Quinn looked up and down the street. It was quiet, no one else out. “Daeng, find someplace to hide where you can keep an eye on things. If anyone is even just walking by, let us know.”
“Got it,” Daeng said.
Quinn looked at Nate. “You and I are going to take a look around.”
__________
NATE FOLLOWED QUINN across the street to the old wooden door that served as the building’s entrance. Instead of a keyhole they could pick, there was a numbered security pad for residents to punch in a code. It seemed out of character for the building, but not for the times.
With the right equipment, they could bypass the pad and release the lock, but equipment was something they were currently lacking. Nate was about to suggest they look for an alternate way in when Quinn simply punched in five numbers on the pad.
As the door lock released, Quinn said, “You going to open it?”
Shaking off his surprise, Nate grabbed the handle and pulled it open. “You want to tell me how you knew that?”
Quinn’s only response was to squeeze by Nate into the building.
They found themselves in a rectangular-shaped central lobby that seemed to go all the way to the rear of the building. Nate counted four doors, two on either side. Beside each was a doorbell button and a small nameplate. In the center of the room was a staircase that rose to the next floor. As far as he could tell, there was no elevator.
Quinn had said the apartment was on the second floor, so Nate headed for the stairs. But Quinn walked past them toward the back. Feeling like he was becoming a semipermanent resident in the world of confusion, Nate adjusted his path and followed.
At the rear, a doorless entryway led to a smaller room with a closed metal door mounted in the outside wall. As Quinn pulled it open, warm night air rushed in.
“Don’t let it shut or we’re locked out,” Quinn said.
As soon as Nate had control of the door, Quinn headed out into a small exterior space that was surrounded on the other three sides by the neighboring buildings. Walking slowly, he gazed at the stone-covered ground. There seemed to be no apparent pattern to his wanderings, but then he suddenly stopped and crouched down. Gently, he touched one of the stones, then looked at the wall of the closest building. Rising, he walked over to it, tapped a couple of the bricks, and pulled one out.
It was too dark for Nate to see what his mentor was doing with the brick, but within seconds it was back in place, and Quinn was heading toward him.
“What was that all about?” Nate asked.
“Come on,” Quinn said as he moved past him into the building.
Quietly, they made their way up to the apartment on the second floor. Nate glanced at the nameplate. It was blank.
“My lock picks are still in L.A.,” he said.
“Don’t need them.” Quinn opened his palm and showed Nate three keys.
So that’s what had been hidden in the brick, Nate realized.
Quinn used them to unlock the two deadbolts and the handle lock on the door, then pushed it open. Once it was wide enough, he whispered, “Don’t touch anything. We’re just making sure no one’s been here already.”
“You mean Mila?”
“Yeah.”
Nate nodded, and they stepped inside.
As he started to move further into the room, Quinn held out a hand, stopping him. There was an alarm panel on the wall near the door. On it, a dull white light glowed bright then dim, bright then dim. Quinn opened a panel, and again punched in a number without any hesitation. The light faded off.
He took a moment to scan the room. “Okay. This way.”
Being at the back of the building meant little light filtered into the apartment from outside, making it hard for Nate to get a sense of the place. He could see the shadows of chairs and tables, and could even make out a bookcase running along one of the walls, but the details were lost in the darkness.
Quinn led him through the main living area, a dining room, and past a large kitchen. When they reached the back hallway, he stopped. With no windows, it was even darker than the rest of the place.
He signaled for Nate to stay there, then headed toward the rear of the apartment alone. Though Nate wasn’t particularly fond of being left behind, it was sound strategy. If someone was in the back, Nate would be the safety valve in case Quinn couldn’t deal with him.
A little over a minute passed before Quinn called out, “We’re clear.”
When his mentor rejoined him, Nate said, “Whose place is this?”
Quinn looked like he didn’t want to answer for a moment, but then he said, “Julien’s,” and started walking toward the front door.
The name caught Nate off guard. He stood there for a second, then hurried to catch up. “French Julien?”
“Do you know any others?”
“No. But…my God, this place has been empty since…”
“Yeah, it has.”
In Paris the previous fall, Julien had been helping Nate get Quinn’s sister Liz to someplace safe, and had ended up dead for his efforts. Nate had been the one to find his body. Which meant it was unlikely anyone had set foot in the apartment since before then.
As Quinn crossed the room, Nate said, “Wait. What does Julien have to do with finding Mila?”
“Maybe nothing.”
“Quinn, stop.”
Nate’s mentor hesitated and turned back around.
“I appreciate that this isn’t easy for you,” Nate said. “But you’re hurting my ability to help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
He could see Quinn struggling with how to answer. Finally, his mentor said, “Mila and Julien were friends.”
“Good friends?” Nate asked.
“At one time. But they were always close.” Again, he paused. “Julien would have done anything for her.”
So that’s why Quinn needed to help Mila. He owed Julien a debt he could never repay. Nate owed him, too, for that matter. Helping Mila had to be an attempt to help offset some of the imbalance.
“Is there a reason she would come here?”
“Perhaps.”
“But why?”
“Because he left it to her.”
“He left his apartment to a dead woman? Can you even do that?”
Quinn sighed and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he said, “He left it to me, all right? But for her.”
“Oh,” Nate said. “But it’s still a long shot that she’d come here, don’t you think?”
“There’s something of hers here, something Julien was holding for her.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. I just know she hasn’t been here yet. I left a tell on the brick with the key.”
“You think whatever he was keeping for her has something to do with why she came out of hiding?”
“I have a feeling it does.”
“But you don’t know what it is,” Nate said.
“It’s not my business.”
Nate ran everything through his mind, then said, “Okay, so we should probably set up a watch,” Nate said. “The three of us can rotate.”
“Yes,” Quinn looked relieved. “Definitely.”
“In the apartment or not?”
“I don’t want to scare her off.”
“All right, so not. What’s our time window?”
“If she doesn’t show up in the next forty-eight hours, she’s not coming.”
“I’ll take the first shift,” Nate said. “You can go back to the room with Daeng and fill him in.”
Quinn started to protest, but then caught himself and nodded. “I need to put the keys back first. If she comes and finds them gone, she’ll take off before we can get to her.”
Four minutes later, Nate stood alone in the darkened entrance of a building across the street, images of Julien replaying in his mind. If the Frenchman would have helped this Mila Voss woman, then that was all Nate needed to know.
He was all in.
&nbs
p; CHAPTER 15
THURSDAY, MAY 11th, 2006
4:03 PM
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
THE FLIGHT FROM Los Angeles to Las Vegas took less than an hour, the flight attendants barely having time to serve drinks and collect the trash before strapping back in for landing. Quinn had been through McCarren Airport many times, so he was able to quickly navigate through the terminal and to the parking structure where he found the promised car exactly where he’d been told it would be.
The drive to the Planet Hollywood Hotel on the Strip was quick, and soon he was heading up to the room number he’d been given. When he reached it, he knocked on the door, and took a step back. As soon as he heard someone approaching on the other side, he looked up at the tiny camera temporarily mounted high above the door, and waved.
Pointing out to those inside the hotel room that he knew the camera was there was probably unnecessary, but he couldn’t help it. He saw every detail, and since he’d never worked with these people before, it was a good way to let them know that right up front.
The door opened and a small guy in a light gray suit peeked out. “Can I help you?”
“I’m expected,” Quinn said.
The man made a show of scrutinizing Quinn’s face, then opened the door all the way. “Come on in.”
The room was a suite with a sitting area straight in from the door, a bar off to the right, and a dining area to the left. Beside the guy in the gray suit, there were four other men present. Two were also wearing suits, though in black, while the remaining two were dressed in buttoned shirts and slacks. They were all seated around the dining table, with several pieces of paper scattered in front of them.
One of the suitless guys stood up as Quinn came in. “You must be our cleaner.”
“I am.”
The guy held out his hand as Quinn neared. “Perry Jergins. I’m team leader.”
“Jonathan Quinn.”
They shook.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jonathan.”
“You can call me Quinn.”
“All right, then. Let me introduce you around.” He turned back toward the others. “Okay, we got Whit Kaufman, Leo Kovacs, Maurice Danner,” Jergins said, pointing individually to the men sitting around the table. “And Cary Hills is the one who opened the door for you. This here’s Quinn, our cleaner.”
Quinn exchanged nods and hellos with the other men.
Jergins waved at the chairs. “Have a seat. We were just going over the details. I’ll bring you up to speed, and you can let me know if you need anything specific. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”
“Sounds good.”
The plan was pretty straightforward, which pleased Quinn. All too often, planners tried to get fancy when there was no reason for it. Quinn believed those people were attempting to live up to the James Bond vision of their world. Bond was enjoyable enough on screen, but if any of that happened in real life, those involved would find themselves not only out of work but rotting away in a prison somewhere. Or dead.
The operation’s target would apparently be tricked into coming to a room in the hotel. When the target arrived, the assassin, Leo Kovacs, would already be inside, waiting. Since this wasn’t an operation in which the subject needed to be interrogated first, Kovacs would eliminate the person immediately. Once this was done, he would text Quinn, who would then move in and get rid of the body.
“It’s a no-brainer,” Jergins said. “The target has no idea, so there’ll be no problems getting her into the room.”
Her, Quinn noted, not that it made a difference. It was just that the majority of bodies he dealt with were male.
“The other guys are here just to get things set up. By op time, all three will be well out of town. Since mission specs call for this to be very low profile, I’ll be running backup myself. Given the circumstances, I should be more than enough.”
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.
M
ila, 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.”
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