Box Set, page 11
part #5 of Jonathan Quinn Series
“Are you sure?”
“Do I have proof, you mean? No. But it was her. The size is right, and she’s the only one who would want to get into that file.”
Mila Voss, again.
Something ticked at the back of his mind. He brought up the file on her removal operation—still labeled COMPLETED—and searched the background information until he reached the part he was looking for. Just as he remembered. But was it worth checking out? With no other leads, what choice did he have?
He made a mental note of the particulars, then exited the file and stood up.
“I’m going out for a smoke,” he told Olsen. “That is, if you don’t mind.”
“I wasn’t aware that you smoked.”
Peter pulled the half-used pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and jostled one out. “Not as much as I used to, but sometimes…well…”
“Fine, but don’t be long. I want you here when I call the senator with an update.”
Peter left the room without another word.
“I’ll be right back,” he said to Misty. He then silently communicated to her that she was to contact him if Olsen followed him out.
Before he even reached the sidewalk the cigarettes were back in his pocket. It had been over ten years since he’d actually lit one, but he’d purchased the pack that morning, knowing it would provide the opportunity for a little alone time if needed.
Once outside, he went left to the end of the block and ducked into a bar around the corner. There were only a few customers in the place, none of whom even glanced in his direction. When the bartender saw him, he merely gave Peter a nod of recognition then went about his business.
Peter walked clear through to the back, and entered the bathroom. It was a single-occupant setup, so he locked the door, pulled out his phone, and called Michaels.
“Are you still with Hagen?” he asked.
“We’re just emphasizing a few points,” Michaels replied. “Should be done soon.”
“Wrap it up. There’s somewhere else you need to be,” Peter said, then gave Michaels his new instructions.
Chapter Fourteen
ROME, ITALY
THE FLIGHT FROM Bangkok took about eleven hours, touching down at Fiumicino Airport outside Rome just before ten p.m. local time.
A cab took them to a hotel Quinn knew about, not far from the reason they had come to the city. So far, neither Daeng nor Nate had asked him, why Rome? Daeng because that just seemed to be the way he was, and Nate because he had worked with Quinn long enough to know when to ask questions and when not to. That was why Quinn’s earlier confrontation with his former apprentice had been so surprising. Sure, Nate had stood up to him once or twice in the past, but Quinn had always won. Nate was obviously not content to let that happen anymore.
Though it hadn’t been part of Quinn’s plan—what little plan he’d had when he’d gone into his self-imposed exile—his absence had apparently provided the final push Nate needed to move beyond his training phase. Quinn had called him an equal before, but their relationship had still been largely defined by their teacher-student past.
Clearly that was over.
The St. Apollina Hotel was in a quiet part of the city filled with old apartment buildings and shops that closed early every evening. The hotel was a small, family-run business with a dozen or so rooms. A call before leaving the airport guaranteed that a room with two beds and a couch would be held for them.
“Don’t get comfortable,” Quinn said once they were in the room. “There’s a place near here we need to check. Wash up, do whatever you need.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s say ten minutes, okay?”
It only took six before they were heading out again.
They walked up the hill for several minutes, over three streets, then up again for another two and a half blocks.
“There,” Quinn whispered, nodding at a building just down the street and on the other side.
It was a four-story stone building that looked to be at least a hundred years old. While obviously maintained, it looked tired, like it just wanted to take a nap. There was a central, unlit entrance at street level, and six windows each on the floors above it. Light shone from a window on the third floor, but the others were all dark, their occupants either asleep or not home.
“The apartment we’re interested in is on the second floor in the back,” Quinn told them.
“Anyone inside we need to worry about?” Nate asked.
Quinn shook his head.
“What’s the play?”
Quinn looked up and down the street. It was quiet, no one else out. “Daeng, find someplace to hide where you can keep an eye on things. If anyone is even just walking by, let us know.”
“Got it,” Daeng said.
Quinn looked at Nate. “You and I are going to take a look around.”
NATE FOLLOWED QUINN across the street to the old wooden door that served as the building’s entrance. Instead of a keyhole they could pick, there was a numbered security pad for residents to punch in a code. It seemed out of character for the building, but not for the times.
With the right equipment, they could bypass the pad and release the lock, but equipment was something they were currently lacking. Nate was about to suggest they look for an alternate way in when Quinn simply punched in five numbers on the pad.
As the door lock released, Quinn said, “You going to open it?”
Shaking off his surprise, Nate grabbed the handle and pulled it open. “You want to tell me how you knew that?”
Quinn’s only response was to squeeze by Nate into the building.
They found themselves in a rectangular-shaped central lobby that seemed to go all the way to the rear of the building. Nate counted four doors, two on either side. Beside each was a doorbell button and a small nameplate. In the center of the room was a staircase that rose to the next floor. As far as he could tell, there was no elevator.
Quinn had said the apartment was on the second floor, so Nate headed for the stairs. But Quinn walked past them toward the back. Feeling like he was becoming a semipermanent resident in the world of confusion, Nate adjusted his path and followed.
At the rear, a doorless entryway led to a smaller room with a closed metal door mounted in the outside wall. As Quinn pulled it open, warm night air rushed in.
“Don’t let it shut or we’re locked out,” Quinn said.
As soon as Nate had control of the door, Quinn headed out into a small exterior space that was surrounded on the other three sides by the neighboring buildings. Walking slowly, he gazed at the stone-covered ground. There seemed to be no apparent pattern to his wanderings, but then he suddenly stopped and crouched down. Gently, he touched one of the stones, then looked at the wall of the closest building. Rising, he walked over to it, tapped a couple of the bricks, and pulled one out.
It was too dark for Nate to see what his mentor was doing with the brick, but within seconds it was back in place, and Quinn was heading toward him.
“What was that all about?” Nate asked.
“Come on,” Quinn said as he moved past him into the building.
Quietly, they made their way up to the apartment on the second floor. Nate glanced at the nameplate. It was blank.
“My lock picks are still in L.A.,” he said.
“Don’t need them.” Quinn opened his palm and showed Nate three keys.
So that’s what had been hidden in the brick, Nate realized.
Quinn used them to unlock the two deadbolts and the handle lock on the door, then pushed it open. Once it was wide enough, he whispered, “Don’t touch anything. We’re just making sure no one’s been here already.”
“You mean Mila?”
“Yeah.”
Nate nodded, and they stepped inside.
As he started to move further into the room, Quinn held out a hand, stopping him. There was an alarm panel on the wall near the door. On it, a dull white light glowed bright then dim, bright then dim. Quinn opened a panel, and again punched in a number without any hesitation. The light faded off.
He took a moment to scan the room. “Okay. This way.”
Being at the back of the building meant little light filtered into the apartment from outside, making it hard for Nate to get a sense of the place. He could see the shadows of chairs and tables, and could even make out a bookcase running along one of the walls, but the details were lost in the darkness.
Quinn led him through the main living area, a dining room, and past a large kitchen. When they reached the back hallway, he stopped. With no windows, it was even darker than the rest of the place.
He signaled for Nate to stay there, then headed toward the rear of the apartment alone. Though Nate wasn’t particularly fond of being left behind, it was sound strategy. If someone was in the back, Nate would be the safety valve in case Quinn couldn’t deal with him.
A little over a minute passed before Quinn called out, “We’re clear.”
When his mentor rejoined him, Nate said, “Whose place is this?”
Quinn looked like he didn’t want to answer for a moment, but then he said, “Julien’s,” and started walking toward the front door.
The name caught Nate off guard. He stood there for a second, then hurried to catch up. “French Julien?”
“Do you know any others?”
“No. But…my God, this place has been empty since…”
“Yeah, it has.”
In Paris the previous fall, Julien had been helping Nate get Quinn’s sister Liz to someplace safe, and had ended up dead for his efforts. Nate had been the one to find his body. Which meant it was unlikely anyone had set foot in the apartment since before then.
As Quinn crossed the room, Nate said, “Wait. What does Julien have to do with finding Mila?”
“Maybe nothing.”
“Quinn, stop.”
Nate’s mentor hesitated and turned back around.
“I appreciate that this isn’t easy for you,” Nate said. “But you’re hurting my ability to help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
He could see Quinn struggling with how to answer. Finally, his mentor said, “Mila and Julien were friends.”
“Good friends?” Nate asked.
“At one time. But they were always close.” Again, he paused. “Julien would have done anything for her.”
So that’s why Quinn needed to help Mila. He owed Julien a debt he could never repay. Nate owed him, too, for that matter. Helping Mila had to be an attempt to help offset some of the imbalance.
“Is there a reason she would come here?”
“Perhaps.”
“But why?”
“Because he left it to her.”
“He left his apartment to a dead woman? Can you even do that?”
Quinn sighed and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he said, “He left it to me, all right? But for her.”
“Oh,” Nate said. “But it’s still a long shot that she’d come here, don’t you think?”
“There’s something of hers here, something Julien was holding for her.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. I just know she hasn’t been here yet. I left a tell on the brick with the key.”
“You think whatever he was keeping for her has something to do with why she came out of hiding?”
“I have a feeling it does.”
“But you don’t know what it is,” Nate said.
“It’s not my business.”
Nate ran everything through his mind, then said, “Okay, so we should probably set up a watch,” Nate said. “The three of us can rotate.”
“Yes,” Quinn looked relieved. “Definitely.”
“In the apartment or not?”
“I don’t want to scare her off.”
“All right, so not. What’s our time window?”
“If she doesn’t show up in the next forty-eight hours, she’s not coming.”
“I’ll take the first shift,” Nate said. “You can go back to the room with Daeng and fill him in.”
Quinn started to protest, but then caught himself and nodded. “I need to put the keys back first. If she comes and finds them gone, she’ll take off before we can get to her.”
Four minutes later, Nate stood alone in the darkened entrance of a building across the street, images of Julien replaying in his mind. If the Frenchman would have helped this Mila Voss woman, then that was all Nate needed to know.
He was all in.
Chapter Fifteen
THURSDAY, MAY 11th, 2006
4:03 PM
LAS VEGAS
THE FLIGHT FROM Los Angeles to Las Vegas took less than an hour, the flight attendants barely having time to serve drinks and collect the trash before strapping back in for landing. Quinn had been through McCarren Airport many times, so he was able to quickly navigate through the terminal and to the parking structure where he found the promised car exactly where he’d been told it would be.
The drive to the Planet Hollywood Hotel on the Strip was quick, and soon he was heading up to the room number he’d been given. When he reached it, he knocked on the door, and took a step back. As soon as he heard someone approaching on the other side, he looked up at the tiny camera temporarily mounted high above the door, and waved.
Pointing out to those inside the hotel room that he knew the camera was there was probably unnecessary, but he couldn’t help it. He saw every detail, and since he’d never worked with these people before, it was a good way to let them know that right up front.
The door opened and a small guy in a light gray suit peeked out. “Can I help you?”
“I’m expected,” Quinn said.
The man made a show of scrutinizing Quinn’s face, then opened the door all the way. “Come on in.”
The room was a suite with a sitting area straight in from the door, a bar off to the right, and a dining area to the left. Beside the guy in the gray suit, there were four other men present. Two were also wearing suits, though in black, while the remaining two were dressed in buttoned shirts and slacks. They were all seated around the dining table, with several pieces of paper scattered in front of them.
One of the suitless guys stood up as Quinn came in. “You must be our cleaner.”
“I am.”
The guy held out his hand as Quinn neared. “Perry Jergins. I’m team leader.”
“Jonathan Quinn.”
They shook.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jonathan.”
“You can call me Quinn.”
“All right, then. Let me introduce you around.” He turned back toward the others. “Okay, we got Whit Kaufman, Leo Kovacs, Maurice Danner,” Jergins said, pointing individually to the men sitting around the table. “And Cary Hills is the one who opened the door for you. This here’s Quinn, our cleaner.”
Quinn exchanged nods and hellos with the other men.
Jergins waved at the chairs. “Have a seat. We were just going over the details. I’ll bring you up to speed, and you can let me know if you need anything specific. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”
“Sounds good.”
The plan was pretty straightforward, which pleased Quinn. All too often, planners tried to get fancy when there was no reason for it. Quinn believed those people were attempting to live up to the James Bond vision of their world. Bond was enjoyable enough on screen, but if any of that happened in real life, those involved would find themselves not only out of work but rotting away in a prison somewhere. Or dead.
The operation’s target would apparently be tricked into coming to a room in the hotel. When the target arrived, the assassin, Leo Kovacs, would already be inside, waiting. Since this wasn’t an operation in which the subject needed to be interrogated first, Kovacs would eliminate the person immediately. Once this was done, he would text Quinn, who would then move in and get rid of the body.
“It’s a no-brainer,” Jergins said. “The target has no idea, so there’ll be no problems getting her into the room.”
Her, Quinn noted, not that it made a difference. It was just that the majority of bodies he dealt with were male.
“The other guys are here just to get things set up. By op time, all three will be well out of town. Since mission specs call for this to be very low profile, I’ll be running backup myself. Given the circumstances, I should be more than enough.”
Kovacs picked up one of the papers and laid it in front of Quinn. “This is a layout of the room,” he said. He pointed at a spot next to the bed, around the corner from the door. “I’ll be here so I won’t be seen when she comes in.”
“What are you planning to use?” Quinn asked, hoping like hell he wasn’t going to say gun or knife. If so, Quinn would lobby hard to cover the termination room with plastic sheeting ahead of time. Otherwise, a mess like that would be a huge pain in the ass.
“Poison from a needle on the back of a ring. All I have to do is grab her and stick her anywhere. Paralysis is almost instantaneous. Death comes a few seconds later.”
“Do you expect her to fight back?” Again, Quinn was concerned about a mess, though straightening out a room or dealing with anything that might get broken was a lot easier than getting blood out of the carpet.
“A little,” Kovacs said. “She has some training.”
“A pro?”
Jergins grabbed a small stack of stapled papers and tossed it to Quinn. “Here’s her info if you want to take a look.”
Quinn reached down to pick up the report, planning on tossing it back and saying that wasn’t necessary, when the picture on the top page caught his attention.
Eastern European-looking face. Shoulder-length brown hair. Slight frame.
Mila Voss.
He acted like he was reading the paper, but in reality he was fighting to keep any emotion from showing on his face. Once he felt he had control, he flipped through the other pages, looking for any information that might tell him why she’d been targeted for death. But, not unusually, no cause was mentioned.
As if disinterested, he set the papers back down and turned to Kovacs. “You’re right. A little trouble maybe, but not much. I’ll make sure I have access to spare fixtures or anything else that might need to be replaced. But if you can avoid any breakage, I’d appreciate it.”
“Do I have proof, you mean? No. But it was her. The size is right, and she’s the only one who would want to get into that file.”
Mila Voss, again.
Something ticked at the back of his mind. He brought up the file on her removal operation—still labeled COMPLETED—and searched the background information until he reached the part he was looking for. Just as he remembered. But was it worth checking out? With no other leads, what choice did he have?
He made a mental note of the particulars, then exited the file and stood up.
“I’m going out for a smoke,” he told Olsen. “That is, if you don’t mind.”
“I wasn’t aware that you smoked.”
Peter pulled the half-used pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and jostled one out. “Not as much as I used to, but sometimes…well…”
“Fine, but don’t be long. I want you here when I call the senator with an update.”
Peter left the room without another word.
“I’ll be right back,” he said to Misty. He then silently communicated to her that she was to contact him if Olsen followed him out.
Before he even reached the sidewalk the cigarettes were back in his pocket. It had been over ten years since he’d actually lit one, but he’d purchased the pack that morning, knowing it would provide the opportunity for a little alone time if needed.
Once outside, he went left to the end of the block and ducked into a bar around the corner. There were only a few customers in the place, none of whom even glanced in his direction. When the bartender saw him, he merely gave Peter a nod of recognition then went about his business.
Peter walked clear through to the back, and entered the bathroom. It was a single-occupant setup, so he locked the door, pulled out his phone, and called Michaels.
“Are you still with Hagen?” he asked.
“We’re just emphasizing a few points,” Michaels replied. “Should be done soon.”
“Wrap it up. There’s somewhere else you need to be,” Peter said, then gave Michaels his new instructions.
Chapter Fourteen
ROME, ITALY
THE FLIGHT FROM Bangkok took about eleven hours, touching down at Fiumicino Airport outside Rome just before ten p.m. local time.
A cab took them to a hotel Quinn knew about, not far from the reason they had come to the city. So far, neither Daeng nor Nate had asked him, why Rome? Daeng because that just seemed to be the way he was, and Nate because he had worked with Quinn long enough to know when to ask questions and when not to. That was why Quinn’s earlier confrontation with his former apprentice had been so surprising. Sure, Nate had stood up to him once or twice in the past, but Quinn had always won. Nate was obviously not content to let that happen anymore.
Though it hadn’t been part of Quinn’s plan—what little plan he’d had when he’d gone into his self-imposed exile—his absence had apparently provided the final push Nate needed to move beyond his training phase. Quinn had called him an equal before, but their relationship had still been largely defined by their teacher-student past.
Clearly that was over.
The St. Apollina Hotel was in a quiet part of the city filled with old apartment buildings and shops that closed early every evening. The hotel was a small, family-run business with a dozen or so rooms. A call before leaving the airport guaranteed that a room with two beds and a couch would be held for them.
“Don’t get comfortable,” Quinn said once they were in the room. “There’s a place near here we need to check. Wash up, do whatever you need.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s say ten minutes, okay?”
It only took six before they were heading out again.
They walked up the hill for several minutes, over three streets, then up again for another two and a half blocks.
“There,” Quinn whispered, nodding at a building just down the street and on the other side.
It was a four-story stone building that looked to be at least a hundred years old. While obviously maintained, it looked tired, like it just wanted to take a nap. There was a central, unlit entrance at street level, and six windows each on the floors above it. Light shone from a window on the third floor, but the others were all dark, their occupants either asleep or not home.
“The apartment we’re interested in is on the second floor in the back,” Quinn told them.
“Anyone inside we need to worry about?” Nate asked.
Quinn shook his head.
“What’s the play?”
Quinn looked up and down the street. It was quiet, no one else out. “Daeng, find someplace to hide where you can keep an eye on things. If anyone is even just walking by, let us know.”
“Got it,” Daeng said.
Quinn looked at Nate. “You and I are going to take a look around.”
NATE FOLLOWED QUINN across the street to the old wooden door that served as the building’s entrance. Instead of a keyhole they could pick, there was a numbered security pad for residents to punch in a code. It seemed out of character for the building, but not for the times.
With the right equipment, they could bypass the pad and release the lock, but equipment was something they were currently lacking. Nate was about to suggest they look for an alternate way in when Quinn simply punched in five numbers on the pad.
As the door lock released, Quinn said, “You going to open it?”
Shaking off his surprise, Nate grabbed the handle and pulled it open. “You want to tell me how you knew that?”
Quinn’s only response was to squeeze by Nate into the building.
They found themselves in a rectangular-shaped central lobby that seemed to go all the way to the rear of the building. Nate counted four doors, two on either side. Beside each was a doorbell button and a small nameplate. In the center of the room was a staircase that rose to the next floor. As far as he could tell, there was no elevator.
Quinn had said the apartment was on the second floor, so Nate headed for the stairs. But Quinn walked past them toward the back. Feeling like he was becoming a semipermanent resident in the world of confusion, Nate adjusted his path and followed.
At the rear, a doorless entryway led to a smaller room with a closed metal door mounted in the outside wall. As Quinn pulled it open, warm night air rushed in.
“Don’t let it shut or we’re locked out,” Quinn said.
As soon as Nate had control of the door, Quinn headed out into a small exterior space that was surrounded on the other three sides by the neighboring buildings. Walking slowly, he gazed at the stone-covered ground. There seemed to be no apparent pattern to his wanderings, but then he suddenly stopped and crouched down. Gently, he touched one of the stones, then looked at the wall of the closest building. Rising, he walked over to it, tapped a couple of the bricks, and pulled one out.
It was too dark for Nate to see what his mentor was doing with the brick, but within seconds it was back in place, and Quinn was heading toward him.
“What was that all about?” Nate asked.
“Come on,” Quinn said as he moved past him into the building.
Quietly, they made their way up to the apartment on the second floor. Nate glanced at the nameplate. It was blank.
“My lock picks are still in L.A.,” he said.
“Don’t need them.” Quinn opened his palm and showed Nate three keys.
So that’s what had been hidden in the brick, Nate realized.
Quinn used them to unlock the two deadbolts and the handle lock on the door, then pushed it open. Once it was wide enough, he whispered, “Don’t touch anything. We’re just making sure no one’s been here already.”
“You mean Mila?”
“Yeah.”
Nate nodded, and they stepped inside.
As he started to move further into the room, Quinn held out a hand, stopping him. There was an alarm panel on the wall near the door. On it, a dull white light glowed bright then dim, bright then dim. Quinn opened a panel, and again punched in a number without any hesitation. The light faded off.
He took a moment to scan the room. “Okay. This way.”
Being at the back of the building meant little light filtered into the apartment from outside, making it hard for Nate to get a sense of the place. He could see the shadows of chairs and tables, and could even make out a bookcase running along one of the walls, but the details were lost in the darkness.
Quinn led him through the main living area, a dining room, and past a large kitchen. When they reached the back hallway, he stopped. With no windows, it was even darker than the rest of the place.
He signaled for Nate to stay there, then headed toward the rear of the apartment alone. Though Nate wasn’t particularly fond of being left behind, it was sound strategy. If someone was in the back, Nate would be the safety valve in case Quinn couldn’t deal with him.
A little over a minute passed before Quinn called out, “We’re clear.”
When his mentor rejoined him, Nate said, “Whose place is this?”
Quinn looked like he didn’t want to answer for a moment, but then he said, “Julien’s,” and started walking toward the front door.
The name caught Nate off guard. He stood there for a second, then hurried to catch up. “French Julien?”
“Do you know any others?”
“No. But…my God, this place has been empty since…”
“Yeah, it has.”
In Paris the previous fall, Julien had been helping Nate get Quinn’s sister Liz to someplace safe, and had ended up dead for his efforts. Nate had been the one to find his body. Which meant it was unlikely anyone had set foot in the apartment since before then.
As Quinn crossed the room, Nate said, “Wait. What does Julien have to do with finding Mila?”
“Maybe nothing.”
“Quinn, stop.”
Nate’s mentor hesitated and turned back around.
“I appreciate that this isn’t easy for you,” Nate said. “But you’re hurting my ability to help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
He could see Quinn struggling with how to answer. Finally, his mentor said, “Mila and Julien were friends.”
“Good friends?” Nate asked.
“At one time. But they were always close.” Again, he paused. “Julien would have done anything for her.”
So that’s why Quinn needed to help Mila. He owed Julien a debt he could never repay. Nate owed him, too, for that matter. Helping Mila had to be an attempt to help offset some of the imbalance.
“Is there a reason she would come here?”
“Perhaps.”
“But why?”
“Because he left it to her.”
“He left his apartment to a dead woman? Can you even do that?”
Quinn sighed and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he said, “He left it to me, all right? But for her.”
“Oh,” Nate said. “But it’s still a long shot that she’d come here, don’t you think?”
“There’s something of hers here, something Julien was holding for her.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. I just know she hasn’t been here yet. I left a tell on the brick with the key.”
“You think whatever he was keeping for her has something to do with why she came out of hiding?”
“I have a feeling it does.”
“But you don’t know what it is,” Nate said.
“It’s not my business.”
Nate ran everything through his mind, then said, “Okay, so we should probably set up a watch,” Nate said. “The three of us can rotate.”
“Yes,” Quinn looked relieved. “Definitely.”
“In the apartment or not?”
“I don’t want to scare her off.”
“All right, so not. What’s our time window?”
“If she doesn’t show up in the next forty-eight hours, she’s not coming.”
“I’ll take the first shift,” Nate said. “You can go back to the room with Daeng and fill him in.”
Quinn started to protest, but then caught himself and nodded. “I need to put the keys back first. If she comes and finds them gone, she’ll take off before we can get to her.”
Four minutes later, Nate stood alone in the darkened entrance of a building across the street, images of Julien replaying in his mind. If the Frenchman would have helped this Mila Voss woman, then that was all Nate needed to know.
He was all in.
Chapter Fifteen
THURSDAY, MAY 11th, 2006
4:03 PM
LAS VEGAS
THE FLIGHT FROM Los Angeles to Las Vegas took less than an hour, the flight attendants barely having time to serve drinks and collect the trash before strapping back in for landing. Quinn had been through McCarren Airport many times, so he was able to quickly navigate through the terminal and to the parking structure where he found the promised car exactly where he’d been told it would be.
The drive to the Planet Hollywood Hotel on the Strip was quick, and soon he was heading up to the room number he’d been given. When he reached it, he knocked on the door, and took a step back. As soon as he heard someone approaching on the other side, he looked up at the tiny camera temporarily mounted high above the door, and waved.
Pointing out to those inside the hotel room that he knew the camera was there was probably unnecessary, but he couldn’t help it. He saw every detail, and since he’d never worked with these people before, it was a good way to let them know that right up front.
The door opened and a small guy in a light gray suit peeked out. “Can I help you?”
“I’m expected,” Quinn said.
The man made a show of scrutinizing Quinn’s face, then opened the door all the way. “Come on in.”
The room was a suite with a sitting area straight in from the door, a bar off to the right, and a dining area to the left. Beside the guy in the gray suit, there were four other men present. Two were also wearing suits, though in black, while the remaining two were dressed in buttoned shirts and slacks. They were all seated around the dining table, with several pieces of paper scattered in front of them.
One of the suitless guys stood up as Quinn came in. “You must be our cleaner.”
“I am.”
The guy held out his hand as Quinn neared. “Perry Jergins. I’m team leader.”
“Jonathan Quinn.”
They shook.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jonathan.”
“You can call me Quinn.”
“All right, then. Let me introduce you around.” He turned back toward the others. “Okay, we got Whit Kaufman, Leo Kovacs, Maurice Danner,” Jergins said, pointing individually to the men sitting around the table. “And Cary Hills is the one who opened the door for you. This here’s Quinn, our cleaner.”
Quinn exchanged nods and hellos with the other men.
Jergins waved at the chairs. “Have a seat. We were just going over the details. I’ll bring you up to speed, and you can let me know if you need anything specific. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”
“Sounds good.”
The plan was pretty straightforward, which pleased Quinn. All too often, planners tried to get fancy when there was no reason for it. Quinn believed those people were attempting to live up to the James Bond vision of their world. Bond was enjoyable enough on screen, but if any of that happened in real life, those involved would find themselves not only out of work but rotting away in a prison somewhere. Or dead.
The operation’s target would apparently be tricked into coming to a room in the hotel. When the target arrived, the assassin, Leo Kovacs, would already be inside, waiting. Since this wasn’t an operation in which the subject needed to be interrogated first, Kovacs would eliminate the person immediately. Once this was done, he would text Quinn, who would then move in and get rid of the body.
“It’s a no-brainer,” Jergins said. “The target has no idea, so there’ll be no problems getting her into the room.”
Her, Quinn noted, not that it made a difference. It was just that the majority of bodies he dealt with were male.
“The other guys are here just to get things set up. By op time, all three will be well out of town. Since mission specs call for this to be very low profile, I’ll be running backup myself. Given the circumstances, I should be more than enough.”
Kovacs picked up one of the papers and laid it in front of Quinn. “This is a layout of the room,” he said. He pointed at a spot next to the bed, around the corner from the door. “I’ll be here so I won’t be seen when she comes in.”
“What are you planning to use?” Quinn asked, hoping like hell he wasn’t going to say gun or knife. If so, Quinn would lobby hard to cover the termination room with plastic sheeting ahead of time. Otherwise, a mess like that would be a huge pain in the ass.
“Poison from a needle on the back of a ring. All I have to do is grab her and stick her anywhere. Paralysis is almost instantaneous. Death comes a few seconds later.”
“Do you expect her to fight back?” Again, Quinn was concerned about a mess, though straightening out a room or dealing with anything that might get broken was a lot easier than getting blood out of the carpet.
“A little,” Kovacs said. “She has some training.”
“A pro?”
Jergins grabbed a small stack of stapled papers and tossed it to Quinn. “Here’s her info if you want to take a look.”
Quinn reached down to pick up the report, planning on tossing it back and saying that wasn’t necessary, when the picture on the top page caught his attention.
Eastern European-looking face. Shoulder-length brown hair. Slight frame.
Mila Voss.
He acted like he was reading the paper, but in reality he was fighting to keep any emotion from showing on his face. Once he felt he had control, he flipped through the other pages, looking for any information that might tell him why she’d been targeted for death. But, not unusually, no cause was mentioned.
As if disinterested, he set the papers back down and turned to Kovacs. “You’re right. A little trouble maybe, but not much. I’ll make sure I have access to spare fixtures or anything else that might need to be replaced. But if you can avoid any breakage, I’d appreciate it.”
