The Cleaner (37 page)

At 5:30 a.m. his eyes opened. He was fully awake. The first thing he did was check on Nate. His forehead was damp, but not hot. The fever he'd had earlier seemed to have broken. Quinn got up and stepped around the mattresses, working his way out of the room.

He made a quick stop in the bathroom, then went out to the coffee shop just down the street and bought coffee and breakfast rolls. He made one final call to the Mole on the walk back. It was short, this time Quinn doing most of the talking. As he finished the conversation, he passed a news kiosk. On the counter was a stack of the
Berliner Morgenpost.
The headline caught his eye.

'Police Raid Terrorist Cell,' it read in German.

The address of the raided house was Sophie's. She was even mentioned in the article as being a potential member of the organization. He read on:

One of the suspected terrorists was killed in the gunfight as she tossed a grenade at undercover officers. Extensive damage was done to the structure. Police were forced to fire tear gas canisters to root out the rest of the terrorist cell. According to police sources, at least two others remain at large.

The rest of the story was below the fold, where Quinn couldn't read it. It was all bullshit, of course. But apparently Borko had enough contacts to cover his own tracks.

Quinn returned to the hideout and found the other two still asleep. He set the coffee and food within reach if either of them awoke, then went back into the bathroom.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror for a moment. He hadn't shaved in a couple of days and he was looking pretty scruffy. A plastic shopping bag sat on the floor near the sink. Inside were toothbrushes, toothpaste, a comb, deodorant, a hairbrush, razors and shaving cream, some first-aid stuff.

Quinn pulled out a razor and the cream and gave himself a thorough shave. He wiped away the excess foam, then opened one of the toothbrushes and brushed his teeth. Cleaner now, he turned off the light and returned to the other room.

Orlando was sitting up, drinking coffee. Nate was awake, too, the sleeping bag pulled up around his head. He was peeking out at Quinn through a small opening. 'It's fucking cold,' Nate said, his voice muffled by the bag.

'Have some coffee,' Quinn said.

'Can you just pour it over the top of my sleeping bag?'

'I guess you're feeling better then,' Quinn said.

'Compared to what?'

'Yesterday.'

'I guess.' Nate slowly sat up, letting the bag slide off his head and down to his shoulders. He moved his head slowly from side to side, stretching his neck. 'Definitely better. Yesterday when I woke up, I could barely turn over. I guess this is an improvement.'

'Do you think you're up to this?'

Nate didn't even hesitate. 'I'll be fine.'

'If you can't do it, tell us,' Orlando said, her tone all business. 'Good morning to you, too,' Nate said, turning toward her.

'I'm serious,' she said.

'So am I. I'll be fine.' Nate slowly reached over and picked up the remaining cup of coffee. 'I mean, if you're asking if I can run a mile, then sucker punch someone, I'd have to say no. But I can drive a car.'

'Even with your fucked-up shoulder?' Orlando asked. 'Jesus,' Nate said. 'You need to take a happy pill or something.'

'Nate,' Quinn said quickly.

'No,' Nate countered. He looked at Orlando. 'I realize this isn't easy for you. I know you wish you found Garrett instead of me. If I were you I'd feel the same way. But I'm here and you need my help to get him back. My shoulder
is
fucked up. I feel like shit. But if I say I can do the job, I'll do it.'

Orlando and Quinn both stared at Nate for a moment. Then Orlando said, 'You could have just said yes.'

Nate's hard expression softened. 'Yes.'

'I'm sorry,' she said.

Nate gave her a smile and waved it off.

'So are we all good now?' Quinn asked. 'Because we need to get a move on.'

Orlando had been able to learn from monitoring conversations at the plant that the transportation of the polio-laced mints was scheduled for 8:30

a.m. Their only chance to take everything out was between the time the mints left the water plant and when they arrived at the building on Kaiserdamm where the welcome packets were being stuffed. A narrow window at best.

Nate unzipped his bag and began to stand up, the whole time wincing in pain. 'There's some aspirin in the bathroom, if you need it,' Quinn said. Nate looked over at him. 'I may need the whole bottle.'

The information the Mole had given Quinn proved to be accurate. The place where the welcome packets were being prepped was an old stone office building sitting at the corner of a block of similar old stone buildings.

Quinn watched it from the Einstein Coffee Shop on the corner, just down the street. For the past thirty minutes several people had entered the building. The majority were young, probably university students. All were dressed comfortably for several hours of menial work. Quinn pegged them as the hired help who would be filling the packets.

Quinn's phone rang. It was Orlando. 'The van's leaving now.'

For the last hour she had been in position on top of the same apartment building she'd been on two nights before. This time she was watching Borko's goons load the boxes of mints into a white cargo van.

'Is Borko still there?' Quinn asked.

'He left about ten minutes ago.' Orlando's voice came in short bursts. Quinn guessed she was once again making her way down the stairs, this time to Nate, who was sitting behind the wheel of a maroon BMW Quinn had appropriated earlier that morning.

'How many boxes total?' Quinn asked.

'Twenty.'

'All of them, then.'

'Looks like it.'

Twenty boxes, each containing 120 tins, gave Dahl 2,400 miniature biological weapons containers. Multiply that by the 6 mints in each box and the total number of delivery devices was 14,400. There were enough tins so that every attendee could leave with several extras.
Have one now. Take a few home. Share them with your friends.

'They secured the boxes with a cargo net,' she added.

No doubt to keep the boxes from moving around, Quinn guessed. 'Were they alone?'

'No,' Orlando said. 'Hold on.'

Quinn could hear the sound of a car door opening, then a moment later slamming shut. Orlando said, 'Looks like they're heading toward Karl Marx Strasse.' The words were not for Quinn but Nate.

'Okay,' Orlando said into the phone. 'I'm back. What was the question?'

'Were they alone?'

'No. A silver Mercedes sedan is following. But as far as I can tell, that's it.'

One escort wasn't enough. There had to be more. At the very least, reinforcements would be at the ready at various points along the route if needed. 'You see them yet?' Quinn asked.

'They're about a block ahead of us.'

'Best guess?'

'Route C,' Orlando said, indicating one of the possible directions they had guessed the shipment might take. 'We'll go with that,' Quinn said. 'Call me if anything changes.'

He hung up.

Quinn walked outside to the Porsche he'd picked for his own ride that day. As he climbed into the car and started the engine, he watched a couple of late arrivals hurrying up the steps of the Grob Promotions facility. More college kids, probably just trying to earn a little extra money. Quinn took a deep breath, then pulled away from the curb.

As he drove he connected the hands-free device to his phone, stuck the earpiece in his ear, and made a call. It took Peter a moment to come to the line. 'This is it,' Quinn said.

'What is it?' Peter asked.

'Just shut up and listen. If things don't go well, in a few hours you'll be getting a call from an associate. If you listen to what he says and do what he tells you, you may still have a chance. But it's not a guarantee.'

Quinn's instructions to the Mole had been even simpler. If Quinn didn't call him by 1:00 p.m. Berlin time, the Mole would tell Peter everything.

'What the hell is going on?'

'I promise, you'll know soon enough.'

'Quinn, I –'

Quinn disconnected the call.

Quinn swung the Porsche onto Kantstrasse, eastbound, then called Orlando. 'Where are you?' Quinn asked.

'Still Route C.'

'Any sign of other escorts?'

'Just the sedan.'

'All right. Give me a five-minute heads-up before you reach the rendezvous point.' 'That won't be long,' Orlando said. Quinn drove cautiously, trying not to attract

attention. By the time he was in position, he still hadn't heard back from Orlando. He found an open spot at the curb and parked, leaving the engine running.

His phone finally rang a minute later.

'Five-minute warning,' Orlando said.

'Status?'

'Everything's the same.'

'They haven't spotted you?'

'No,' Orlando said. 'For someone who can barely move, Nate's pretty good.' 'Don't hang up,' Quinn said. Quinn pulled his backpack onto his lap. He

extracted his SIG Sauer, checked to be sure the magazine was in place, then set the pistol on the passenger seat.

The extra mags were in the backpack. Quinn extracted two of them, slipping them into his pocket. He then set the backpack on the floor in front of the passenger seat.

'Two minutes,' Orlando said. 'They're four blocks away.'

Quinn glanced in the direction from where the shipment would be approaching. Nothing yet. Without looking, he reached back behind his seat and grabbed the Uzi he'd taken from Nate's captors off the floor. He only had the one magazine for the weapon, but its intimidation value would make up for his lack of ammunition.

'Wait a minute,' Orlando said.

'What?'

'They're turning.'

'Which way?' Quinn asked.

'Left,' Orlando said, some of her calm slipping. 'They're going left!' As Quinn pulled out from the curb, he could

hear Nate cursing in the background.

'What is it?' Quinn asked.

'We're blocked off,' Orlando said.

'You've been spotted?'

'No,' she said. 'Just too much traffic'

'Can you still see them?'

'Hold on.' There was a pause. 'No. They must have turned again. I don't know where they are. Quinn, we've got to find them. We have to get those boxes.' Her voice was emphatic, desperate.

Quinn raced down the road. When he was only a block from where Nate and Orlando had lost the truck, he turned down a side street. His eyes flicked back and forth at every cross street looking for the cargo van. But it wasn't there.

A sense of impending disaster began to creep into his mind, but he quickly pushed it down. They had to get the shipment. There was no choice.

'Scratch the ambush,' Quinn said. 'We have to go to Charlottenburg. To the delivery point.'

'Got it,' Orlando said, then relayed the instructions to Nate.

Quinn made a quick adjustment to his route and was soon heading west toward Charlottenburg.

He tried to stay calm. They could still do this. They
had
to do this.

It was the last possible chance they'd have.

Chapter 38

Quinn retraced his route back to the conference staging building in Charlottenburg, the whole time keeping a lookout for the van. But he never caught sight of it.

'Orlando, where are you?' Quinn asked. There was a bit of static, then, 'About a mile and a half away.' With city traffic, that put them several minutes behind Quinn.

'I'm almost there,' Quinn said.

'Are you going to wait for us?'

'No,' Quinn said, without hesitation. 'Just get here fast.'

Ahead was the Einstein Coffee Shop he had been sitting in earlier. As he turned the final corner, his mouth tensed.

'The van's already here,' he said as he pulled the Porsche quickly to the curb and stopped a block away.

'Have they taken any boxes out?' Orlando asked. 'I don't think so. The back's still shut.'

'We're two minutes away.'

'Make it one,' Quinn said.

The van was parked at the curb near the front door of the building. Four people stood near the back. Two of them had the unmistakable look of hired muscle. The other two, a man and a woman, were both younger. Quinn pegged them as two of the hired workers.

There were two sedans parked directly across the street from the van, a dark BMW and a silver Mercedes. Quinn counted three men in each. This was getting more fun by the minute.

He placed his SIG in his lap and rolled down the driver's-side window. At the van, one of the goons had moved over to the doors and was starting to open them. Quinn took a deep breath, then put the car back in gear and gunned the engine. The Porsche jumped away from the curb and began racing down the street toward the cargo van.

The four people standing behind the van looked up almost in unison. The two kids looked on curiously, but the other two immediately rushed around the side of the van looking for cover.

Doors on both sedans flew open. Quinn, gun now in his left hand, aimed the weapon out his open window and let off ten quick shots. The men dove in all directions, unable to return fire. As he squeezed the trigger, Quinn whipped the steering wheel to the right, bringing the Porsche up onto the sidewalk.

The two kids were no longer in sight. Quinn drove the Porsche between the van and the building.

At the last second, he slammed on the brakes, bringing his car to a quick stop. He threw open his door and jumped out. In one hand he carried his pistol and in the other, the Uzi.

No one had opened fire on him yet. As he had hoped, the contents of the van acted as a makeshift shield. None of them wanted to be the one who destroyed the product.

Quinn headed toward the rear of the van. He needed to get a count of the boxes, make sure they were all still there.

Behind him, something scraped the ground. As he turned he saw a man racing toward him. It was one of the two thugs who had been standing outside. In a single motion, Quinn jumped to his right and unloaded a short burst from the Uzi, before landing hard on the sidewalk.