The Dolomite Solution (30 page)

Martini turned to Toni. “And how did you get involved with this thing?”

She shrugged. “The Agency wanted to know more about the solution. So I was sent to check into it. I had been watching Aldo and Scala for weeks.”

“What about the Germans?” Martini asked.

“That's where it gets tricky,” Jake said. “Hahn was working for Kraft, but I'm not sure how much he knew about Hahn's actions. Hahn hired Wolfgang and Ulrica as muscle, but he also hired Marcus Quinn. Quinn and Allen Murdock had been partners. Murdock was taking money from anyone he could get it from, and Quinn was used as an enforcer and additional manipulator. Which is exactly what Otto Bergen had told you after some time, I understand.”

“That's right,” Martini said. “Bergen and I have been friends for years. We do a lot of skiing together. I could tell when he contacted me that something wasn't right. My hunch was correct.”

Jake checked his watch. It was nine thirty. “We better get going.” The two of them took turns shaking the criminal commissioner's hand and then started for the door.

“I hope things calm down to normal in Innsbruck,” Martini said, hopefully.

Jake turned. “I told you before that bad shit seems to follow me around.” Now Jake had his hand out. “It would be nice to get my passport back,” Jake said.

Martini smiled and opened his top desk drawer, where he rummaged through the mess. “It's here somewhere.”

Jake pulled his passport from inside his jacket. “You mean this?”

Martini clenched his jaw. “I see this is going to be an interesting relationship, Jake.”

“Isn't that the best kind?” Jake asked as he left the office.

The two of them went downstairs and sat in Toni's car for a moment. “What time is your flight?” Toni asked.

“Who said I was going anywhere?”

“I heard you on the phone this morning when you thought I was sleeping.”

“I leave in an hour.”

She looked away. “Figures. We finally get together and you leave again.”

“I'll be back in a few days. Besides, that's not what's bothering you.”

She ran her fingers through her hair. “I haven't told you everything.” She hesitated for a few seconds, looking at him. “I made copies of everything in Scala's briefcase. The computer discs, the research papers, the notes. Everything.”

“That sounds like it was a good idea,” he said.

“You don't understand. I was supposed to send all the copies back to the Vienna office.”

“They wanted to look everything over, I guess.”

“I meant everything,” she explained. “They wanted everything. Not just a copy. All copies.”

“What?” Jake yelled.

She looked away. “I was sent to steal everything. The U.S. government wanted the information.”

Jake thought about that. “Of course. They didn't want to use the Dolomite Solution, they wanted it killed. They couldn't have all those people living that long. Hell the social security system is already taxed to the limit now and nearly bankrupt. Could you imagine all those baby boomers living to ninety?”

“That's what I thought,” she said. “I started thinking about all of us. Our entire generation, and those to follow. It was too much for me to take on by myself. Who was I to decide? I think we should take technology as far as we can.”

Jake gave her a knowing glare. “You didn't do it, did you?”

“I couldn't hand it over,” she said. “I've got it saved away in a safe place, just in case someone decides to bomb Tirol Genetics.”

He smiled at her. “Your station chief is going to chew your ass. Maybe even reprimand you. Hell, I'd fire you.”

She laughed. “I saved them the pleasure. I quit.”

“You're kidding, right?”

“I've never been more serious about anything in my life. I only hope you weren't kidding about taking me on as your partner. I think I could like living in the Alps.”

“You wouldn't miss Rome?”

“We could always visit.” She stretched over and kissed him. “I think we make a good team.”

“I agree.” He clasped his hand behind her head and kissed her.

She smiled at him. “Maybe we could go back and share a shower before your flight.”

She started the car and drove off toward the gasthof in Hungerburg.

Surprisingly Jake had managed to sleep for much of the flight from Europe to Boston. Waiting for him at Logan International, was Dominic Varducci, looking like he himself had not slept in days. Varducci was escorted by a humungous guy in a dark suit introduced as his driver, but obviously more than that. After the normal pleasantries, the three of them climbed into a large Cadillac and sped off.

It was seven in the evening and starting to get dark. Light rain danced across the windshield. The driver headed across town, entering the southbound freeway.

“How's my nephew?” Varducci asked Jake.

“When I visited him prior to leaving he was a few hours out of surgery,” Jake said. “Very talkative. In fact the nurses couldn't keep his mouth shut.”

Varducci shook his head. “Stupid bastard. This Marcus Quinn you told me about on the phone...maybe he should have finished the job.” Varducci was in the front passenger seat watching Boston's downtown pass by to his right. “I didn't mean that. It's just that the boy is a few rounds short of a full clip. If you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, he sure didn't take much time to piss off Quinn,” Jake said.

“What do you suppose the Austrians will do to him and Brachi?” Varducci asked, turning to see Jake directly.

Jake shrugged. “A polizei friend told me they'd both be charged with murdering that German woman with the fire bomb. On a positive note, Austria doesn't have the death penalty. And their jails are much nicer than anything in America. They'll probably learn a few languages while there.”

“Hell of a consolation,” Varducci said with a laugh. “This Quinn fucker. You say you want to deal with him. I understand when things get personal. But he did shoot my flesh and blood, so I guess that makes it personal for me also. What do you have in mind?”

That's what Jake had been thinking about since he left Austria. Problem was, he still wasn't sure. He only knew that he had to deal with him. He could have simply called ahead and had the Agency waiting for him when his plane landed a few hours ago, but that wasn't how Jake operated. “If we had let the U.S. government pick him up, we'd never learn for sure what Quinn's involvement had been with Providence Industries. Since you have a stake in that company now, I think you must want to know that as well.”

“Damn right,” Varducci said. “Otherwise I would have picked the bastard up myself and rung his fuckin' neck with my bare hands.”

“Did your men follow him without a problem?”

“Yeah, and as you thought he'd do, he went directly to Andrew Talbot's place on Narragansett Bay. I have two men standing by right now out on the road. Quinn has been there for about an hour now. It looks like you were right about him working for Talbot. Give it a little more gas there, Poco.”

The car lurched forward with the sound of the engine powering up.

An hour later they were winding along the narrow road leading to Talbot's estate. It was completely dark now, and the rain that had been light in Boston was coming down hard now. They pulled up behind a Ford Taurus and shut down the engine and lights. A man in his mid twenties got out of the driver's side of the Ford and walked up to Varducci's open window.

“He's still there?” Varducci asked.

“Yes, sir,” the young man said. “He was in a rental Toyota Camry. I'm sure he didn't see us follow him.”

“Good job. Go back and wait for instructions.”

The young man strutted back and got behind the wheel.

Varducci turned to Jake. “This is your show, Jake. How you want to play it?”

Jake thought about it. “I could use a weapon.”

Varducci opened the glove box and pulled out two hand guns. “Take your pick.”

One was a Smith and Wesson revolver in .38 caliber with six rounds, and the other a Sig Sauer 226 9mm automatic with a fifteen round clip plus one in the chamber. “I'll take the Sig,” Jake said taking hold of the gun wrapped in a leather shoulder holster. “That's a damn fine piece. I can snap off half a dozen rounds before the other guy cocks the hammer.”

“Good choice. Now how you wanna do this?”

Jake strapped the holster and gun over his left shoulder and covered it with a maroon wind breaker. “I'd rather go in alone. You could block the road so he can't get out this way.”

“Sounds good. Here take this.” Varducci handed Jake a small cellular flip phone. “Any problems you hit the speed dial number one. I'll get the call here on this other phone and we'll come and give you a hand.”

“Thanks.” Jake dropped the phone into his left pocket and started out the door.

“You going to whack this guy Quinn?” Varducci asked. “I'm only asking because I need to know what kind of damage control to expect when you're done.”

Jake hesitated. “That depends on him. Shooting might be the easy way out for him. I'd rather see him suffer in prison for a helluva long time. We'll see what happens.”

Outside, the rain was getting worse. Jake pulled up his collar, but it was useless. He was going to be completely drenched by the time he reached the estate. It wasn't until Jake reached the end of the driveway and stood for a moment looking at the huge house lit up like electricity was free, that he realized how he would approach Quinn. Varducci had given him the layout of the house, so he made his way around back along the right side.

There were perfectly trimmed trees close to the house, making it easy for him to stay in the shadows. Finally he reached a flagstone patio that stretched out from double French doors. There was a light on inside and Jake could see a distinguished-looking man wearing khakis and a dark sweater. Talbot, he guessed. Sitting in a leather chair across from a blazing fire was Marcus Quinn. They were talking but Jake couldn't hear what they were saying.

Jake looked down at his shoes, which were soaked, and decided to take them off, along with the socks. Then he drew his gun and tried the handle. It wasn't locked.

Slowly he started to open the door and stopped. The wind was blowing so hard they would hear him enter almost immediately. He'd have to dash in quickly.

With one fluid motion, Jake flung himself into the room. “Freeze,” he screamed, pointing his gun at Quinn.

Talbot nearly jumped out of his pants, spilling his drink on the bearskin rug. “My God. Who the hell are you?”

Marcus Quinn still had not turned around. “That would be Jake Adams.” He swiveled his head to look directly into the gun's barrel a few feet from his head. “A little wet out, Jake? Come closer to the fire and dry off.” He raised his right hand slightly.

“Don't even think about it, asshole.”

“Lighten up, Jake. It's my cognac. You wouldn't want to shoot me without my getting a last drink. Would you?” He raised his glass and took a long sip.

Jake moved around the chair, backing Talbot to the far side of the fireplace.

“I thought you said Adams has no status with the government anymore,” Talbot said to Quinn.

“Yes. It's a pity I didn't find that out sooner. Right Jake? Then perhaps I wouldn't have felt the need to fuck with you so much in Innsbruck. On second thought...it was just too much fun. If you can't have fun on this earth, then why go on living?”

Jake fought the urge to start shooting and not quit until all sixteen rounds found their mark cutting through his flesh. Struggling harder within him was his conscience telling him that he couldn't do it. He would be no better than Quinn. “You're going to live a long time, Quinn. This time it won't be a military prison. It'll be an Austrian jail. Now I understand they are a little more plush than those in America, but I think my friend Franz Martini can arrange for you to serve in the same place as those two men you met in the Innsbruck alley. Your fellow Americans from Boston? They'll both live, by the way. And I think they're going to be a little angry with you.”

Talbot started to reach for the phone. “I'll have to call the police. Let them sort this out.”

“Go ahead,” Jake said.

“Don't even think about it, Talbot,” Quinn said, giving the man an angry glare. He reached into his pocket.

“Keep your hands on the arms of the chair,” Jake demanded.

“Or what? You'll shoot me? I hope you do.” He continued his hands inside his pocket and retrieved a stack of photographs. “Pictures,” Quinn said, smiling. “You're gonna love this, Adams. You remember my good friend Allen Murdock. Look at what he did to that poor scientist's maid.” He flipped a few photos toward Jake and they landed at his feet.

Keeping his gun trained on Quinn, Jake lowered himself and scooped up a couple photos. They showed Allen Murdock screwing the woman tied to the scientist's bed. “I think the Austrians will probably frown on the maid's death even more than that of Murdock.” He dropped the photos, reached inside his left pocket, and found the speed dial. He guessed Varducci was on the other end by now. “I don't need any help,” he said for Varducci's sake. “Understanding your motivation in all of this, Quinn. You're a greedy bastard and sold yourself to the highest bidder. Which in this case was Andreas Kraft, through Nicolaus Hahn, for Richten Pharmaceuticals. Then you tried to squeeze money out of Otto Bergen. But even that wasn't good enough for you. You wanted more money, so you contacted Andrew Talbot.”

“This is ludicrous,” Talbot said. “I met Mr. Quinn on my last trip to Germany. He was at a party with Allen Murdock and his wife. The man was blackmailing me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Quinn yelled to Talbot.