The Destroyed (15 page)

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.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let it get that far.”

Jergins took over and talked about the basic setup. Quinn listened and nodded in all the right places, but barely heard any of it.

“For you,” Jergins said, slipping two hotel key cards across the table.

Quinn pushed thoughts of Mila to the side as he picked up the keys and tried to focus. One had a slight notch along one edge as if someone had banged it against the corner of a table. Otherwise, the two keys were identical. He knew one would be to the room Mila was to be killed in, and one would be to the room where he would be expected to wait until he was needed, but which was which and what were the room numbers? Had Jergins already told him and he hadn’t heard?

He held up the one with the notch. “And this one is to…?”

“The job site on the seventh floor.”

Quinn nodded, and glanced down at the table. “Do you have a floor map? I’d like to see exactly where it is in conjunction with exits and other rooms.”

“Yeah,” Jergins said. “There’s one here somewhere.” He started looking through everything. “Whit, down by you.”

Kaufman picked up a piece of paper and handed it to Quinn. Kovacs leaned over so he could see it, too.

“There,” the assassin said. He pointed at the room marked 739. Then he touched 753, a little farther down the hall. “And that’s your room. But one floor up, of course.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Rooms 739 and 853. He burned the numbers into his memory.

Jergins wanted to go through the plan one more time. Quinn said that was a great idea, and once again listened without hearing, all the while wanting to rush out of the room.

When they were finally done, he said his goodbyes, then forced himself to walk leisurely through the suite and into the hotel corridor. During the full ten minutes it took him to reach the street, he refrained from doing anything that would seem out of character. There was just no way to know if someone might be watching him, someone who may have realized he actually had a connection to the target.

One thing was for certain—the Office had no idea Quinn even knew Mila. Peter would have never given Quinn the assignment.

Mila, what the hell did you do?

As he moved south down the Strip, he worked through all of his options. Being the professional he was and with his outstanding reputation, he knew he should ignore the fact that he’d learned the target’s name and just do the job he was hired to do. He wasn’t the guy pulling the trigger, after all. In his capacity, he could at least see to it that her remains were treated with respect.

But as noble as that might be, it rang hollow when considering he was in position to stop it from happening at all. Doing so, though, could mean putting his own life in danger, not to mention jeopardizing his career. If he did intervene, he would have to be exceedingly careful.

Are you really considering this? You’ll have to pull it off without screwing up everything else. Is that even possible?

Though he currently had no answers to those questions, he realized there was one thing he could do. Granted, if he did nothing else, it would be a passive-aggressive approach to solving the problem. But it was a start, and hopefully he would come up with a more definitive plan prior to Mila’s arrival at Planet Hollywood.

He ducked into a casino and found as quiet a spot as possible near some unused slot machines at the back. Even though it was after midnight in Europe, he made the call anyway.

“
Oui
,” a deep baritone voice said.

“Julien, it’s Quinn.”

“Quinn, my friend.
Comment ça va
?”

“I’m fine. Thanks. Are you free right now?”

“You have a job for me?”

“I do.”

“I have something I’m supposed to do that starts on Sunday.”

“Can you get out of it?”

Julien was quiet for a moment. “I suppose. Is this a good job?”

“I’m sure you won’t want to miss it.”

“Where?”

“Las Vegas.”

“Vegas? I have not been there in many years. I like this idea. When do you need me?”

“Tomorrow, as early as possible.”

“Tomorrow for me? Or tomorrow for you? It’s already Saturday here.”

“Tomorrow for me. Today for you.”

“I don’t know if I—”

“Find a way, Julien,” Quinn said, his tone dead serious. “I
need
you here.”

The humor that normally ran through Julien’s voice vanished. “Let me see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

Quinn hung up and made a second call. “Jergins? This is Quinn.”

“What’s up?” the team leader asked.

“I’ve been giving it some thought, and I think I’m going to bring in a man to help out. It’ll just keep things smoother.”

“Sure. Do you have a name?”

“Not yet. I’ll make some calls.”

“All right. As soon as you know who it is, let me know. Peter wants a listing of all those involved.”

Having zero intention of actually doing that, Quinn said, “No problem.”

CHAPTER 16

ROME, ITALY

I
T HAD BEEN
a quiet night outside Julien’s apartment building. Quinn had taken the second shift, the hardest because it split sleep time in half, or it would have if he had actually fallen back to sleep when he returned to the room. Eventually, he gave up trying and went out for a long walk around the city.

When he returned, Nate was dressed and about to head down for the breakfast that came with the room.

“You going to go relieve Daeng after you eat?” Quinn asked.

Nate gave a hesitant nod, and said, “I have someone I need to meet first.”

“Oh? Who?”

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re a little equipment shy. I thought it’d be good to gear up a bit.”

Of course, Quinn thought. “Bianchi?”

“No. He’s out of the business.”

“What?”

“Heart attack.”

“Dead?”

Nate shook his head. “Just scared the hell out of him apparently. He left the city and moved in with a daughter somewhere in the south.”

In the past, Quinn would have been up on news like this, but during his exile, the world had moved on. “Who took his place?”

“Several players have stepped up, but none to Bianchi’s level. The guy I’m seeing is named Nicholas Giacona. I used him once before. Seems okay.”

I used him once before?
Quinn was surprised. Nate had apparently been busy while he was gone. “You want me to come along?”

“Sure. You can help carry the bags.”

__________

T
HE TAXI DROPPED
them off two blocks from their destination. The area was crowded with cafés and shops and other businesses, but at this early hour, it was only the cafés serving breakfast that were open.

“It’s up this way,” Nate said.

Though he’d been to Giacona’s place only the one time, he remembered the route well. He led Quinn to the end of the block, through a narrow alley, then half a block down the next street before stopping in front of an unmarked door next to a butcher shop. On the wall near the jamb was an intercom. Nate pushed the button.

“
Si
?” a male voice said through the box.

“
Buon giorno
,” Nate said. “I have an appointment.”

“
Signor
Quinn?”

“
Si
,” Nate said quickly, fighting the urge to look at his mentor.

The door buzzed and he pulled it open. On the other side was a scuffed-up hallway that ran the length of the building. There were several doors along it, all closed.

As they neared the back, Quinn said, “Are you going to explain that, or—”

The door at the very end opened, and a fiftysomething Italian guy with a goatee and salt-and-pepper hair looked out. “Quinn. Good to see you again.”

Nate picked up his pace, and extended his hand. “I appreciate you getting up so early, Nicholas.”

As they started to shake, Giacona noticed Quinn for the first time. “Your friend, who is he?”

“This is Jonathan. We’re working together.”

Giacona eyed Quinn for a moment. “If you say he’s okay, fine.”

“He’s okay,” Nate said.

The arms dealer nodded. “Then come in, come in.” He waved for them to follow him and disappeared inside.

Before they could step through the doorway, Quinn grabbed Nate’s arm and pulled him back a few feet. “Why’s he calling you Quinn?”

“Later,” Nate said.

“Does he think you’re me?”

“I said later.” Nate had known this was something that would eventually come up, but he couldn’t worry about it. He’d done what he had to do.

They passed through the doorway into a workshop that took up half the space of the ground floor. There were lathes and drill presses and hydraulic metal cutters and several other machines Nate didn’t even try to figure out. To most of the world, Giacona ran a small but efficient machine shop that specialized in repairs and customized metal work. To those in Nate’s and Quinn’s world, he was a local supplier who was building a reputation as an expert in all things hard to get.

“Your call surprised me,” Giacona said. “I didn’t realize you were in town.”

“A last-minute thing,” Nate told him.

“Something I should know about?”

“Is it ever?”

That elicited a laugh from the Italian. “I always like to ask. So, what is it you need today?”

Fifteen minutes later, they left with three SIG Sauer P226 pistols—Quinn’s weapon of choice and one Nate was growing fonder of—extra clips and ammunition, a couple miniature remote video cameras with built-in wireless connectivity, a compact set of short-range bugs and tracking devices, six sets of communication gear, and, as a last-second request from Nate, a set of lock picks. Everything fit nicely into a single, medium-sized duffel bag.

“Okay, it’s later,” Quinn said once they were on the street.

Nate looked around to make sure no one was nearby, then focused on his old boss. “He called me Quinn because I
am
Quinn to him, and to several others, too.”

“Others? What are you talking about?”

“After you left, we still had calls coming in, jobs that wanted only Quinn.”

Quinn’s eyes widened. “You…pretended to be me?”

“I had to keep things going. I didn’t know if you were coming back or not, but if you were, I thought it would be better if your reputation didn’t tank completely while you were gone. So, yeah, I told people I was Quinn, not Jonathan Quinn, just Quinn. And you know what? I took jobs, did them, and never once had a complaint or problem.”

“What if I don’t return? You’ll just go on being Quinn?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’ve been doing this
for
you. Holding things together for
you
. If you can’t see that, it’s not my problem.”

Nate started walking again. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. His anger was unfair, he knew, but he couldn’t rid himself of it. No matter how much he knew that Quinn’s disappearance had been necessary, he was having a hard time forgiving his mentor for basically abandoning him.

A few seconds later, he heard steps behind him, but didn’t turn to look. Then Quinn drew abreast of him, and they walked in silence to the end of the block where several taxis were parked.

“Nate,” Quinn said before they climbed into one of the cabs.

Nate turned.

“I…” Quinn paused, his head twisting to the side as if frustrated. Finally he looked back. “I’m not sure what to say. It seems every time I…I open my mouth, I…” He stopped again. “I wanted to forget about the world, isolate myself and clear my head. The thing is, I didn’t think about the world continuing on without me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens.”

“I have no right to be angry about any of it, but that doesn’t mean I won’t react without thinking again.”

“So are you apologizing for now or the future?”

“Both, I guess.”

“I’m not going to let you off that easy,” Nate said as he opened the cab’s door. “We’ll take it on a case-by-case basis.”

“Sure. I can live with that…Quinn.”

Nate rolled his eyes. “Oh, is that an attempt at humor? You know what? Maybe you
should
call me Quinn from now on.”