The Enraged (A Jonathan Quinn Novel) (11 page)

The man repeated the word.

“Loosen the jacket,” Quinn said. “Just a little.”

Once more the man spoke.

“Quinn? You are Quinn, aren’t you?”

Quinn knelt back down and studied the man’s face. There
was
something familiar about him. Quinn ran through names in his head, trying to match one to the face. Finally, he stopped. “Clyde…Witten.”

“Yeah. Right,” the man said, his voice still muffled, but clearer.

They had worked at least three jobs together that Quinn could remember. Not on the same team. Witten had been ops, and had never helped Quinn on body disposal. Most of their interaction had been brief, but Quinn had felt that Witten was a through-and-through professional. It had been at least four years since the last time their paths crossed.

“You promise not to yell?” Quinn asked.

“You promise not to kill me?” Witten countered.

Quinn looked at Daeng. “Take it off, but if he reneges, knock him out.”

Daeng removed the jacket from Witten’s face.

“Thanks,” Witten said. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Quinn replied.

After a brief hesitation, Witten said, “We’ve never had problems, have we?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“No reason why we should start now, right?”

Quinn waited.

“You want to know why we’re here?” Witten asked.

Quinn gave him a look like that was the most obvious question ever.

“We were sent to capture or eliminate whoever is staying in this house.” There was no anger or threat in the voice, only a statement of fact.

“So, us.”

Witten twisted his face, uncomfortable. “Why would you be on a kill list?”

“That’s a good question. Why don’t you tell me exactly whose kill list we’re on?”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“I guess that puts us a bit at odds, doesn’t it?”

“Was that you yesterday afternoon in Georgetown? Shot off a couple fingers?”

“The guy’s lucky I didn’t kill him,” Quinn said. “Friend of yours?”

“I don’t know him.”

“Same organization?”

Witten didn’t answer.

“Quinn?” Misty whispered.

All three men looked over, Witten clearly surprised by Misty’s presence.

Misty pointed at the ground a few feet away from her. Sitting there was the comm gear Quinn had stripped from Witten. He must have dropped it in the fight.

“I hear voices,” she said.

“Watch him,” Quinn said to Daeng. He walked over and picked up the earpiece and mic. Someone was definitely transmitting. He returned to Witten. “I want you to talk to them. Tell them everything’s all right. If you deviate at all I will—”

“What? You’ll kill me?”

“I only eliminate those in my way. Are you going to be in my way?”

“Give me the radio.”

After a brief hesitation, Quinn tossed him the gear.

Witten put the earpiece in. “I’m here, I’m here. Sorry. Radio problem…It’s okay now…yeah, I’m sure. It’s clear down here. The house is empty. Assemble out front. I’ll be there in a minute. There’s something here I’m checking…no, I got it. Just meet me out front.” He listened for a moment longer before he clicked the button that turned off the mic. Looking up, he said, “Satisfied?”

Quinn stepped outside the room and listened. He could hear footsteps moving away from the basement door toward the front of the house. A moment later, the main door opened and all fell silent.

When he returned to the room, he said, “Who are you working for?”

“Ask as many times as you want,” Witten said, “but it’s not going to change the fact that I can’t tell you.”

“You can, and you—”

Witten held up a hand, stopping him. “It doesn’t matter who I work for anyway. We’re a clearinghouse. We pick up jobs from all over the place, but we don’t generate them ourselves.”

Quinn cocked his head. “So whoever wanted to take us out hired your organization?”

“In essence, yes, but you’re a little off.”

“How so?”

“I can tell you for a fact that your name or—” he took a quick glance at Daeng and Misty— “your associates’ names aren’t on our lists. We were only told there would be two men and a woman. The accompanying descriptions were very vague.”

“Then why did you come after us?” Daeng asked.

“The intervention order applies to anyone entering the apartment you were in earlier today.”

“And the order is to terminate?”

“The order is to capture and isolate,” Witten said. “But if we encounter any resistance, we have the option to eliminate the target.” He paused. “The mission parameters also came with a clear indication of the type of people we would be dealing with.”

“And that would be…?”

“Foreign operatives with ties to terrorist organizations. The backstory I was given is that the owner of the Georgetown apartment had information in his possession that these operatives might try to obtain.”

“We’re the only people who would’ve
ever
shown up at that apartment,” Quinn said. “But the last I checked, I’m not a foreign operative in this country. And I definitely never work with terrorists.”

He could see in Witten’s eyes that the man knew this, too.

“Your agency is being used,” Quinn told him.

“Possibly.” There was a trace of anger in Witten’s voice. Before he could continue, his gaze became unfocused, and he touched his earpiece. “Yes…still here, but on my way out…will be right there.” He tapped on the comm again and looked at Quinn. “I need to go. If I don’t, my team will come after me.”

“How do we know you’re not going to just sit out there and shoot us as we come outside?”

“I give you my word we’ll move out immediately. Give it ten minutes to be sure, then leave.” He paused. “It’s up to you whether you want to believe me or not.”

Quinn stared at the man for several seconds. All his instincts told him that Witten was telling the truth. “What are you going to tell your bosses?”

Witten shrugged. “That someone was here, but the house was empty when we arrived. They’ll probably send out a few investigators to see if they can pick up any clues as to who’d been here—so you might want to make sure there aren’t any—but basically our job will be done unless another alarm is triggered.”

“I’m going to choose to trust you,” Quinn said. He popped the mag out of Witten’s pistol, removed the bullet from the chamber, and handed it back.

“Apparently only so far,” Witten said.

“There is one thing you can tell me.”

Witten eyed Quinn warily. “What?”

“Who the client is.”

Witten shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way. I don’t have that information.”

“But you could find out.”

“Not necessarily. There are a lot of layers involved.”

“I’ll pay you.”

“Whoa. I’m not going down that road.”

“Then do it as a favor.”

Witten looked unsure.

“It’s clear someone wants me and my colleagues dead,” Quinn said. “I’d really like to know who that is.”

Witten frowned, but said, “I’ll think about.”

“That’s all I ask.”

After Quinn gave Witten an e-mail address he could use to contact him, he held out his hand. Witten hesitated, then allowed Quinn to pull him to his feet.

 “To be clear, even if I do find out, I’m not saying I
will
let you know,” Witten said.

“Fair enough.”

“Good luck,” the man said, and headed out the door.

After five minutes, Quinn said, “Stay here,” then left the room and went all the way up to the second floor. From there he checked through windows on all four sides. The yard surrounding the house appeared to be deserted. He returned to the first floor, and carefully let himself out the back door. Holding his empty hands up beside his head, he moved slowly into the yard. No one charging out of the bushes. No shouts to get on the ground.

After doing the same in the side yards and the front, he went back inside, satisfied that Witten had done as promised. He, Daeng, and Misty then spent the next ten minutes removing as much evidence of their presence in the house as possible—wiping down all surfaces they may have touched, and vacuuming for loose hairs and dead skin. In the bedrooms, they removed the sheets and blankets Misty and Quinn had used, and replaced them with clean sets that they then messed up to look used. It wasn’t perfect, but it should be enough to cover their tracks.

They left the house with three trash bags stuffed with the sheets and blankets, the towels they’d wiped things down with, and the bag from the vacuum. These they’d dump later in several different locations.

As they headed down the sidewalk, Quinn pulled out his phone and called Howard.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Four blocks from the house,” Howard said.

“Come and get us.”

CHAPTER
11

VIRGINIA

T
HEY SPENT THE
remainder of the night in a motel next to the interstate near Tyson’s Corner. Howard arranged the rooms so the night staff would know only his face in case anyone came looking for the others.

Since Daeng had already put in his time on watch back at the house, Quinn and Howard split the rest of the night, with Quinn taking the final shift. Every minute he was up, he wanted to call Liz to find out what was happening with Orlando, but he forced himself to wait until the sun peeked over the horizon before finally sneaking outside with his phone.

The call was answered after three rings.

“Hey, Quinn.” Definitely not Liz’s voice.

“Nate?”

“Uh-huh. Hold on a sec.” Movement and a few grunts. When the younger cleaner spoke again, his voice no longer sounded quite as sleepy. “Sorry. Liz forgot her phone when she left last night.”

Quinn tensed. “Left?”

“Down the hall,” Nate said quickly. “I’m assuming you want to talk to her.”

“I just want to check on Orlando.”

“Oh, well, I can do that.” A pause. “She looks fine.”

“You’re in her room?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What does Dr. Montero say?”

“Haven’t seen him. I think a nurse comes in a few times an hour, but, well, I’ve kind of been sleeping, you know?”

“Then you have no idea how she is.”

Nate took a moment before he answered. “I know she seems to be resting peacefully. I know none of the machines she’s hooked up to are making funny noises. I know there hasn’t been any sudden rush of doctors into the room responding to some kind of crisis. I’d say she’s doing exactly what she’s supposed to be doing. Resting and getting better.”

Quinn forced himself to take a calming breath. It was as early there in Isla de Cervantes as it was in Virginia, after all. Dr. Montero probably wasn’t even at the hospital yet. And Nate was right. If she was resting comfortably, that was a good sign.

“How, um, how are you doing?” he asked.

“Peachy. My back still hurts, but if I keep it stretched, I do okay.”

“That’s good. What about Lanier, Berkeley, and Curson?”

“They’re a bit worse off, but on the mend.”

“Best that we can expect, I guess.”

“Quinn, Liz said you were trying to find who gave Romero the list,” Nate said. “How’s that going?”

Quinn felt a slight tinge of guilt for not having told Nate himself. “It’s been…interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

“I’ll tell you when we come back.”

“When will that be?”

“I’m hoping tonight. If not, then tomorrow.”

Nate was quiet for several seconds. “I don’t want to be cut out. Whatever you’re doing, I want to be a part of it.”

“I know. You will be. It’s just—”

“I’m fine,” Nate said. “It’s not the first time I’ve been injured. I can do what needs to be done.”

“I promise I’ll brief you when I get back.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

A big rig rattled down the interstate, its engine bellowing as the driver downshifted. “If anything changes with Orlando, call me right away.”

“Don’t worry so much,” Nate said. “I’ll keep an eye on things here and call if there’s anything you need to know.”

__________

I
T WAS ANOTHER
hour before the others were up and dressed. They grabbed a quick breakfast at the café next to their motel before heading back into DC.

Even with traffic, they arrived at the John Adams building of the Library of Congress fifteen minutes before its 8:30 opening.

“You two cover the outside,” Quinn said to Daeng and Howard. “I don’t want trouble showing up without us knowing about it.”

Both men nodded.

“You’re coming with me, though, right?” Misty asked Quinn.

“I’ll be right next to you the whole time.”

At 8:30 on the dot, they exited the car. While Daeng and Howard went to find lookout spots, Quinn accompanied Misty inside to one of the available public computer workstations.

“You’re the driver,” he said, motioning for her to take the seat.

Once she was situated, he leaned in behind her so he could have a better view of the monitor. She pulled the keyboard forward and extended her fingers above it, but they remained there, hovering, unmoving.

“What’s wrong?” Quinn asked.

“I shouldn’t be showing you this. Peter was very clear that no one but he and I could know.”

Her loyalty to Peter was as annoying as it was admirable. “He’s not here anymore.”

“I don’t care. I promised him. Please.”

“Fine,” he said, rising back up. “Wave me back once you’re in.”

Looking relieved, she said, “Thank you.”

Quinn wandered several terminals away, and used the opportunity to scan the room in case someone had been able to bypass Daeng and Howard, but none of the library’s patrons triggered his alarm.

When his gaze returned to Misty, she motioned that it was okay for him to return. He resumed his position behind her, and saw that the Library of Congress screen had been replaced by some sort of index.

“This is it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How do you search?”

“Here.” She clicked on a small circle near the top. Instantly, a text box opened, ready for input. “Should I try it?”