The Enraged (A Jonathan Quinn Novel) (14 page)

The screen went dark.

None of them moved, their eyes still glued to the monitor. It was Daeng who finally broke the spell.

“Maybe we should think about getting out of here.”

Quinn nodded, his gaze lingering a moment longer on the screen before he turned and darted across the room.

The small refrigerator was easy enough to move out of the way, and the wall panel came off like Peter had described. With the safe exposed, Quinn said to Misty, “What’s your birthday?”

He heard her chair scrape across the floor as she scooted it back, then her steps as she approached.

“Can I open it?” she asked, kneeling next to him.

Leaning out of the way, he said, “Go ahead.”

She input a series of numbers, turned the safe’s handle, and opened the door. Most of the inside was taken up with files and large manila envelopes, while the wooden box was sitting on its end, squeezed between the edge of the files and the safe wall. Quinn reached in and pulled it out. Given its light weight, he figured it must contain only a thumb drive or memory stick. Resisting the urge to open it, he slipped it snuggly into his coat pocket and stood up.

Misty, in the meantime, had started pulling out the files and envelopes.

“No,” Quinn said. “It’s time to go.”

She shot him a disapproving look. “Peter
said
put them on the desk. So that’s what I’m going to do.”

“I’ll do it,” he said, then looked at Daeng. “Get her out of here.”

“Come on,” Daeng said, moving over to help her up.

She pulled back from his outstretched hand. “No. I’m fine. I can take care of it.”

“Misty, go,” Quinn said. “Now.”

Together the two men lifted her to her feet.

“I’ll take care of it,” Quinn told her. “I promise.”

Reluctantly, she allowed Daeng to lead her out of the room. Quinn started grabbing files and moving them over to the desk. He wondered for a moment if maybe they should take the files with them, but he knew Peter would have said something if there were something important inside they could use.

Once the files and envelopes were all piled where Peter had wanted them, Quinn decided to do a quick search in case they had missed something. He had just flipped over the mattress in the second room when the overhead lights started to flash on and off. There was no mistaking their meaning.

He ran back through the main room and out the door, stopping long enough to shut it before heading down the tunnel.

He was ten feet from the stairs when the lights flashed twice, then cut out completely.

“Quinn! Hurry!” Misty yelled down from the storage locker.

In the tunnel behind him, Quinn could hear a muffled growing roar, and knew Peter’s self-destruct system had kicked in. He sprinted the rest of the way to the ladder and scrambled up, making it almost to the hatch before the heat reached him.

Daeng extended a hand to him. “Take it!”

Quinn grabbed it and let Daeng yank him up to the safety of the locker. The moment he rolled out of the way, Daeng shoved the hatch down until it snapped in place.

Quinn lay on the floor, panting. “That was…
not
ten…minutes,” he growled between breaths.

“It was, if you take it from when the first video said it was starting,” Daeng said.

Quinn pushed himself up, annoyed. “Well, Peter certainly didn’t make
that
clear, did he?”

“No, my friend, he did not.”

“You’re all right, though, right?” Misty asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Good.” She punched him in the arm.

“Hey, what’s that for?”

Glaring at him, nostrils flaring, she said, “You could have gotten killed!”

“You were the one who wanted to stay,” he said.

“It shouldn’t have taken that long.”

“I wanted to make sure we didn’t miss anything, so I took a quick look around.”

“Well?” Daeng asked. “Did we?”

Quinn shook his head. “No.”

Misty hit him again.

CHAPTER
14

ZURICH, SWITZERLAND

T
HE MEETING WAS
held at the Hotel de Grasse, District 1, in an out-of-the-way room on the third floor. Morten had used the location multiple times, the hotel’s underground parking garage and private elevator that exited directly across from the meeting room perfect for maintaining his clients’ anonymity.

While a table and chairs were at one end of the room, Morten, as always, chose to use the sitting area at the other end. He was sitting in a blue, cloth-covered chair while his client—his
potential
client—was sitting on the matching couch.

This was their second meeting. The first had been four days earlier in Berlin. A meet-and-greet set up by the client’s chief of staff. This second meeting was the proof-of-concept meeting, where Morten would explain exactly what Darvot Consulting could do for the client.

“This is what I mean,” Morten said.

From inside his briefcase, he pulled out an eight-by-ten photograph.

“I’m not sure I want to see that,” the man said.

“Oh, I’m sure you will.”

Morten laid it on the coffee table. The picture showed two people in mid-copulation.

Despite his earlier protest, the man leaned forward and picked it up. “Is that…”

“Yes.” The male half of the couple in the photo was the popular sitting parliament member against whom Morten’s potential client was running in an upcoming election.

“That’s not his wife.”

“It most decidedly is not,” Morten agreed. “She’s the daughter of one of his constituents.”

The man was having a hard time hiding his revulsion. “How old is she?”

“Seventeen.”

Morten reached over and plucked the picture back.

“So what?” the man said. “You propose to release that? Is that the idea?”

Morten looked at the picture for a moment before putting it back in his briefcase. “What would that do? Yes, it might win you the election, but there would be a very good chance your own credibility would be undermined. People would assume you had something to do with releasing the picture. At best you’d last no more than one term. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not. Then what are you proposing?”

Morten smiled. “Your opponent would be approached. A quiet meeting, much like this one. He will learn of the pictures, and trust me, there are more than just the single shot. In fact, there’s more than just this one girl. He will then be given a choice. He will either do as we say, or the pictures will be released.”

“But you said if the pictures are released, I’ll get the blame.”

“Not if they’re released
after
the election. He’ll be forced to resign and a special election will be held, where you will then be the favorite.”

“And if he takes the deal?”

“Then he’ll throw the election for us.”

“How?”

“This is where you need to trust me. This is not the first time I’ve done this.”

By the time Morten headed back upstairs to his room, the man had moved from potential client to paying client. There had never really been any doubt. Morten had been doing this for a long time, and knew exactly how to hook the greedy. At least it wasn’t like the early years, when he had to be a little more involved in the execution of jobs. Now his focus was almost entirely on cultivating new business, instead of leaking stories or identifying bodies at an “accident” scene, or luring targets to faux meetings that would put them in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Of course, there were a few exceptions, like having to worry about old jobs that seemed to have risen from the dead.

As soon as he entered his suite, he activated the electronic bug jammer, and put in a call to his enforcer.

“So?” he asked.

“Nothing new,” Griffin replied.

“What do you mean, nothing?”

“Forensics swept the apartment, but whoever was there left no fingerprints.”

“Cameras?”

“Several security cameras were identified in the area, but none had a good angle.”

Morten’s jaw tensed. “Anything more on the house in Virginia?”

“Not yet,” Griffin said. “I’m going to call them as soon as we finish, and have them do a forensic check there also.”

“If O & O can’t come up with anything, pull the job and do it yourself.”

“Exactly what I was planning.”

“Good,” Morten said.

He hung up, grabbed the bottle of thirty-year-old Macallan whisky from the bar, and poured a generous amount into a tumbler. He took a drink.

Old. Goddamn. Jobs.

This one in particular shouldn’t have been a problem anymore. Peter was dead. They’d made that happen.
Morten
had made that happen. And with the son of a bitch’s death, that should have been it. No more chances of exposure.

Done. Finished. Completed.

Morten took another drink. As the whisky trickled down his throat, he could finally feel his body calming, and his thoughts becoming more reasonable.

There was no way to know if the people who’d been in Peter’s apartment knew anything even loosely connected to Morten or his boss. Peter had been involved in a multitude of things over the years, all potential reasons for why someone would’ve wanted a look inside his flat.

Yes, Morten needed to stay vigilant, but he didn’t need to get worked up. This was merely another project. Find the trio, figure out why they were there, then, no matter the reason, eliminate them.

Keep it simple. Get it done.

He smiled as he raised the glass back to his lips.

CHAPTER
15

VIRGINIA

W
ITHIN MINUTES OF
driving away from the storage facility, Misty was slumped against the back door of Howard’s car, staring out the window. The chaos of the past twenty-four hours—twice being hunted by armed assault teams, seeing Peter again, the near immolation in the bunker—had clearly taken its toll on her.

Quinn tried to get her to talk, but it was as if she didn’t even hear him. Turning to Howard, he said, “Any place around here to get a room? Doesn’t have to be flashy.”

Howard thought for a moment before he said, “Yeah, I know a good place.”

He drove them to the Homestead Studio Suites just north of the tollway, and arranged for a room in the back wing. Once inside, Misty immediately lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. The others settled into the sitting area by the window, where Quinn pulled the wooden box out of his pocket.

“So that’s it, huh?” Howard asked.

Quinn turned the box, taking a good look at it for the first time. The lid was hinged and clasped shut. Carved across the top were two rows of vines paralleling the edge. More vines were carved into the sides, while the bottom was smooth and unadorned.

Quinn flipped the clasp and opened the lid. Almost the entire interior was taken up by black packing foam, like the kind used in cases that carried electronics and musical instruments. Cut in the very center was a small round hole, and in that hole a chrome metal cylinder.

He pulled it out. It was no more than a half-inch long, and flat on each end.

“That doesn’t look like a thumb drive to me,” Daeng said.

“No,” Quinn said. He looked closely at the top and saw it was a movable lid, pinned at the edge. “It’s a canister.”

Gently, he moved the top away so he could look inside. Tucked within the cylinder was a roll of something that looked like thin plastic. He turned the canister over, and the roll fell easily into his palm.

“What is it?” Daeng asked.

Quinn held it out so the other two could see it. “Microfilm.”

“Microfilm? That’s kind of old school, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

Quinn twisted the roll around, examining it. There were no signs of age, and it felt flexible between his fingers. Still wary that it might be a relic from Peter’s past, he carefully took hold of the end and unrolled the first inch. It felt strong and gave no sign it might break, so he held it up to the light. All he saw was black, so he unspooled another inch and raised it again. There were brighter frames now, with little black squiggles running through them.

Words, he guessed. Documents or notes.

Instead of unrolling only another inch, he kept going until the entire strip was open. More documents. Then frames with color. Pictures, maybe? He couldn’t make out anything.

He lowered the film. “Either of you have glasses? Reading? Prescription? Anything?”

Daeng and Howard shook their heads.

“I do,” Misty said, raising her head off the bed. Apparently she hadn’t been asleep, as he’d thought. “Reading glasses. They’re in my purse.” She started to sit up, then stopped and closed her eyes, her shoulders drooping. “Which is under the seat in my car.”

Her car was still parked near Peter’s place.

“I think we passed a Target store not far from here,” Daeng said.

Quinn put the film back in the canister. “Can I borrow your keys?” he asked Howard.

“Of course.” Howard handed them to Quinn. “You want some company?”

“No, you two stay here.” Though he didn’t expect another group of armed men to break into their hotel room, there was no sense in taking chances, and two watching over Misty was better than one.

As he headed toward the door, Misty swung her legs off the bed and stood up. “Is there something I can do? Anything?”

He stopped. “The most important thing you can do right now is rest.”

“I can’t sleep. I just keep thinking about Peter and the video.” She looked lost, helpless. “Can I see what you found?”

“Sure.” He handed her the metal canister.

She opened the top but didn’t dump out the film. “Just like Peter. There were certain things he liked physical copies of.” She handed the cylinder back, her eyes half full of tears.

Quinn wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t find the correct words, so he said, “I won’t be long,” and left.

Daeng had been right. There was a Target right around the corner. Instead of hunting for reading glasses, Quinn went directly to the office supply area and found a magnifying glass. He pulled out the microfilm and did a quick test. The glass blew up the images enough so that if the text had been readable, he should’ve been able to make it out. Unfortunately, it was illegible. What he saw were lines made up of tiny squares—some alone, some connected only at their corners, some side by side. It was like they wanted to be text but weren’t.