'Call him. My cell's in the living room,' Quinn said. 'See if he can get a pickup team out here. Somebody local. I don't want this asshole hanging around my house any longer than necessary.'
Nate started to turn away when Gibson spoke again. 'I think Peter's probably got his hands full at the moment.'
When Nate hesitated, Quinn said to him, 'Go.' Then he turned back to his prisoner. 'I've never much liked you.'
'I can't see any reason why I'd care,' Gibson said.
'I guess that's probably part of the problem.' Quinn took a long drink from the bottle, then set it on the counter. 'What I hear is that you're sloppy. Apparently that info's right.'
'Fuck you,' Gibson spat.
'You can't even handle an easy solo job.'
Gibson's brow furrowed. 'I know what I'm doing.'
'Really?' Quinn asked. 'If you're so good, why was I able to catch you?'
'I've been at this almost as long as you have. I'd have been dead long ago if I didn't know what I was doing.'
'Given the circumstances, I'd call that dumb luck.'
Quinn could hear Nate talking to someone on the phone in the other room. A moment later, Nate was back.
'Well?' Quinn asked.
Nate looked at Gibson, then at Quinn. 'Peter couldn't come to the phone.' 'Told you,' Gibson said. He was smiling now. Quinn turned back to his prisoner. 'Did I ask
you a question?'
Gibson shrugged.
'Then shut up.' Quinn looked at Nate. 'Who did you talk to?'
'Misty.' She was Peter's main assistant.
'Did you tell her what we needed?'
'I tried to, but she cut me off.'
'So no one's coming?' Quinn asked.
Nate shook his head.
Quinn closed his eyes for a moment in thought.
When he opened them, he handed the pistol to Nate. 'Don't let him move,' he said. 'If he does, shoot him.'
Nate had left the phone on the arm of the couch. Quinn picked it up and hit Redial. Fifteen seconds later, Misty answered. 'Yes?'
'It's Quinn.' 'He doesn't have time right now, Quinn. Things
are a bit crazy here.' 'Things are a bit crazy here, too,' Quinn said. He could hear her sigh on the other end. 'What's
the problem?' 'You mean, other than someone trying to kill me?' 'You, too?' 'What do you mean 'you, too'?' 'Hold on,' she said quickly. 'Let me see if I can
get Peter.'
It was almost a full minute before Peter came on the line. Without preamble, he asked, 'What happened?'
'I just found Martin Gibson lurking outside my
front door. And it wasn't a social call.' 'Where is he now?' Peter asked. 'In my kitchen.' 'Is he dead?' 'No,' Quinn said. 'That's something at least.' 'Jesus Christ, Peter. Who would want to kill me?'
Quinn asked.
'It's not just you,' Peter said. 'Others have received visitors tonight, also. Unfortunately, most of them . . .'
Peter let the sentence hang.
'Others?' Quinn said. 'Is there a pattern?'
Peter seemed to hesitate, then said, 'They appear to be hitting only members of the Office.' 'No other agency?' Another pause. 'No.' Quinn suddenly went cold. 'A disruption?' 'We don't know anything yet,' Peter said, but
there was doubt in his voice.
'Who's behind it?'
'If I wasn't talking to you, I might be able to get a few answers.' Peter took a deep breath. 'Even if I did know something, this is an Office matter. It's our business, not –'
There was a loud noise from the kitchen, followed immediately by the spit of a bullet passing through a suppressor. A second later Quinn heard the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh. He dropped the phone and grabbed Gibson's weapons off the couch.
