'I don't care what you think. It will work fine.' Borko pulled back on the slide release on his pistol, checking to make sure a bullet was in the chamber.
'I don't mean the fact that your scientists screwed up and your attempt at ethnic genocide would have a wider audience.' Right side A, left side B. Right? Right side A . . . No. Left side A, right side B.
'Not genocide,' Borko said, raising his gun. 'Pest removal.'
The switch was on the right side. 'Whatever,' Quinn said. He risked a quick glance past Borko at the van, wondering if he was far enough away.
They were almost thirty yards away, and he was lying on the ground. Hopefully it would do some damage to Borko. At the very least it would be enough to knock the Serb to the ground, Quinn thought, give himself a chance to get away. 'That's not why it's not going to work.'
'Really?' Borko said. 'Why isn't it going to work?' 'Unfortunately, you'll probably never know.' Quinn pressed his thumb against the pad, but
nothing happened. 'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' Quinn pressed again, still nothing. The switch
was broken. 'You know what?' Borko asked. 'It doesn't matter. What does matter is –' Whatever he thought mattered was lost in the explosion that ripped him apart.
Chapter 40
Quinn didn't remember the explosion at first. He did remember hands on his body, pulling things off him, then helping him to stand. He remembered looking for the van, but not finding it. It wasn't anywhere. But he had trouble remembering why any of it should matter.
Then someone slipped an arm under his shoulder.
'Come on,' a voice said, urging him forward.
Why was he having such a hard time walking? His left leg acted like it didn't want to hold him up without the help of his new companion. He looked down and saw a scarf tied around his leg. It was checkered, black and red, and seemed familiar. Where did that come from?
Soon he was surrounded by trees, but his companion kept urging him on deeper into the woods. Quinn could barely keep his eyes open. The journey seemed to take days, weeks even. Finally there was the sound of automobiles, dozens of them. And from somewhere beyond the direction they'd just come from, dozens of sirens screaming out of sync. His companion stopped then, helping Quinn to lean against a tree. Pain began to creep into Quinn's consciousness, and with it returned the awareness of his situation and the realization of what still needed to be done.
Quinn looked over at his companion, at Orlando. All five-feet-nothing of her. She'd been the one to get him to his feet. She'd tied her scarf around his leg. She was the one who led him away from the chaotic debris that had once been the van.
'How long?' he asked.
'Since the explosion?'
Quinn nodded.
She looked at her watch. 'Nine minutes.'
'My switch wasn't working,' Quinn said.
'Mine was.' Orlando pulled a phone out of her pocket. It wasn't the same model she or Quinn had been carrying. She saw him eyeing it. 'Got it off one of the guys who followed me into the woods.'
'Did you take care of them?'
'I wouldn't be here if I didn't.'
He tried to smile, but failed.
Orlando punched a number into the phone, then held it up to her ear. 'Where are you?' she said, then paused. 'You're almost here. A quarter mile at most. Hold on.'
She walked to the edge of the woods and stepped out. She was too far away for Quinn to hear her conversation, but only a few seconds later a car pulled to the side of the road. It was a maroon BMW sedan. Nate.
They helped Quinn into the back seat, then climbed into the front – Nate in the driver's seat, Orlando on the passenger side. Quinn's apprentice pulled the car back onto the road, heading south into the city.
'Just lie down,' Orlando said, looking back. 'We'll get you to a doctor.'
'No,' Quinn said.
Orlando looked back. 'You've probably got a concussion. You need help.' 'No time for a doctor,' Quinn said. 'The St. Martin Hotel. That's where we need to go.'
'Why?' Orlando asked.
'I promised you we'd get Garrett,' Quinn said.
Outside, two police cars rushed past them heading the other way, their emergency lights flashing.
'He's at the St. Martin?' she asked quickly.
'No,' he said. 'That's not what I mean. We have to follow the trail.'When he realized they didn't understand what he meant, he added, 'We didn't get it all.'
'The mints?' she said. 'I blew them all up. Hell, you're lucky I didn't blow you up, too. Some guy must have been standing pretty close to you, because you were wearing parts of him when I found you.'
'Borko,' Quinn said.
'No shit?' Nate said.
Quinn nodded, though Nate couldn't see him. 'But we didn't get all the mints.' He told them about the transferred boxes. 'Six boxes,' he said when he was done. 'More
than enough to get the genocide started. He's got two choices. Dump the boxes, or deliver what he has and still get paid.'
'But why the hotel?' Nate asked. 'You said the
tins were supposed to be part of the welcome packets.' 'Yeah, well, it's too late to get them in the packets now, don't you think?'
'So what? We try to steal the remaining boxes, and still go for the trade-off?' Orlando asked. 'That's pretty weak, don't you think?'
Quinn chose his next words carefully. 'Dahl's the one with the boxes. And Tucker's with him.'
Orlando stared at him. 'Are you sure?'
Quinn nodded. 'They'll know where Garrett is.'
Silence filled the car. Outside, the city once again surrounded them. Nate had to slow the car as traffic began to increase. He shot a quick look at Orlando.
'The St. Martin or Dr. Garber?' he asked.
She didn't even hesitate. 'The hotel.'
Nate pulled up in front of a convenience store, and Orlando ran in. While she was gone, Quinn used the small first-aid kit to dress his wound. After he had the disinfectant and gauze in place, he wrapped an elastic bandage tightly around his thigh several times. He wasn't going to be able to walk perfectly, but the support of the bandage would help a little.
It was only a few minutes before Orlando returned. Once back in the car, she handed a bag to Quinn. Inside was a box of paper napkins and several bottles of water.
'Thanks,' Quinn said.
As Nate got them back on the road, Quinn poured water on several of the napkins, then used them to wipe the blood – Borko's blood, he realized – off his hands and face.
'Your clothes are going to be a problem,' Orlando said.
Quinn looked down. The jacket he was wearing was stained and ripped. Even the shirt underneath hadn't escaped damage. As for his pants, the left leg was soaked with blood from his wound.
'There's a sweater in the duffel bag,' Nate said.
Quinn had already noted the bag on the floor behind the driver's seat. He picked it up and put it on the seat beside him.
'What about pants?' he asked.
Nate shook his head. 'Sorry.'
Quinn removed his jacket and dumped it on the floor. He had to peel the shirt off slowly, as blood had begun to dry on his skin, creating a series of reddish brown lines and circles.
He used more napkins and water to clean off his torso, then opened the duffel bag. The sweater was on top. He removed it and pulled it over his head.
A few minutes later, Nate said, 'There it is.'
Quinn looked out the front window. Two blocks ahead was the St. Martin Hotel. There were police everywhere, and traffic was starting to slow to a crawl.
'Turn here,' Quinn said. 'See if we can get around back.'
'How are we supposed to get in?' Nate asked. 'There's too much security.'
'Just turn,' Quinn said.
Nate turned and drove for a few blocks before turning left again. The traffic was still slow, but it was moving.
'You really think Dahl brought the boxes here?' Nate asked.
'It's his only option,' Quinn said. 'Otherwise the plan
is dead.' 'They could take them directly to Bosnia,' Nate countered. 'Maximum effect that way.'
'And the maximum chance HFA would be blamed for the attack. Release the bug here and they can expect a few ancillary outbreaks would occur in Bosniak populations outside of the Balkans. Even if bioterrorism is suspected, the finger would point at a much wider group of potential suspects.'
'But Jansen said the virus won't just infect the Bosniaks,' Nate said. ' We know that,' Orlando said. 'But they still think they've created the perfect weapon.' 'Dahl must be getting paid a hell of a lot of money to make this happen,' Nate said.
'I'm sure he is,' Orlando said.
Quinn pulled back slightly. There was more to it than just the money, he knew. He realized he'd been avoiding the subject since Nate had picked them up. But he couldn't avoid it any longer. Only as he started to speak, he couldn't find words to make it sound real. Finally he looked at Orlando. 'Do you still have your pictures of Garrett?'
She looked surprised, one hand unconsciously moving toward the pocket of her coat. 'Yes. Why?'
'Can I see them?'
Still perplexed, she reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and pulled out the small plastic wallet insert. She started to pull one of the pictures out.
'No,' Quinn said. 'Give me the whole thing.'
Reluctantly, she handed it over.
In total, there were three pictures of Garrett: two recent, the third from when he was a baby. But it was the fourth picture in the miniature album that interested Quinn.
He removed the picture and held it over the seat toward Nate.
'Look at this,' he said.
'Eh . . . I'm driving,' Nate said.
'What are you doing?' Orlando asked.
'Just glance at it,' Quinn said to Nate.
Nate took the picture in his right hand, then held it up near his face, his eyes still on the road. After a moment, he glanced down. But instead of taking a quick look, his eyes remained riveted on the photo.
'That's enough,' Quinn said, tapping him on the shoulder. 'Son of a bitch,' Nate said as he handed the photo back.
'What?' Orlando asked.
'That's him,' Nate said.
'That's who?' Orlando was beginning to sound angry.
'The guy I saw when they had me locked up in that hotel room. The older guy.' Nate looked quickly back at Orlando, then shifted his gaze to the rearview mirror so he could look at Quinn. 'Is that Dahl?'
Quinn held the photo out to Orlando, but she didn't take it. He knew she was well aware who was in the picture.
'I saw him, too,' Quinn said. 'He was in the BMW.' 'That's not possible,' she said, disbelief on her face.
Quinn locked his eyes on Orlando's. 'He's not dead.'
'Bullshit. You saw him die. You gave me his ashes.'
'I know.' Quinn turned to Nate. 'You're sure this is the man you saw?' 'Yeah,' Nate said. 'Maybe a little older now, but that's definitely him. Who is he?'
'Nate's never seen his picture before,' Quinn said to Orlando. 'Maybe you don't believe me, but Nate's got no reason to lie.'
'It can't be,' she said. Only now her voice conveyed more stunned disbelief than defiant anger. 'Think about it,' Quinn said. 'Why would anyone else take Garrett?'
'But Piper's Dahl,' Orlando said, looking for a flaw. 'He's the one who had Garrett kidnapped. He's the one who has been trying to kill you. You saw Piper, not Durrie. Right? That has to be it. You made a mistake. The explosion messed up your head.'
'Durrie?' Nate said, confused.
Quinn shook his head. 'Piper's not Dahl. Durrie's Dahl. I don't think Piper has anything to do with this,' he said. 'Leo Tucker was Durrie's connection in Vietnam. Not Piper. He probably made you when he was following Nate and me. But he never told his old boss. Only Durrie, because he knew Durrie would be extremely interested.'
Orlando fell silent.
'Turn here,' Quinn said to Nate.
A moment later they were nearing the hotel again, only this time on the other side of the building from the main entrance.
The hotel took up an entire city block. While the architecture of the building led Quinn to believe it had been built recently, great pains had obviously been taken to have the building's design complement those of the older stone buildings around it.
'Look for a delivery area,' Quinn said.
'We'll still have a problem with security,' Nate said.
'Maybe.'
Nate steered the sedan past another public entrance, less ostentatious than the front, but no less busy. Apparently all the hotel's non-conference guests were being directed to it. An army of bellhops stood outside the door, a different one peeling off each time a taxi pulled up. And while there were several police officers around, they seemed to only be observing the crowds, not stopping anyone.
'He wouldn't enter through there,' Quinn said. 'Not with the boxes.'
His eyes scanned ahead. Suddenly he pointed.
'That's it.'
There was a large opening in the building, big enough for a delivery truck. A sign mounted to the wall indicated it was the entrance for deliveries and employee parking. There were two more police officers standing just inside the entrance. They were dressed warmly in long overcoats and gloves.
'Turn in there,' Quinn said. 'But don't stop until you are all the way inside. Let the cops walk up to you.' He looked up at the rearview mirror, his eyes momentarily meeting Nate's. 'You're going to have to help me take them.'
'Kill them?' Nate said, sounding surprised and horrified.
'I'm hoping we can avoid that.'
Nate got into the center lane and slowed down to a stop. He waited until the oncoming traffic had cleared, then turned into the entrance of the garage. One of the police officers held up his hand for Nate to stop, but he continued on past them for several car lengths before bringing the car to a halt. They were far enough inside that no one on the street would pay them any attention.
'Get out and distract them,' Quinn said. As the cops started walking toward them, Nate opened his door and got out.
'Sorry about that,' he said in English. 'I didn't see you at first.' He paused. 'You do speak English, don't you?'
Quinn slid across the back seat and reached for the passenger-side door.
'I'll go,' Orlando said, her face taut.
'You don't have to. I can handle this.'
'I'll go.'
Without another word, she opened her door and got out. Quinn watched as she walked around to the back of the car, joining Nate and the cops. Quinn swiveled so he could see out the back window.
Nate had maneuvered the two police officers so that they stood behind the trunk, their backs to the car. Quinn could only hear muffled voices, nothing specific, but he did see the gun suddenly appear in Orlando's hand. The cops froze, both apparently smart enough to know not to reach for their own weapons.
Orlando said something to Nate, and a moment later he was back at the driver's door. He reached in and released the trunk, then returned to the gathering at the back.
With the trunk open, Quinn's view of the action was diminished. He heard a few more voices, then the car creaked as it took on extra weight.
'There's not enough room,' a voice said. It was coming through the back of the seat, muffled but clear. Quinn assumed it was one of the cops.
'Kill one of them,' Orlando said, her voice more distant.
There was the sound of a slide release being pulled back on a gun. Almost immediately there was more shuffling and grunting coming from inside the trunk.
'That's better,' Orlando said.
When the trunk closed again, there were only two people standing behind the car – Orlando and Nate.
As the two climbed back in, Orlando threw something over the seat at Quinn. It was one of the long, dark overcoats the cops had been wearing. Once Quinn put it on, it would cover most of his pants, making him more presentable.
'I got these, too,' she said, holding up two utility belts complete wi
th radios, guns, and tools of the cops' trade. Not surprisingly, the handcuffs were missing from each belt.
'IDs?' he asked.
Orlando nodded.
Nate put the car in gear and continued down into the garage. Soon they were on a ramp leading downward into the building. Fifty feet in, the road forked. To the right it veered sharply downward, spiraling farther below the surface toward what Quinn guessed was the employee parking area. The left fork kept going straight for another twenty-five feet, ending at a small parking area to the left and a raised loading dock straight ahead.
There was a single truck backed up to the dock. A linen supplier. Two men were rolling a big basket of towels out of the hotel and into the cargo area of the truck.
Quinn quickly shifted his attention to the small parking area off to the left. There were five cars there: two Fords, a Peugeot, and two BMWs. One of the BMWs was a silver two-door coupe. But the other was midnight blue.
'Stop,' Quinn said.
As Nate stopped their car, Quinn took a harder look at the parked BMW. The windows were tinted all the way around, front and back included.
'That's his car.'
Quinn opened his door and started to swing his legs around to get out, but the pain shooting up from his thigh stopped him.
'Wait,' Nate said. 'Let me check.'
As Nate opened his door, Orlando tapped him on the arm, then handed him an ID and one of the guns.
Nate approached the car cautiously, but it was soon apparent no one was inside.
'What now?' Nate called out.
'See if the boxes are still in the back,' Quinn said. Nate started trying all the doors.
'Nate,' Quinn said. Once his apprentice was looking over at him, Quinn mimed using his gun as a hammer.
Nate glanced over his shoulder toward the loading dock. The two men who had been rolling out the towels were just disappearing back into the hotel.
Instead of just smashing the gun into the window, Nate removed his jacket first, placing it over the glass. He had to hit the window three times before it broke, but the sound was muffled. Quinn smiled. Nate was getting it.
The tinting held the shattered safety glass together, so Nate just had to fold it in on itself and push it into the car.
'You're sure it was him?' Orlando asked Quinn. Her voice was quiet but demanding.
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