The Discarded (21 page)

“Set,” Nate said.

“Set,” Quinn echoed. “Ready. Now.”

Together they pulled their triggers, each man keeping an eye on their target to make sure their shot hit home. Quinn’s man staggered backward, his hand grasping at the dart, but before he could pull it out, he collapsed on the ground.

Quinn immediately moved his scope to target number three, but as he was lining up his shot, he heard the
pfft
of Nate’s gun again, and a second later number three was on the ground.

“Told you,” Nate said.

“Keep up the cocky attitude and you’ll have firsthand knowledge of what these darts do to you.”

After Nate reshouldered his backpack, they sprinted across the street and dropped into a shallow ditch that lined the other side of the road. They made a quick study of the grounds but saw no one, so they headed toward the side of the house.

Partway there, they came across the first of the sleeping sentries. Together, they moved him to the other side of a leafless hedge so he wouldn’t be noticed by any community patrols driving by. The other two they didn’t need to worry about. They’d been farther in on the property and were lost in the darkness.

When the cleaners reached the house, Quinn pointed at Nate and then at the rear corner. With a nod, Nate headed there while Quinn moved to the front of the house. Very carefully, he leaned around the edge and searched the yard. Once he was sure the area was clear, he headed back to Nate’s position.

His former apprentice held up two fingers, and then pointed at an angle through the wall at two different spots to show Quinn where the guards were located. After silently deciding who was responsible for whom, they dropped all the way to the ground and eased around the corner.

“Set,” Nate whispered.

“Ready. Now.”

At the exact second Quinn pulled the trigger, his target moved. Not a problem if the dart traveled as fast as a bullet, but at its subsonic speed, it sailed harmlessly behind the man’s back. It did not, however, do so in complete silence.

As the sentry whirled around to see what had made the sound, Quinn pulled the trigger again. This time the man did not get out of the way.

Five down.

Nate took the lead as they followed the property line to a group of hibernating shrubs that delineated the back end. There, they got their first good look at the rear of the house.

Just like the plans showed, a two-story wing stuck straight out along the southern edge of the house. The only window on the property emitting any light was the one corresponding to the second-floor office.

Quinn carefully swept his goggles from one side of the property to the other. The only heat signatures he was picking up were those of the unconscious guards. There was still one side of the house they hadn’t checked yet, though—the south. They crept along the bushes until the wing was no longer blocking their view.

A sixth sentry was about midway along the side.

“I got this,” Nate said.

Quinn didn’t argue. Nate’s marksmanship had won him the opportunity, so Quinn stayed by the bushes and watched. Nate retraced their path until he was out of the man’s potential sightline before cutting across the lawn toward the back of the wing section.

That’s when Quinn saw the guard move. Nothing fast, not a reaction to having heard Nate, but the man did start walking toward the back of the house. That would have been something Nate could easily handle, but then the guy plucked something off his belt. When he held it up to his mouth, Quinn realized it was a radio, and knew their stealth arrival was on the verge of being exposed.

Since it was impossible for Nate to get into position for a shot in time, Quinn didn’t even bother clicking on his mic. Instead he rushed forward and closed the distance between him and the sentry.

The man still had his walkie-talkie at his mouth when he spotted Quinn. The radio dropped as he went for the gun on his belt.

Quinn pulled the trigger of his D-gun, sending a dart zipping through the air. The man tried to duck but the tip caught his shoulder, only an inch from his neck. His hand flew up and yanked it free.

Quinn shot again, hitting the sentry in the chest this time.

The man staggered to his left, bumping into the side of the house as he tried to rip out the second dart. Though he was able to extract it, he was too late. Enough of the tranquilizer had already entered his system, causing him to crumble to the ground before he could even drop the dart.

Nate rushed around the wing and reached the man at almost the same time Quinn arrived.

“What happened?” Nate whispered.

Quinn picked up the man’s radio and showed it to his partner. He was about to put it back on the ground when it crackled to life.

“Mr. Richards, what’s going on out there? Sounded like something just hit the house.” When there was no immediate answer, the voice said, “Mr. Richards, come in, please. I want to know what’s going on out there.”

Boyer
, Quinn thought.

Having no choice, he snatched up the radio and said in a hushed voice, “Sorry, sir. One of the men slipped.” It was as good an excuse as any. Several patches of snow had turned to ice, some very close to the house.

“Jesus,” Boyer said. “Tell your people to watch their fucking step! I’m trying to work here.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Quinn waited for Boyer to say more, but apparently the man was done. The cleaner turned the volume way down, put the walkie-talkie into his pocket, and motioned for Nate to follow.

As they passed beneath the lit office window, they could hear snippets of Boyer’s voice.

“…sure of that?…tell if the congressman…Wednesday. No, no. Wednesday…doesn’t matter. What does is if that asshole….Exactly…”

Upon reaching the door into the wing section, Quinn retrieved a device identical to the one Orlando had used at Eli’s townhouse, and used it to deactivate the alarm in a way that would not alert Boyer to their actions. He then stepped out of the way and let Nate pick the lock.

Just inside was a well-lit mudroom that made use of the goggles no longer necessary. Quinn noted only a single jacket on the hooks, all but confirming Boyer was alone.

After trading their dart guns for the SIGs, they proceeded into the hallway that ran the length of the wing. At the end, where the annex met the house, was a set of stairs.

Quinn went first as they headed up, quick and quiet, and emerged into an open area with a couch, a few chairs, and a television. Beyond was a shorter hallway running against the south side of the building. Two doors on the north side, with a third straight back at the very end of the hall, light leaking from under it.

They stopped at the other two doors only long enough to make sure no one was inside before walking to the end.

“…care. We can’t do it that way and you know it,” Boyer was saying. Though his voice wasn’t raised, his words were delivered in a way that said: Don’t mess with me. “Tell them to get it done, and then get the goddamn information to the client. I don’t want to hear about this again. Am I understood?….Good.”

When Quinn was sure the call was over, he gave Nate a quick nod and pushed the door open.

Boyer turned to them as quickly as his girth would allow. “Who authorized you to come in here?”

In their dark clothing, they looked somewhat similar to the sentries outside but not exactly the same. A realization that took Boyer a moment to reach.

When he did, he moved toward the large desk in the center of the room. But Nate got to him long before Boyer could reach it and jerked him back.

“Get your hands off me!” Boyer yelled as he tried to twist free.

“This will go much easier if you cooperate, Mr. Boyer,” Quinn said.

Nate manhandled the McCrillis executive into one of the puffy leather chairs in front of the desk.

“Sit,” he said.

“Go to hell,” Boyer replied.

“I said sit,” Nate told him as he kicked him in the back of the knees, forcing Boyer to flop into the chair.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“People you shouldn’t have screwed with,” Quinn said.

“Oh, really?” he said. “I’m the one who shouldn’t be screwed with. That’s a life-changing mistake. My men will be here in a moment so I suggest you—”

“I assume you mean the same men who stopped us from coming up here,” Quinn cut him off. “Yeah, none of them are going to be doing anything for a little while. Or do you mean the men who will be arriving because of the alarm we should have tripped getting in? Sorry, not happening, either.”

Quinn had to give the man credit. Instead of looking frightened, Boyer’s anger seemed to increase. “You have no idea what I am capable of doing. I will ruin you.”

“No,” Quinn said. “You will not.”

With a nod from Quinn, Nate whipped the barrel of his gun into the side of Boyer’s head.

Boyer yelled in pain. “You’ll fucking pay for that!”

Quinn smirked. “I doubt that.”

Boyer forced a laugh.

Quinn took a step forward. “Where is the man you abducted earlier this evening?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Quinn signaled Nate, who hit Boyer again.

“Fuck!”

Quinn leaned in again. “Your people grabbed him, put him in a car. Where is he?”

Boyer tried to spit at Quinn, but only succeeded in dribbling saliva down his chin.

“Where is the man you took?”

“You can go f—”

Nate’s pistol slammed into the man’s head a third time.

“Where is the man you took?” Quinn repeated.

Boyer spit out some blood before looking at Quinn again. “If you know who I am, then you know I would never cower to little fucks like you.”

Quinn placed his suppressed SIG against Boyer’s right knee and pulled the trigger.

A loud, agonizing scream filled the room. If there hadn’t been so much space between the homes at The Hilltop, one of the neighbors might have heard Boyer, but with the way the community was laid out—not a chance.

Quinn moved the gun to the other knee. “Where is the man you took?”

Boyer writhed in his chair. “Goddammit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh, shit!”

“Answer my question or I pull the trigger again.”

“Wait! Wait!” The man fell back against his chair, his jaw tensing in pain.

After a moment, Quinn shifted the position of the suppressor half an inch to remind Boyer he was still there. The man’s eyelids popped open.

“Where is he?”

“I…I don’t know.”

Quinn pulled the trigger.

Another scream, but shorter than before because Boyer blacked out.

Quinn let ten seconds pass, then said to Nate, “Wake him.”

Nate slapped Boyer’s cheeks until the man sucked in a deep breath and looked around as if unsure where he was. Then the pain hit him again and he began to groan. “Oh, God!”

“Where is the man you took?”

“I don’t know!”

Quinn moved the gun to Boyer’s shoulder.

“No, please! I’m serious! I don’t!”

“Then what happened to him?”

“He’s…with one of…my people.”

“Who?”

A hesitation. “Gloria…Clark.”

“The same woman you met in the courtyard near the Ritz-Carlton this afternoon?”

Even with all the pain, Boyer looked surprised. “Yes…the same.”

“What is she going to do with him?”

“She’s supposed to find out why…he was following…me, and who he’s…working for.”

“I can answer that last part for you right now. Me.”

The man looked like he’d already figured that out.

“You must have some idea where she took him,” Quinn said.

The guarded look in Boyer’s eyes told Quinn he was right.

“Tell me,” the cleaner said, poking the man’s wound again.

Boyer moaned, “I don’t know.”

This time Quinn grounded the muzzle deep into the wound. Boyer’s scream was so intense, it was almost soundless.

“One of…one of our local facilities.”

“Which one?”

Boyer shook his head. “I prefer not to know that…information.”

Quinn could see Boyer was telling the truth, so they’d have to use what he’d given them and figure out the rest on their own. But that didn’t mean Boyer didn’t have more information to give.

“What was in the suitcase Gloria Clark gave you?”

“Suitcase? Oh…clothes, mainly…some travel stuff.”

“Whose?”

“A guy named…Becker. We’re checking it…for a data chip.”

“And did you find one?”

“The lab’s looking now.”

“So what’s supposed to be on this chip?”

“Information…about…about a girl.”

“What girl?” Quinn asked.

“A girl who’s supposed to be dead.”

“And is she?”

Boyer’s response was lost in another tidal wave of pain. “Please,” he finally said. “Call…an ambulance…”

The man’s voice was growing weaker, and Quinn knew they didn’t have much more time to get anything out of him. “What did you tell the woman to do with my friend after she’s done?”

The man looked away, acting as if he hadn’t heard the question.

“What did you tell her to do?” When Boyer still didn’t answer, Quinn grabbed his chin. “Look at me.”

The man kept his eyes averted, so Quinn squeezed his jaw.

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Boyer did.

“Did you tell her to eliminate him?”

Boyer didn’t need to speak to provide Quinn an answer.

The cleaner stood up and raised his gun.

“No,” Boyer pleaded.

“I told you already—you screwed with the wrong people,” Quinn said, and then shot Boyer through the forehead.

They siphoned gas out of the cars in the garage and doused every room in the house. Before the now deceased McCrillis International executive vice president received a thorough soaking, Nate emptied the emergency container of dissolving chemicals from his kit into the wounds on Boyer’s head and knees. It wouldn’t completely hide the damage from the coroner, but it was fast acting enough to confuse things, leaving a mystery about what had happened here.

After dragging the unconscious security guards far enough away from the building to be out of harm’s way, Quinn started the fire.

Unlike the blaze in Copenhagen, this was one act of arson for which he felt no regrets.