Becoming Quinn (jonathan quinn thriller)

by Brett Battles

  He dropped into a half crouch to lower his profile as he weaved through the trees, then stopped when he finally spotted the clearing twenty feet away. He had taken a much more direct path than Larson’s to get there, so there was a chance the assassin hadn’t reached that point yet.

  Durrie searched the area, but nothing caught his attention. After several seconds, he rose, intending to move closer to Oliver’s position. That’s when he finally heard a noise. But it wasn’t a footstep or clothes brushing against a tree. It was the whoosh of something moving through the air.

  Instinct kicked in, and even as he turned toward the sound, he dropped his head down and raised his arm as protection. The move probably prevented his skull from being crushed, but the glancing blow of the thick branch against the side of his head was enough to knock him out.

  * * *

  Jake heard a noise off to his left. A thwack followed by something falling to the ground.

  “Durrie?” he whispered. “Was that you?”

  No response.

  “I heard something. If it’s Larson, he’s about fifty yards from me.”

  Still nothing.

  Jake’s hand involuntarily tightened on the grip of his pistol. “Durrie?” he said again, but received the same lack of response.

  This was not good.

  He considered investigating the noise, but held his position. The sound could have very well been part of the same kind of trap he and Durrie were trying to use on Larson.

  “Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?” Larson said playfully over the radio. “Hello? Is that you out there, Officer Oliver? If so, I have your friend here, the one you said made a run for it from the cabin. You lied to me, Officer. I’m impressed.”

  Jake pulled his earpiece out, holding it close enough so that he could hear anything coming over it. When Larson spoke again, he listened carefully to the forest to see if he could determine where the man was.

  “I’m sure your conscientious mind would be glad to know Durrie’s still alive. Whether he stays that way is up to you.”

  There was a faint sound coming from the direction where Jake had heard the thwack. He put the receiver back in his ear. Then, leaving his bag, he moved deeper into the woods, and began circling around so he’d come at the sound from the side opposite the clearing.

  “Here’s how it’s going to go,” Larson said. “I know you’re close to the meadow. That little trick you tried to lure me in with? It did the job. Here I am. Now, step out of the trees, and walk all the way to the center.”

  Jake needed to keep him engaged, so he whispered, “Why would I do that?”

  “Officer Oliver, so good to hear your voice. Why? Because I’ll kill him otherwise.”

  Jake paused behind a dying tree. “Why would you think I’d care? He kidnapped me.”

  Larson laughed. “I’m not buying that. You’ve got a cop’s mind, which means you can’t let someone die if you think there’s something you can do about it.”

  Jake could hear the man’s voice ahead, not quite loud enough to make out the words without the aid of the radio, but definitely recognizable as Larson. “I’m not a cop anymore.”

  “You think getting fired changes the way you think? I know your kind. I know what goes on in a cop’s head like yours. It’s all about saving lives.”

  Jake said nothing, worried he was getting too close to respond without giving away his position.

  “What’s wrong, Officer? A little too close to the bone?” He paused. “Enough chat. Move into the meadow where I can see you, and do it now.”

  Jake circled to the left, moving closer as he did.

  “Oliver!” Larson shouted. Jake froze, thinking he’d been spotted. But then the man said, “Stop wasting time, and move out where I can see you! Goddammit! You do not want me to come looking for you!”

  Jake could now see Larson standing next to a low, dark rock. Though the man’s tone indicated a person losing control, his body language told a different story. The shouts were an act, Jake saw. Larson was very much under control.

  Using a wide pine tree to cover most of his body, Jake leaned out just enough to take a better look. Larson was looking toward the meadow, his gun in his hand by his side.

  “Oliver! Now!” He looked bored as he yelled the words.

  Movement. Not Larson, but at his feet. It was a rock, only it wasn’t. It was Durrie.

  As Durrie tried to stagger to his feet, Larson put a foot on his back, looking like he was going to push him down, but then he paused and moved his foot away.

  With his empty hand, he pulled Durrie up. “Tell him to walk into the meadow where I can see him,” Larson ordered. He plucked the mic off his collar, and held it out to Durrie. “Tell him.”

  “Go to hell,” Durrie said.

  Larson smiled. “Tell him.”

  Jake raised his gun.

  “I said, go to hell.”

  Larson shoved Durrie to his knees, then whipped the gun around and pointed it at Durrie’s head.

  “Drop it,” Jake said.

  Both Durrie and Larson looked over.

  “Well, how about that?” Larson said. “Nice job, Officer. I see Durrie’s done a little work with you.”

  “Drop it,” Jake repeated.

  Smiling broadly, Larson quickly yanked Durrie back to his feet, turning him into a human shield. “Why don’t you drop yours?”

  Jake didn’t move.

  “Is that what they taught you at the academy? To endanger the life of a hostage?”

  “Put the gun down,” Jake ordered.

  “You are one big pain in the ass, you know that?” Larson said. “I should have terminated you the same day I removed your girlfriend.”

  After everything that had been going on, Jake’s mind took a second to process what Larson had said. When it did, a chill overtook his body.

  No! Dear, God! No!

  Larson tilted his head to the side. “What? You didn’t know? What do you think happens to people who get involved in things they aren’t supposed to? If you hadn’t involved her, you would have been the only one who needed to be dealt with. But you did, so…” He shrugged.

  Jake glanced at Durrie. “Is he telling the truth? Is Berit…is she…?”

  “Yes,” Durrie said. “It was…unsanctioned.”

  “Unsanctioned? What the hell does that mean?” Jake asked.

  Larson let out a laugh. “It means no one else had the balls to make the call so I made it myself. Same with you and this old asshole. I’m cleaning up trash all over the place.” His face hardened. “The end’s inevitable. This is what I do, and I’m very good at it. So toss the damn gun, and step out so we can finish this.”

  Jake didn’t move, his eyes locked on Larson’s.

  “You can run if you want. That’s an option, too. But that will only delay the end by a few minutes. Could be fun, though.”

  Jake still didn’t move.

  “Come on, Officer Oliver. What are you going to do? Shoot me through the hostage?”

  Larson may have been a professional, but like Durrie had told Jake before, the assassin was a little too impressed with his own skills, which explained why he was woefully underestimating a twenty-two-year-old, ex-rookie cop.

  “No,” Jake said. “We’re trained never to shoot the hostage.”

  The bullet that left Jake’s gun passed even closer to Durrie’s head than the one back at the cabin. But, as before, it missed Durrie and hit what was behind him.

  31

  Jake’s otherwise excellent memory went a bit sideways after Larson crumpled to the ground. He remembered helping Durrie to Larson’s car, then suddenly they were back at the cabin.

  Berit was dead. Berit was dead.

  She had died helping him.

  Yes, logically, he knew he wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger, but this wasn’t the first time in his life someone close to him had died because of his actions, at least in part. A big reason why he’d left home at seventeen was to preven
t his sister from suffering a similar fate, and yet now someone almost as close to him was dead. He could not deny the truth. It was his fault.

  Oddly, the thing that really should have upset him — that he’d killed someone — barely bothered him at all. It was something that needed to be done, that’s all. Revenge, yes, and a little bit of self-defense, but also simply a necessary act. And one, he realized, he would not have hesitated doing again if the situation had been replayed.

  Jake began returning to the here and now just about when several cars pulled up in front of the cabin. Half a dozen men piled into the main room, while several others remained outside, watching the woods.

  He had no idea what time it was, but it was still dark.

  Durrie and one of the men went downstairs for almost half an hour. When they came back up, the man gave the others instructions that included collecting the bodies of Larson and the woman, and cleaning out and scrubbing down the basement and the main part of the cabin.

  “Come on,” Durrie said to Jake.

  “Where?”

  “Debrief.”

  Jake had no energy left to fight anything, so he allowed himself to be led out to one of the cars and driven away.

  The debrief turned out to last three days. The location appeared to be a remote portion of a military base. Jake didn’t know for sure, because at some point during the trip there he had fallen asleep, not waking again until after they’d arrived.

  The questioning was never harsh, but it was always thorough. The first day, it was conducted by a man and woman. On the second and third days, his interrogator was a different man who came in alone. He was older than the other two, maybe in his forties, and was short with a bald head.

  “You can call me Peter,” he’d said the first time they met, but he gave no other information.

  Peter’s questions seemed to be focused on the same areas that had drawn Durrie’s interest back at the cabin: how Jake had made his connections in the Goodman Ranch Road murder, what made him think the way he had, what his conclusions had been. The only other area that Peter seemed interested in was the events in the woods with Larson.

  On the fourth day, Jake’s door opened and the man and woman from the first day were back. When they came in this time they didn’t sit.

  “A car will be here in a few minutes to take you to the airport,” the woman said. “You’ll be given a free ticket to wherever you would like to go.”

  “We strongly suggest that you don’t return to Phoenix anytime soon,” the man said.

  “My stuff’s in Phoenix,” Jake told him.

  “Actually, it’s not,” the woman said. “Currently it’s all in storage. After you’re settled, call this number and everything will be shipped to you.” She handed him a card.

  The man clasped his hands. “Mr. Oliver, you possess knowledge of certain events that I’m sure you understand must remain secret. This is a national security issue, and one we expect you to honor.”

  Jake had already become aware that everything Durrie told him back at the cabin was true. That what he’d stumbled upon on Goodman Ranch Road was not connected to gangs or drugs or anything like that. He could box all that up in his mind and forget it, but there was one thing he couldn’t let go of. “Berit Davies was killed. She was a good officer, and my friend. She doesn’t deserve to be forgotten.”

  The woman took a deep breath. “We understand that this is a concern of yours.”

  “A major concern,” Jake corrected her.

  She forced a smile. “A major concern. But I hope you can also see that we can’t let news of what actually happened get out.”

  “You mean that one of your assassins took it upon himself to murder her?”

  Both the man and the woman looked suddenly uncomfortable.

  “Technically,” the man said, “he wasn’t our assassin.”

  Jake could barely stifle a disbelieving laugh. “So you’re just going to cover it up?”

  “Welcome to the real world, Mr. Oliver,” the man said. “The way things actually work. The people out there…” He moved his hand around, indicating the world beyond the walls. “They don’t want to know anything about it. They want their lives just the way they have them now. If they knew how the world really operated, there would be a hell of a lot more chaos. Our job is to prevent that, to keep the civilians in their happy places, ignorant and content to be so.”

  “But you can’t just make what happened to Berit disappear. She has friends, and probably family. I’m not going to let her be forgotten.”

  “And she won’t be,” the woman said quickly. “Officially, she just transferred temporarily into an FBI program in need of undercover agents that fit her description. She will die in the line of duty, Mr. Oliver. She will be awarded posthumous citations. The Phoenix Police Department will give her a funeral befitting a fallen officer. There will be a scholarship fund set up at the high school she attended, to be awarded to female graduates interested in law enforcement. She will not be forgotten. In fact, she will be well remembered. You have my word.”

  After several moments of silence, Jake finally nodded. But he wouldn’t blindly accept their words. He would wait and see, and if they failed to deliver on any of the promises, he would break his silence.

  “This is for you,” the man said as he reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out an envelope.

  Jake took it. “What’s this?”

  “For the past week you have been working as a consultant for a Colorado firm. This is compensation for your time.”

  Jake opened the envelope and looked inside. There was a cashier’s check in the amount of twenty thousand dollars.

  “We should go now,” the woman said. “Please, this way.”

  They led Jake out of the building and over to a dark sedan sitting at the curb. The man opened the back door. “Go to the Vargas Rental Car booth when you get to the airport. Ask for Ms. Bryant. When she comes, just tell her who you are and where you want to go, and she’ll take care of it. Best of luck.”

  Jake climbed in. As soon as the door was closed behind him, the car pulled away from the curb.

  “I take it they treated you well?”

  Jake turned at the sound of the familiar voice, and looked at the driver. Durrie was looking at him in the rearview mirror.

  Jake stared at him for a moment, then turned his gaze out the window, not responding.

  For ten minutes, neither man said anything. Finally unable to contain himself any longer, Jake leaned forward. “Were you ever going to tell me about Berit?”

  “I was.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I can’t prove it, but I can tell you now if you’d like.”

  Jake fell silent once more, then said, “Tell me.”

  Durrie did.

  * * *

  After Durrie finished the story, Jake thought about all the things he could have done to keep Berit alive. But it was a futile exercise. Eventually, he forced himself to think about where he might go to take his mind off the pain Berit’s memory caused him.

  The coast, he thought. He’d start in San Diego, buy a cheap car, then drive north, stopping whenever he wanted. The check he’d been given, combined with what he already had in the bank, would last awhile.

  Nearly an hour and a half passed from the moment they’d left the base to when Durrie pulled into what turned out to be a small, regional airport in western Nebraska. He stopped the sedan at the curb in front of the single building that served as the terminal, then turned in his seat and looked at Jake.

  Without preamble, he spouted off a series of numbers. “Did you get that?” he asked when he was done.

  Jake shrugged, then repeated the numbers.

  “And you’ll remember it?” Durrie asked.

  “Do I need to?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  Jake’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

  “
When you start to get bored and want to do something interesting with your life, call that number.”

  “Yours?”

  Durrie dipped his head in assent.

  “So you’re still trying to recruit me.”

  “I’m offering you the chance to learn about a whole different world.”

  “Your world? I don’t know,” Jake said. He reached for the door. “I think I might have to pass.”

  “That’s up to you.”

  Jake climbed out of the car without saying anything else, then watched Durrie drive away.

  The coast. That’s where I’ll go.

  But as he flew west, it wasn’t his new life that he thought about. It was the telephone number.

  EPILOGUE

  October 1996

  Jake was exhausted. Durrie had kept him going fifteen, sixteen, and sometimes even eighteen hours a day — training and learning and practicing. In the four months since he’d become an apprentice cleaner, he’d worked harder than he ever had.

  And he’d never been more satisfied.

  “Well?” Durrie asked.

  They were in an abandoned building in Chicago. In an old office, Durrie had set up a sample job scene, complete with blood, bullet holes and a body he’d obtained somewhere. Jake had been given one minute to survey the scene, then come out and describe everything he saw.

  He took a second to recall the room, then recited the details to Durrie.

  “That it?” Durrie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Not bad, Johnny,” Durrie said.

  He had started calling Jake Johnny from nearly day one.

  “You’re going to have to create a new identity,” Durrie had explained at the time. “I don’t care what it is, but I don’t want to get used to calling you by your real name, so you’re Johnny for now.”

  In the time since then, Durrie had been pushing him to come up with a new name, something they could use to create a legend around. The veteran cleaner kept reminding him that he couldn’t go out on any actual fieldwork until he did.

  But Jake had been stuck. Whatever name he chose he would have to live with for a long time, so he wanted it to be right. The problem was he couldn’t come up with anything he liked.