'Maybe you could give them some mints,' Quinn whispered. 'That should make things better.'
Borko grinned. 'Very good. I was wondering how much you knew. Sadly, I'm afraid the mints would be wasted on them.'
'Because they're not Bosniaks?' Quinn asked.
Borko stiffened. 'How do you know that?'
'Jesus Christ,' Durrie said to Borko. 'It doesn't matter.' 'How did you know that?' Borko repeated, still kneeling next to Quinn. Two more boxes were placed into the BMW. Quinn added them to his mental tally. 'Borko,' Durrie barked. 'Come on. We don't have time for this shit.' Reluctantly, Borko stood back up.
Durrie looked down at Quinn. 'I'm going to skip over the how've-ya-been talk, all right? I just don't care. You're dead, Johnny boy. That's all I need to know. Tell your bitch girlfriend when you see her on the other side I'll take good care of Garrett for her.'
Durrie smiled, then pulled a gun out from under his jacket. 'Let me,' Borko said. 'He's killed several members of my team. I owe them his life.' 'You've got to be kidding me,' Durrie said. 'Cut the honor shit.' 'Let me do it,' Borko insisted. 'I'll give you half my share.'
Durrie raised an eyebrow, then laughed. 'If you want it that bad, fine.' Durrie looked down at Quinn. 'I guess I can be bought.' He laughed again, then walked slowly back to the car.
As he neared, the front door opened and out stepped Leo Tucker. Quinn's eyes narrowed. He should have expected him to be here, but seeing him in the flesh made Quinn flush with anger. The Aussie opened the back door for Durrie. As Quinn's mentor got in, the Volvo driver put another two boxes in the trunk.
A moment later the BMW was speeding away. As Borko tracked the car, Quinn quickly moved his arm a few inches so that the triggering switch was now under his palm.
As Borko turned back to him, Quinn worked the switch into his hand, but kept his palm pointed at the ground. He knew he wasn't going to be able to set it off in time to get the BMW. Some of the virus was going to get away.
'Okay. Now we have a little fun,' Borko said. He removed a pistol from a holster under his jacket. It was a SIG P226, just like Quinn's.
'Why didn't Gibson have a card?' Quinn asked. He was trying to buy time as he turned the switch in his hand so his thumbprint would be properly aligned.
Borko's brow creased for a moment, then he smiled. 'You mean at your house? You want to know the truth?' He leaned forward slightly, as if he were passing on a great secret. 'He was supposed to carve Dahl's name in your chest.'
'Your plan isn't going to work, you know,' Quinn said. He moved his thumb to the A/B switch. Had he already put it in the B position?
'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.'
'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
