Reluctantly, Glaze sat back down.
For nearly a minute, all was quiet on the display screens. No noise, no movement. Quinn took a slow, deep breath as he scanned the monitors. What was supposed to have been a simple asset transfer had turned into a massacre. The floor of the garage was becoming stained by something more than motor fluids.
'I count three down,' Quinn said.
'That's the whole transfer team,' Glaze said. He leaned forward for a closer look. 'Where's the asset?' They scanned the monitors for several seconds. 'There she is,' Skyler said, pointing at one of the
screens.
Quinn looked over. The asset was half hidden in a shadow cast by a stack of steel drums. As Quinn watched, her right foot moved a few inches.
'She's still alive,' he said.
'Are you sure?' Skyler asked.
Quinn nodded.
'We've got to do something,' Glaze said.
'You want to tell me what?' Quinn asked.
'We can't just sit here.'
'Yes, we can.'
'We've got movement,' Skyler said.
Four men were moving into frame on the wide shot. Each was dressed in dark clothing, and all were carrying identical weapons – Heckler and Koch G36K assault rifles. Those were not the weapons V12's team had been equipped with.
The four men moved cautiously across the floor, the barrels of their guns sweeping the areas in front of them. As they reached the first of the bodies lying on the floor, one of the men pushed it with his foot. There was no reaction. The second body yielded the same results. But the last moaned as the foot was jammed into his side. Without hesitating, one of the armed men pointed his G36K at the man's head and pulled the trigger.
As they rounded the stack of drums, their rifles suddenly tightened against their shoulders, barrels pointed at the asset.
'Secure,' one of the gunmen called out. 'She's unarmed.' Then, more quietly, said, 'Get up. Slowly.'
The asset rose to her feet. The gunman who had spoken motioned for her to move forward. As she stepped out of the shadow, she appeared to be
cradling her right arm. Blood soaked her sleeve, but otherwise she appeared uninjured. 'Who's that?' Quinn asked. Movement had caused him to look at the monitor on the far right.
From the same direction the four gunmen had entered, a fifth man appeared. This one was different from the others. He was wearing an expensive-looking gray suit, and unlike his friends, he wasn't carrying a rifle. But there was a bulge at the small of his back, under his jacket. So he wasn't completely unarmed. He was tall and thin; Quinn guessed maybe six foot three, and 170 pounds. His dark brown hair was long, falling just below his shoulders in waves and curls that made his head appear larger than it was. Though there was no smile on his face, Quinn sensed an air of satisfaction surrounding him. No, it was more than that – an air of superiority, of extreme confidence in every step he took.
'I think we need to get out of here,' Glaze said.
'What are you talking about?' Skyler asked.
'We need to leave,' Glaze said. 'Now.'
'A minute ago you were ready to rush in there and help,' Quinn said.
'I was wrong.' Glaze started to rise again. This time instead of heading toward the back door, he was turning toward the front of the van.
'Hold on,' Quinn said. 'We're not going anywhere.' 'Don't you know who that is?' Glaze stared at the other two, eyes blazing. 'That's Borko.' There was a moment of silence as Quinn and Skyler looked back at the screen. 'No shit?' Skyler said.
Quinn stared intently. He'd only seen pictures of Borko before, none very good. The man in the garage certainly could have been the Serb. He fit the description.
'How do you know?' Quinn asked.
Glaze stared down at Quinn. 'Because I worked with him before, that's how,' he said, as if daring Quinn to challenge him. 'Last year. We used him on a job. I met him at the setup meeting. He didn't do what we asked. People died who shouldn't have died. But he didn't care. I don't think he cares about anything.'
Glaze couldn't fake the fear that radiated from his words. There was little chance he was lying. Quinn looked at the screen again.
Borko was one fucked-up son of a bitch. Not everyone in the business knew who he was, but Quinn had heard stories from several very reliable sources. Borko reportedly cut his teeth as one of the late Slobodan Milosevic's ethnic-cleansing experts. He was even said to be a member of the
He should have been arrested years ago. He should have stood trial for crimes against humanity in the World Court in The Hague. He should have been killed a thousand times over, but he hadn't been.
In fact, he'd simply disappeared when the war ended, his name never appearing on any wanted list. A few
