Shadow of Betrayal

of headstones. They were old and weathered, several to the point of being unreadable. Between the stones grass had grown high, and here and there a tree or a bush had taken root. But none had grown too large. Quinn guessed that every few years someone came out and cleared away the vegetation, a last act of respect for the dead parishioners who were otherwise forgotten.

“I’m here,” Quinn said, keeping his voice as low as possible. “Behind the graveyard.”

“He’s around the right side of the church from your position,” Nate told him. “Probably about your two o’clock.”

“Okay.”

“Quinn.”

“What?”

“Peter wanted me to remind you not to let him get to the bodies.”

“That’s kind of what I’m trying to do, isn’t it?”

“And … em … if there’s any way you can subdue him, that would be best,” Nate said. “Peter said he’s got a couple guys heading our way right now. Should be here in thirty minutes.”

“That’s a joke, right?”

“Would you like me to patch you through to him directly?”

“No,” Quinn said, trying hard to keep his voice from getting too loud. “I’m really not in a place where I can have a chat with—”

“Movement,” Nate said, cutting him off.

Quinn froze in place.

“What’s happening?” he asked.

“He’s heading toward the church. He left the rifle behind the tree, and is carrying a pistol now. Looks like a SIG.”

Quinn stood up and weaved through the graveyard toward the church, the building’s bulk between him and the assassin, shielding him from view.

“I see you,” Nate said. “You’re both closing on the building at the same rate.”

Quinn sped up, moving to his left as he did, toward an opening that had probably once held a beautiful stained glass window. He knew from his earlier reconnaissance that the window would provide a clear view of the interior of the church. He crouched beneath the sill.

“Okay,” Nate said. “You’re there first. He’s stopped at the body outside the church. He’s checking the pockets … hold on … okay, he’s rolling him over and checking the back pockets … the dead guy doesn’t seem to have anything on him … okay, he’s getting up again … now he’s heading for the church.”

Quinn checked that the suppressor was securely fastened to the barrel of his SIG.

“He’s stopped just outside a doorway,” Nate continued. “It’s the one directly across from where you’re at.”

Quinn pictured the interior of the church in his mind. The window he stood beside, the door the assassin would walk through, the positions of the bodies on the sanctuary floor, the possible hiding places, the escape routes, everything. Then he took in a steady, silent breath, knowing what he would do. Peter was going to owe him big-time after this.

“He’s peeking around the doorway, looking inside … he’s stepping across the threshold and … inside … heading for the closest body first. Otero. Wait a minute. He stopped, seems to be listening.”

Quinn cocked his head, then he heard it, too. A car. It was coming fast from the north. No, not just one car, but two. Distant at the moment, but approaching rapidly.

“Car,” Nate said a second later. “Heading south.”

Quinn risked a glance through the corner of the window. The assassin was still standing rock still next to the body of David Otero. His head was turned away from Quinn toward the front corner of the church where the entrance once had been.

On the road, the cars continued to draw nearer. Quinn judged that they were less than two minutes away.

The assassin must have made the same calculation. He looked down at Otero, then glanced at the other two bodies. Quinn’s plan had been to make his move when the assassin was bent down searching one of his victims. It would have put him at an advantage, and he would have had little problem guarding the shooter until Peter’s backup arrived. If the assassin tried to run, Quinn would be able to take him out with a single shot.

But the cars changed everything. A second later, the assassin began rapidly retracing his steps out of the church and back to the tree that had served as his roost. Apparently he had decided to forgo searching the bodies in exchange for getting the hell out of there.

“He’s on the move,” Nate said. “Nearing the tree.”

Quinn rose and moved down the side of the church, staying tight to the wall. When he reached the corner, he turned and headed toward the far end. Beyond was an open area that ran parallel to the church and out seventy- five feet to where the brush and the trees took over in force.

The assassin’s tree was there. Quinn could see it another ten feet into the wild. He just couldn’t see the assassin.

“He’s picking up his rifle,” Nate said. “Now he’s slinging it over his shoulder and heading … northwest… he’s out of camera range now. I’ve lost him.”

That was it, then, Quinn thought. He wasn’t about to chase the man through the wilderness without the advantage of Nate being able to watch his back. He allowed his body to relax.

“Keep an eye on the monitors in case he’s just circling around,” Quinn said. “And watch the road cams, too. See if a car shows up that seemed to come out of nowhere. That’ll be him. He’s got to have a ride parked around here somewhere.”

“Quinn?” Nate asked.

“What?”

“Peter wants to talk to you.”

The muscles in Quinn’s face tightened. “Fine. Put him through.”

While Nate transferred the call to the comm gear, the two cars on the road reached the point closest to the church, but neither slowed. Immediately the whine of their engines began to recede as they continued down the back road to Cork.

Static in Quinn’s ear, then, “… inn. Are you there? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah. I hear you, Peter,” Quinn said. “The gunman’s gone. A couple cars on the road spooked him.”

“You’ve got to find him.”

“Ah … no. I don’t. I already took a chance trying to take him here at the church. He’s out in the woods now. I don’t have any eyes out there.”

Peter said nothing for several seconds. When he did speak, there was a tremor in his voice. He was either scared or angry as hell. “You have to find him, Quinn. You have to stop him. Jesus, at least find a way to delay him until my men get there.”

Peter’s insistence surprised Quinn. “It’s too late, Peter. He’s already got a good lead on me. Plus he’s a marksman, and has at least two weapons on him … it’s too much of a risk. Sorry.”

Peter took a second before he spoke. “Our deal was no questions. That means you do what I need, right?”

Quinn could feel his own anger rising. The deal — made the previous year — was three jobs, no questions. It had been made when Quinn had been at a disadvantage and needed Peter’s help. It had taken Peter six months to finally invoke the first of the promised “no question” assignments. If the next two were similar, they would be the last Quinn ever worked for Peter and the Office. About the only good thing was that none of them were freebies. Quinn’s standard rate of thirty thousand a week with a two-week minimum still applied.

“You’re losing time,” Peter said.

“Fine,” Quinn said. There was one thing he could try that was marginally safer. “Nate, get him off the line.”

A second later the signal cleared up.

“He’s gone,” Nate said.

“I need you out on the road. You think you can do that?”