not pleasant. He turned his attention to his date, said a few words, then stood up and followed the maitre d' back across the restaurant.
Once the two had passed him, Quinn placed enough money to cover his bill on the table, then rose and followed at a reasonable distance.
'What do you want?' Burroughs asked as soon as he reached Murray.
Quinn continued past them, stopping at the dessert counter and leaning forward to examine the cakes. He was just close enough to hear them.
'I'm Kenneth Murray. Strategic planning.' 'I know who you are,' Burroughs said. 'Why are you interrupting my dinner?'
Murray paused, no doubt uncomfortable that Burroughs knew his identity. 'There's an emergency that needs your attention,' he finally managed to eke out.
'What kind of emergency?'
'I don't know. I was still at the office, so I got volunteered for the run.'
'Why didn't someone just call me?'
'I was told it was too sensitive. It's got to be face-to-face.'
Burroughs seemed to ponder this. 'Okay. We're face-to-face. Give me whatever it is you've brought.'
'I'm not really the messenger. I got volunteered to be the chauffeur,' Murray said, sticking to the script Quinn had worked out for him. 'The information's with the captain in the car. I thought it would be less conspicuous if I came in. You know, instead of someone in a uniform.'
Burroughs scowled. 'Are you parked close by?'
'Across the street.'
'Hold on.' He turned and walked back to his table.
As soon as Burroughs was gone, Quinn looked at Murray, giving him the barest of nods. Murray looked like he was about to crumble. Quinn glanced over his shoulder and saw that
Burroughs was talking to the blonde, no doubt telling her he'd be back in a few minutes. That was Quinn's cue to leave.
A few minutes later, Quinn could hear their footsteps on the cobblestones. He was sitting in the passenger seat of Murray's car, back straight, like a good military messenger. He'd had Murray park as far as possible from any streetlights. While he could see them approaching on the sidewalk, they would only be able to make out his shadowy form in the car.
He waited until they were only a few feet away, then opened the door and got out.
'All right, Captain,' Burroughs began. 'I understand you have something for –' Burroughs stopped and stared at Quinn. 'Who the hell are you?' He turned and looked at Murray. 'What's going on here?'
'We've met before,' Quinn said.
Burroughs stiffened. 'We have?' Burroughs's eyes narrowed. 'I do know you, don't I?' he asked. 'Manila?'
'No. Montevideo,' Quinn said.
Burroughs began to nod. 'Ramos.'
'That's right.'
'You're Quinn.'
'Right again.'
'What do you want?'
'Why don't you get in the car? We'll have a little
more privacy in there.' Burroughs took a step backward, his eyes narrowing. 'I don't think so.' Quinn pulled his gun out of his pocket. 'It may have sounded like it, but it wasn't actually a request.' ** *
Murray drove around Brussels, while Quinn sat in back with Burroughs. 'They're going to come looking for me soon,' Burroughs said. 'You'll both be in deep shit.'
Quinn looked at him. 'Does it look like I care?'
'What do you want?'
'An exchange of information.'
'I don't deal.'
'Tell me about Robert Taggert.'
Burroughs looked at Quinn with contempt, but there had also been a flicker of what-the-fuck in the spook's eyes. 'Is that name supposed to mean something to me?'
'Try this one then. Henry Jansen?'
This time it was a twitch, just above Burroughs's left eye.
'It's a little confusing,' Quinn said. 'I mean, since they're the same person.'
Burroughs shrugged. 'Okay. If you say so. So what?'
'Jansen was supposed to give you some information,' he said. 'About an operation run by Borko.'
