Witten had also been told about what had happened the previous afternoon, and was determined that Team Five would not achieve the same less-than-stellar results. Maybe that was why his senses felt more heightened than usual.
“Check,” he whispered.
Each member of his team was outfitted with a tiny comm radio—a receiver that fit snugly in the ear, and extending from it, a one-inch microphone that floated above the cheek.
“South, clear,” Suggs said.
Johnson was next. “West, clear.”
And finally, Brown. “North, clear.”
Deserted? Or dangerous? Witten wondered again as he scanned the front of the house. Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out.
“All positions, move in,” he ordered.
__________
QUINN COULD FEEL Misty tense as they heard a floorboard creak. He touched her arm and gave it a quick squeeze.
Another creak, closer to the door this time.
It wouldn’t be long now.
__________
THERE HAD BEEN no need to pick the locks to get inside. The home in Arlington Ridge was a safe house known to O & O. Terminal Eight had simply supplied the entry codes to Witten, who had then passed them on to his team.
Suggs used the rear-door code to enter through the kitchen, while Witten utilized the one for the front door. Per earlier instructions, Johnson and Brown remained outside to secure the perimeter.
Witten stepped over the threshold into an unadorned entryway. His night vision goggles firmly in place, he could see he was alone. The short foyer led into the main part of the house, where he found a living room, dining area, kitchen, and Suggs.
Using well-practiced hand signals, he learned that Suggs had also spotted no one. Together they moved over to the carpeted stairway leading up to a second floor. Witten went up first. When he reached the top, he paused and listened. Given the hour, if the house was occupied, chances were the trespassers would be asleep, and Witten and Suggs would be able to contain them without a struggle.
There were five doors in the hallway—four to the left and one to the right. Witten ordered Suggs right, and he went left. The first room he came to was a bedroom with two sets of bunk beds. All the mattresses were bare—no sheets, no blankets. The next door opened into a bathroom that had several unused towels piled on the counter.
Before he could get to door number three, Suggs crept up behind him. With a shake of his head, Suggs let Witten know the room to the right was unoccupied.
Together, they moved to the next doorway. More bunks, only this time, sheets and a blanket rested on the bottom mattress of the bunk against the far wall. The bedding was in a tangle, as if the covers had been pushed away in a hurry.
Witten scanned the room before walking over to the mattress and putting his hand on the sheets. Even though the house was not particularly cool, he could tell right away the sheets were warmer than ambient temperature. Someone had been lying there—what, ten minutes earlier? Fifteen? No more than that.
He and Suggs retreated back to the hallway and approached the final door. Once more there were two sets of bunks, and like the room they’d just left, one of the mattresses had been used in the last half hour.
So where were the targets? And why were only two beds used and not three? Had they split up? Were these even the right people?
Witten didn’t like questions. Questions made jobs messy. And messy was never good.
They rechecked each of the rooms, making sure to examine every potential hiding place. In the closet of the master bedroom, they found a narrow trapdoor that opened into an attic.
Witten grimaced. Limited-access attics were a bitch. Push it open, stick your head in, and bang, bullet to the face. That was not a risk he was interested in taking.
He examined the trapdoor. There were two sliding locks screwed into the wood at one end. Both were open so he slid them into locked position, and pushed gently up on the hatch. It didn’t move. If anyone had gone into the attic, the person was not getting out without making a lot of noise.
Satisfied, he and Suggs headed back downstairs, to the only place left they hadn’t checked. The basement.
It was accessed via a rough set of wooden steps leading down from a doorway in the kitchen. From the top of the stairs, Witten could see the room below was unfinished—grimy concrete walls surrounding an even dirtier concrete floor. The partial view also revealed a few boxes piled here and there, but to see the full basement he would have to go down. He didn’t need to be stupid about it, though.
Leaving Suggs to keep an eye on things, Witten left the house and hustled down the street to where their car was parked. Digging through the equipment kit in the trunk, he quickly found what he was looking for and hurried back.
When he walked into the kitchen again, Suggs signaled that all was still quiet. Witten set the plastic case he’d brought with him on the counter and opened it. Inside was a mirror mounted on a pivot head, and an expandable rod that could be attached to it. Once he had it assembled, he carried it over to the doorway and knelt down.
Witten twisted the mirror back and forth, scanning the room, and established there were no visible threats. That, of course, was not a guarantee the basement was safe, which was why, before descending, he gave the mirror to Suggs so his partner could monitor as he went down.
He had expected the stairs to groan with each step, but they made little noise as he moved into the belly of the house. As soon as his eyes cleared the ceiling line, he paused and took a look around, the barrel of his gun tracking his gaze. There were a few more boxes, several empty shelving units, and directly across from the stairway, a hall leading away into the dark. If anyone was down here, that’s where he or she would be.
He signaled Suggs to remain where he was, and then moved quietly across the room into the hallway.
__________
THE EASY OUT was the only reason they were in the basement. If not for that, descending to the lowest level of the house would have been suicide, with the only escape being through the door in the kitchen at the top of the stairs.
Quinn had discovered the easy out when he’d done a check through the house after he arrived. It was located in the back room down the dark basement hallway. This particular easy out came in the form of a ground-level window located high on the wall, facing the backyard. While it looked like it was fixed in place, the entire thing could be removed in a matter of seconds via a concealed release lever built into the frame.
An escape route. An easy out.
“Maybe they left,” Misty said.
The creaking boards above their heads had fallen silent a few minutes earlier.
“No,” Quinn said. “They’re just checking the bedrooms.” He gave her a reassuring squeeze on the arm. “It’s going to be fine. Don’t worry.”
“Right. Don’t worry.”
His words had at least gotten a smirk out of her.
He stepped over to the window and peeked outside. The dark backyard looked as empty as it had the last time he checked, but he knew two men, if not more, were lurking out there somewhere. All the men needed to be drawn into the house before Quinn pulled the release lever, otherwise he and Daeng and Misty would be picked off as they crossed the yard.
The floor above began creaking again.
Quinn moved in front of Misty and looked her in the eyes. “I need you to do exactly what I tell you, okay?” he whispered.
She nodded.
“Good.” Placing a hand on her back, he guided her to the front corner of the room. “Tuck yourself in tight right here. You’ll be out of sight if the door opens.”
Once she was set, he headed toward the corner he would occupy, but stopped before he could get there and cocked his head. Upstairs, someone was moving quickly through the house. This was followed by the unmistakable sound of the front door opening.
Were they leaving?
Quinn exchanged a cautious look with Daeng, but avoided Misty’s
gaze so as not to get her hopes up.
Quiet descended for several minutes.
He was just starting to consider that maybe the men had left, when he heard the front door open again, and the floor once more groaned under the weight of one of the intruders.
So be it, Quinn thought. Quinn moved into position, his plan to draw everyone inside still in play.
Less than sixty seconds later came the sound he’d been waiting to hear—the subtle whine of the basement door swinging open.
Daeng moved to a spot in direct view of the room’s doorway, and arranged himself on the floor as if he had fallen there.
Quinn looked him over, and nodded his approval.
They were ready.
__________
THERE WERE THREE rooms along the hall, each with its door closed. Witten stopped at the nearest, and slowly turned the handle. Once the latch was released, he flung the door open and took a step back, his gun held out in front of him.
Nothing.
Only dirt and cracked concrete.
The second room was much the same.
He turned to the final door. If no one was behind this, the house was empty, and whoever had been sleeping upstairs had left before Team Five arrived.
Like he’d done with the others, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.
Immediately he saw this room was different. Lying on the ground a few feet inside was a body.
He stepped forward, stopping short of the threshold.
Male, by the looks of it, but that was about all he could make out. The body was on its stomach with its face turned away.
Who the hell was this?
He scanned the room, able to see everywhere except the space to either side of the door. No one. Only the body.
He was deciding on whether he should look right or left first as he moved inside, when the man on the ground groaned.
Gun extended, Witten stepped into the room. “Don’t move.”
__________
DAENG PLAYED HIS part perfectly. A second after he groaned, a man holding a gun moved through the doorway.
As the man said, “Don’t move,” Quinn leapt toward him, his hand aiming straight for the comm gear mounted in the man’s ear. Quinn was three feet away when the guy sensed him and started to whirl around, but their unwanted guest was too late. Quinn snatched the radio away with his right, and landed a hook to the guy’s jaw with his left.
The man staggered with the punch, but kept on his feet. He opened his mouth to yell. What he hadn’t noticed was that Daeng was no longer lying on the ground, and had moved in behind him. Before the scream even began, Daeng whipped his jacket around the man’s head, covering the intruder’s mouth, and pulled it tight.
At the same time, Quinn grabbed the gun and wrenched it from the man’s grasp, then tore the night vision goggles off the guy’s face.
“Down,” Quinn whispered to Daeng.
Keeping the jacket tight around the man’s face, Daeng shoved him to the floor.
Quinn knelt in front of the intruder. “You cooperate, and we won’t have a problem. Nod if you understand.”
Nothing for a moment, only rapid blinking as the man adjusted to the darkness. Then a nod.
“Good,” Quinn said. He rose, intending to put the radio in his ear, and shout in a garbled voice that he heard someone running through the first floor toward the stairs, followed by a quick order for everyone to converge. That’s when they’d make their escape. But the radio was not in his hand anymore.
As he started to look around, the captive spoke through his gag. Not a yell, but a single word.
Daeng looked at Quinn. “Did he say what I think he said?”
The man repeated the word.
“Loosen the jacket,” Quinn said. “Just a little.”
Once more the man spoke.
“Quinn? You are Quinn, aren’t you?”
Quinn knelt back down and studied the man’s face. There was something familiar about him. Quinn ran through names in his head, trying to match one to the face. Finally, he stopped. “Clyde…Witten.”
“Yeah. Right,” the man said, his voice still muffled, but clearer.
They had worked at least three jobs together that Quinn could remember. Not on the same team. Witten had been ops, and had never helped Quinn on body disposal. Most of their interaction had been brief, but Quinn had felt that Witten was a through-and-through professional. It had been at least four years since the last time their paths crossed.
“You promise not to yell?” Quinn asked.
“You promise not to kill me?” Witten countered.
Quinn looked at Daeng. “Take it off, but if he reneges, knock him out.”
Daeng removed the jacket from Witten’s face.
“Thanks,” Witten said. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” Quinn replied.
After a brief hesitation, Witten said, “We’ve never had problems, have we?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“No reason why we should start now, right?”
Quinn waited.
“You want to know why we’re here?” Witten asked.
Quinn gave him a look like that was the most obvious question ever.
“We were sent to capture or eliminate whoever is staying in this house.” There was no anger or threat in the voice, only a statement of fact.
“So, us.”
Witten twisted his face, uncomfortable. “Why would you be on a kill list?”
“That’s a good question. Why don’t you tell me exactly whose kill list we’re on?”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“I guess that puts us a bit at odds, doesn’t it?”
“Was that you yesterday afternoon in Georgetown? Shot off a couple fingers?”
“The guy’s lucky I didn’t kill him,” Quinn said. “Friend of yours?”
“I don’t know him.”
“Same organization?”
Witten didn’t answer.
“Quinn?” Misty whispered.
All three men looked over, Witten clearly surprised by Misty’s presence.
Misty pointed at the ground a few feet away from her. Sitting there was the comm gear Quinn had stripped from Witten. He must have dropped it in the fight.
“I hear voices,” she said.
“Watch him,” Quinn said to Daeng. He walked over and picked up the earpiece and mic. Someone was definitely transmitting. He returned to Witten. “I want you to talk to them. Tell them everything’s all right. If you deviate at all I will—”
“What? You’ll kill me?”
“I only eliminate those in my way. Are you going to be in my way?”
“Give me the radio.”
After a brief hesitation, Quinn tossed him the gear.
Witten put the earpiece in. “I’m here, I’m here. Sorry. Radio problem…It’s okay now…yeah, I’m sure. It’s clear down here. The house is empty. Assemble out front. I’ll be there in a minute. There’s something here I’m checking…no, I got it. Just meet me out front.” He listened for a moment longer before he clicked the button that turned off the mic. Looking up, he said, “Satisfied?”
Quinn stepped outside the room and listened. He could hear footsteps moving away from the basement door toward the front of the house. A moment later, the main door opened and all fell silent.
When he returned to the room, he said, “Who are you working for?”
“Ask as many times as you want,” Witten said, “but it’s not going to change the fact that I can’t tell you.”
“You can, and you—”
Witten held up a hand, stopping him. “It doesn’t matter who I work for anyway. We’re a clearinghouse. We pick up jobs from all over the place, but we don’t generate them ourselves.”
Quinn cocked his head. “So whoever wanted to take us out hired your organization?”
“In essence, yes, but you’re a little off.”
“How so?”
“I can tell you for a fact that your name or—” he took a quick glance at Daeng and Misty— “your associates’ names aren’t on our lists. We were only told there would be two men and a woman. The accompanying descriptions were very vague.”
“Then why did you come after us?” Daeng asked.
“The intervention order applies to anyone entering the apartment you were in earlier today.”
“And the order is to terminate?”
“The order is to capture and isolate,” Witten said. “But if we encounter any resistance, we have the option to eliminate the target.” He paused. “The mission parameters also came with a clear indication of the type of people we would be dealing with.”
“And that would be…?”
“Foreign operatives with ties to terrorist organizations. The backstory I was given is that the owner of the Georgetown apartment had information in his possession that these operatives might try to obtain.”
“We’re the only people who would’ve ever shown up at that apartment,” Quinn said. “But the last I checked, I’m not a foreign operative in this country. And I definitely never work with terrorists.”
He could see in Witten’s eyes that the man knew this, too.
“Your agency is being used,” Quinn told him.
“Possibly.” There was a trace of anger in Witten’s voice. Before he could continue, his gaze became unfocused, and he touched his earpiece. “Yes…still here, but on my way out…will be right there.” He tapped on the comm again and looked at Quinn. “I need to go. If I don’t, my team will come after me.”
“How do we know you’re not going to just sit out there and shoot us as we come outside?”
“I give you my word we’ll move out immediately. Give it ten minutes to be sure, then leave.” He paused. “It’s up to you whether you want to believe me or not.”
Quinn stared at the man for several seconds. All his instincts told him that Witten was telling the truth. “What are you going to tell your bosses?”
Witten shrugged. “That someone was here, but the house was empty when we arrived. They’ll probably send out a few investigators to see if they can pick up any clues as to who’d been here—so you might want to make sure there aren’t any—but basically our job will be done unless another alarm is triggered.”
The Enraged (A Jonathan Quinn Novel) Page 8