The jonathan quinn enrag.., p.2
The Jonathan Quinn Enraged Box Set, page 2
part #5 of Jonathan Quinn Series
“Keep moving,” the gunman ordered Rosen.
This was his chance, Rosen realized. As he stepped across the threshold, he reached out, grabbed the handle, then jerked the door closed behind him and engaged the lock.
The only direction Rosen could go in the small area beyond was left. He raced down the short hallway, and entered a room lit only by the light of the city flowing in through the windows. He tensed to take on the woman.
She was there, all right, but she wasn’t alone. Another man stood beside her, a gun in his hand.
Rosen felt the blood drain from his face.
Behind him, the door opened, and the gunman from the hallway joined them.
“Whatever it is you want, I’ll get it. Money? Is that it? Tell me how much you want.”
“Larry, don’t embarrass yourself,” the new man said.
Rosen stared at him for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Scott?” As soon as he said the other man’s name, the full reality of what was going on hit him. “No. No. I haven’t said anything. I kept my mouth shut. I…I’ve never—”
“Then what are you doing here?” his former colleague asked.
“Just a business meeting,” he said. But his words closed the trap completely, and he knew it. “You know about the email.”
“Of course we know about the email.”
Rosen began shaking his head. “I wasn’t going to say anything. I wanted to see who sent it, that’s all. I wanted to be able to tell you who it was.”
“You should have said something before you got on that plane.” The man turned and headed for the windowed wall.
Rosen stumbled forward as he was shoved from behind. Nearing the windows, he saw something he hadn’t noticed before—a door in the glass wall. Beyond it was a patio stretching the length of the suite.
“Open it,” the woman said.
He hesitated, looking over at the man he called Scott. “Please. I realize it was just a test, but I wasn’t going to say anything. I swear.”
“Test? We didn’t send the email, Larry,” the man said. “Open the door.”
“What? Then how did you—”
“You know we can do anything that needs to be done,” the man said. “Now open the door or get shoved through it.”
MILA STARED AT her monitor as the door for car number four remained open for several seconds, then closed again without anyone disembarking.
Where the hell is Rosen?
She stared at the screen, her mind racing through the possibilities until she snapped herself out of it, and slammed her computer shut. Whatever his reason for not showing up, the time for watching was over. Even if Rosen did show up, there was no way she’d meet with him now. The moment she set foot anywhere near that restaurant, she knew the remainder of her life would be measured in seconds.
She shoved her laptop into her bag as she scanned the room to make sure she’d left nothing behind. She then moved to the door and carefully pulled it open.
The hallway was empty.
Wasting no time, she sprinted to the stairwell entrance and headed down.
The stairs let out in the back corner of the main lobby. She moved carefully through the doorway, knowing the man who hadn’t hopped onto the elevator was around somewhere.
She was positive Rosen had no idea who he was supposed to meet, so his friends wouldn’t know, either. But even if they saw her, they wouldn’t know it was her. She had taken the extra precaution of changing her appearance as much as possible. She was dressed in jeans and a beige men’s shirt. A brown baseball cap covered her hair, cut short a week earlier. On her face was a pair of non-prescription, wire-frame glasses. With her breasts wrapped tightly, she looked like a young man of no more than twenty-one, an age that was actually several years in her past. She was just another tourist: bland, and not worth a second look.
At least that’s what she was hoping.
As she passed the reception desk, she finally spotted the other man. He looked even more intimidating in person than on her computer monitor. She’d seen men like him hundreds of times before. He was a pro for sure.
She forced herself to keep walking like she needed to be somewhere but wasn’t in a hurry. When the man turned his gaze in her direction, she was sure she’d done something to tip him off. Fortunately, her old training took control, and she neither hurried nor slowed down, keeping the pleasant smile on her face as she walked right by the man.
Though she could no longer see if he was looking at her, she sensed that he’d written her off as no one important.
As she neared the front, she realized she’d been holding her breath and finally let it out.
The doorman noticed her approach and opened the door. “Have a good evening, sir,” he said as she stepped outside.
She nodded her thanks, and began walking down the sidewalk away from the hotel.
She’d made it. She was free. No, not free, she realized. Not until she got out of Tanzania.
Whoosh.
The sound had come from behind and above her somewhere. It was strange enough to make her turn to see what it was, but she’d barely started twisting around when the whoosh was replaced by a loud, wet smack.
On a portion of the sidewalk close to the hotel’s front entrance lay the twisted body of a man.
Without even thinking, she ran toward him.
If he’d been a jumper, she would have expected him to be lying on his stomach, face smashed into the ground. Instead, he was on his back, his eyes open and staring blankly at the night sky, terror still etched on his face.
On Lawrence Rosen’s face.
She knelt down beside the man she had tricked into coming to Tanzania.
He was dead; there was no question about that. His glassy eyes reflected images he would never see.
She looked up the building, but could see no obvious spot from where he started his fall. The thought that this was an accident didn’t even cross her mind. Nor did she consider the possibility that he’d come all this way just to throw himself to his death.
Someone else did this.
The man and the woman who had been on the elevator with him.
Get out of here. Now!
She jumped up.
“Do you know him?”
It was the doorman. He and several others who’d been out front had begun gathering around the body.
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered.
“Is he dead?”
She nodded.
A woman gasped, then an old man started reciting a prayer.
“Please, everybody, stand back,” the doorman said loudly, trying to take charge. “We must keep this area clear.” He then spoke in Swahili, presumably repeating his warning.
But no one moved. Except Mila, who slipped unseen to the back of the growing crowd and disappeared into the city.
Chapter Two
WASHINGTON, DC
“THIS WAY,” THE senator’s assistant said.
He led Peter down a long hallway lined with dark wood. Hung along it were black and white pictures taken at various locations around the world. The senator appeared in every image, sometimes looking no more than thirty, and in others middle-aged. There was always someone else in the photo with him, shaking hands or smiling or just looking at something that was out of frame. Trophy shots. The powerful American helping those in need, especially if the need was military in nature.
The assistant finally stopped next to a closed door. He knocked twice, then turned the knob and ushered Peter inside.
“Senator,” the man said. “Your guest has arrived.”
A large man with a full head of hair that was now more white than blond pushed himself off a couch. The senator looked older and stockier than he did in most of the hallway pictures, but his eyes were still piercing, and there was no missing the aura of power that radiated from him. He held out his hand. “Peter. Good to see you.”
“Senator Mygatt,” Peter said as they shook.
As of just over a year ago, Christopher Mygatt was actually no longer a senator, but like many titles in Washington, his was one that would stick with him until he obtained a better one.
The senator turned to another man sitting in a chair next to the coffee table at one end of the large office. “You know William Green, of course.”
“Yes,” Peter said, nodding a greeting.
Green was a weaselly man who’d been in the intelligence business about as long as Peter had been. Peter had done everything he could to avoid working with the man, but a few times when he was running the now-defunct organization known as the Office, he’d had no choice but to associate with Green. No matter how simple the assignment had been, Peter always felt he needed a bottle of hand sanitizer nearby whenever he even talked to the man on the phone.
“Peter,” Green said. “How are you coping?”
Keeping his tone neutral, Peter said, “Fine, thanks.”
“Would you like something to drink?” Mygatt asked him.
“No, thank you.”
The senator glanced at his assistant. “Some tea for me, if you would. William?”
“Coffee.”
As soon as the assistant left, Mygatt motioned at the couch. “Please, join us.”
Peter sat.
“So, I understand you’ve been doing some consulting,” Mygatt said.
“Sitting behind a desk, making a suggestion now and then that no one listens to.” Peter shrugged. “I guess you can call that consulting.”
“I’d call that a waste of taxpayers’ money,” Green said.
Peter ignored the comment, and said to the senator, “I understand you’re doing well, sir.”
“Things are moving in interesting directions,” Mygatt said.
“So it seems. If the rumors are true—”
The senator waved a hand in the air. “I don’t deal with rumors. Only facts.”
“And what are the facts?”
A mischievous smile crossed the man’s lips. “Now, Peter. I also don’t talk before it’s time.”
Mygatt was no longer a senator because he’d left to serve as his political party’s committee chairman. Now that the presidential primaries were over and the convention was looming, there was talk that his sure-handed stewardship of the party might lead to something considerably more visible. Specifically the vice presidential spot on the upcoming ticket.
But Peter had his doubts about that. He was sure the vice presidency was not the kind of position Mygatt would enjoy. Too much ceremony and not enough action. He had a feeling there was another position or two the senator was eyeing. Those rumors, though not as vocal, had been circulating, too.
The assistant reentered the room carrying a tray with Green’s coffee, and a teapot and cup for Mygatt. He set it on the coffee table, excused himself, and left.
“Peter,” Mygatt said as he poured his tea. “I’ve asked you here because I wanted to discuss something you might be able to do for me.”
“I thought it might be something like that,” Peter said. “I’m afraid, sir, you’ve wasted your time. The contract I have with my current employer clearly states I’m excluded from doing work with private industry.”
“Like no one ever cheats on the government,” Green scoffed, himself a government lifer.
The senator raised his cup. “The project I have in mind might be better referred to as a favor.”
Peter shrugged. “You can call it whatever you want, but I’m not the man you’re looking for.”
“Actually, you are,” Green countered. “It’s finishing something you were supposed to have completed a long time ago.”
Peter frowned, and shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and quite honestly, I don’t care. I have a job, and that’s all I need. Thank you, senator, for considering me, but I’m going to have to pass.” He stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Peter,” Mygatt said, his voice sterner than before. “Whether you help us or not, you’re involved. Wouldn’t you rather be in a position to control the situation than have to deal with the fallout later?”
Peter remained where he was, but said nothing.
“I’d like to show you something,” Mygatt said. “If you want to leave afterward, you’re more than welcome to do so.”
“What is it?”
“Just sit. It’ll only take a moment.”
“I think I’ll stand.”
Mygatt laughed softly. “Fine. Then stand.” He looked at Green. “Please.”
Green picked up a remote control from the coffee table and aimed it at the television monitor on the credenza at the end of the sitting area. The screen flashed a vibrant blue before displaying a paused nighttime video.
“This is the main entrance to the Majestic Hotel in Dar es Salaam,” Green explained. “I assume you’ve never been there.”
“I’ve heard of it,” Peter said. “New, right?”
“It just opened a month ago. Watch the area close to the building about fifteen feet beyond the entrance.”
Green hit PLAY, and the still image began to move. People went in and out of the building in a steady stream—couples, a few men together, several men on their own—keeping the two doormen out front busy.
“Here we go,” Mygatt said.
For a moment, there was nothing unusual, then something flashed down from the top of the screen and whacked into the sidewalk.
“Son of a bitch,” Peter couldn’t help saying.
Where seconds before people had been walking, a body now lay sprawled on the concrete, its arms and legs jutting out at impossible angles.
“Who the hell is that?”
Green paused the playback. “His name was Lawrence Rosen.”
Rosen? The name sounded familiar. “A security guy, right? Does protection, things like that?”
“Very good. He went freelance a few years ago.”
“So what was he doing in Tanzania?”
“Meeting someone.”
“Looks like the meeting got cut short,” Peter said. “Is there a point here?”
“Patience,” Mygatt said. He nodded at Green.
The playback started up again. Most of the people closest to the entrance turned and stared in shock at Rosen’s body. One person, though, ran out from the darkness on the far side over to the dead man. It was a guy who had left the hotel moments before, Peter realized, the one wearing a baseball cap.
The man knelt down beside the body, checked to make sure Rosen was dead, then glanced upward as if trying to see where the body had come from. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet, and within seconds had melted into the growing group of onlookers that had started to crowd around the body. As soon as he disappeared, Green stopped the video again.
“That’s it?” Peter asked. “I still don’t understand what I’m supposed to be looking for.”
“The man in the baseball hat,” Green said. “Did you recognize him?”
“No. Should I have?”
Green hit another button. “How about now?”
The hotel image was replaced by a close-up of the man in the hat from when he’d exited the building. The guy looked young, early twenties at best. A tanned Caucasian, maybe Latino. No way to tell for sure. He was wearing glasses and looked otherwise unremarkable.
“Still nothing?” Green asked.
Peter prided himself on his memory of names and faces. “I’ve never seen him.”
Mygatt leaned forward. “Are you sure?”
The way the senator asked the question made Peter hesitate. “Who is he?”
“Show him.”
Green once more did his trick with the remote. The shot on the monitor was replaced this time by a split-screen image. On both halves were identical close-ups of the man’s face in front of the hotel. Then, while the one on the left remained the same, the one on the right began to change. The glasses disappeared first, then the hat. After that, the hair grew until it was past the man’s shoulders, and went from sandy blond to dark brown. There was a slight altering of the cheeks and lips, and the eyes turned from brown to gray-green.
The man in the baseball cap wasn’t a man at all. Worse, the woman underneath the disguise was someone Peter recognized. But that was…
…impossible.
“So tell me, Peter,” Mygatt said. “How is it that a dead woman is walking the streets of Dar es Salaam?”
Six years earlier, the Office had been assigned the task of terminating Mila Voss by Mygatt via Green. At the time, the senator was not yet a senator, but the deputy secretary of defense overseeing military intelligence. Green was his CIA liaison. Though the project was not without its problems, the mission had been completed, and Peter reported back to his clients that the courier Mila Voss had been eliminated.
Only it was clear now that the mission had not been as successful as he’d been led to believe.
“I…don’t have an answer for you,” Peter said.
“Convenient,” Green spat.
“Peter,” Mygatt said, his voice calm. “You need to find her for us.”
“And while you’re at it, maybe you should finish the job,” Green threw in.
There was no way Peter could walk out now. The fallout from this could turn extremely ugly. As Mygatt had pointed out, his only chance at controlling the situation was to be involved. He nodded, and said, “I’ll get back to you.”
“Soon,” the senator said.
“Yes. Soon.”
“I have a man named Olsen who will be back later today,” Green said. “We’d like him to assist you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
Green leaned forward, glaring. “Considering what didn’t happen before, I don’t think you’re in the position to determine what’s necessary or not.”
Mygatt stood up, a smile on his face. “Just consider him my personal contact, freeing you up to concentrate on the job at hand. I’m sure there won’t be any problems.”
Peter knew he had little choice. “All right,” he said. “Do you have any paper?”
“On the desk.”
Peter found a notepad and pen on the blotter, quickly wrote down an address, and handed it to Green. “That’s to an apartment in Georgetown, a remote office I’ll be using.” He turned his attention to the senator. “I need to finish a couple of things for my current employer so I can free up some time without them becoming suspicious. I’m sure you’ll agree that we don’t want anyone else looking into this matter.”
