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THE
DECEIVED
ALSO BY BRET T BA T TLES
THE CLEANER
THE
BRETT BATTLES
DELACORTE PRESS
THE DECEIVED A Delacorte Press Book / July 2008
Published by Bantam Dell A Division of Random House, Inc. New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved Copyright © 2008 by Brett Battles
Book design by Carol Malcolm Russo
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Battles, Brett. The deceived / Brett Battles. p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-440-33796-6
1. Criminals—Fiction. 2. Organized crime—Fiction. I. Title. PS3602.A923D43 2008 813'.6—dc22 2008001931
www.bantamdell.com
For Ronan, Fiona, and Keira
THE
DECEIVED
CHAPTER
THE STENCH OF ROTTING FOOD AND DIESEL FUEL
hung over the dock like it had been there forever. Even inside the small warehouse, the foulness overpowered everything. That was until the man in the light gray coveralls opened the door of the shipping container. Suddenly death was all Jonathan Quinn could smell.
Unflinching, he scanned the interior of the container. With the exception of a bloated body crumpled against the wall to the right, it was empty.
“Shut the door,” Quinn said.
“But Mr. Albina wanted you to see what was—”
“I’ve seen it. Shut the door.”
The man—he’d said his name was Stafford—swung the door shut, locking the handle into place.
“Why is this still here?” Quinn asked.
Stafford took a few steps toward Quinn, then stopped. “Look, I got a dock to run, okay? I got a ship out there that’s only half unloaded.” He sucked in a tense, nervous breath. “I got customs people all over the place, you know? It’s like they knew something like this was coming in today.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow. “Did you know it was coming in today?”
“Hell, no,” Stafford said, voice rising. “Do you think I’d be here if I did? I’d’ve called in sick. Mr. Albina’s got people who should take care of this kind of crap.”
Quinn glanced at the man, then turned his attention back to the container. He began walking around it, scanning it up and down, taking it all in. After a slight hesitation, Stafford followed a few paces behind.
Quinn had seen thousands of shipping containers over the years: on boats, on trains, being pulled behind big rigs. They were large, bulky rectangular boxes that moved goods between countries and continents. They came in black and red and green and gray.
This one, with the exception of where the paint had chipped away and rust had started to take hold, was a faded dark blue. On each of the long sides, tall white letters spelled out baron & baron ltd. Quinn didn’t
