[Quinn 03] - Shadow of Betrayal

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?”

“I can do whatever you need,” Nate said, immediately defensive. “We already went over this.”

They had. Dozens of times over the last several months. It was just that Quinn was not yet convinced. The truth was he still wasn’t sure Nate was ready to be back in the field. It had only been eight months since his apprentice had lost the lower portion of his right leg when it was crushed during a job in Singapore. A personal job, Quinn reminded himself. One he should have left Nate home on. But instead he’d brought Nate along, and in the end had been forced to give the go-ahead on the amputation while his apprentice was unconscious.

“Go south,” Quinn said. “Listen for a car door or an engine starting. The shooter’s got to have a vehicle out here somewhere. I’ll go north.”

“I’m on my way.”

As soon as Quinn reached the road, he turned north and began a quick jog along the left edge of the blacktop. He knew there was no way he would have been able to find the assassin once he took off into the woods. But the guy had to have a way out. A car, probably parked along a dirt road that led into one of the fields lining the narrow highway. Similar to the one Quinn had used for the van. None of the roads were longer than a couple hundred yards, and their only outlet was to the highway.

The assassin had headed west, but the nearest road in that direction was at least two miles away. Since he had had to follow either Otero or the other party to the meet, there would have been no way for him to drive over to the distant road, then trek back two miles on foot in time to get set up in the tree and pick off his targets. So he must have come on the same road as everyone else. That meant even though he had run west, he would soon be turning either north or south to circle back to where he’d left his ride.

There was a little-used dirt road just ahead on the right. Quinn remembered it from his earlier recon of the area, but passed by it with just a glance. It was too close. Quinn and Nate would have noticed any car that would have turned down it, even if someone had come in slow with his lights off.

“Anything?” Quinn said into his mic.

“No,” Nate said. His breath sounded a little labored. “I’m already about seventy-five yards south of the road the van’s on. How far do you want me to go?”

“Until I say stop,” Quinn said. “He’s not going to be close.”

There was another break in the brush, with two parallel ruts worn into the ground heading west. Quinn slowed this time, taking an extra hard look. Around fifty feet in, there was a solid dark shape. It was out of place among the more wispy brush.

Quinn turned cautiously down the path. After only a few steps, the shape became a car, a sedan. Dark, probably blue or black. As he neared he recognized it as a Ford Mondeo.

The kind of car Otero was supposed to arrive in, Quinn thought. Of course, that didn’t mean the man he was chasing hadn’t arrived in one either.

The vehicle appeared to be empty, so he quickened his pace, stopping just short of the rear passenger door on the left side. There was still no movement from inside. He held still for a moment, listening for anyone approaching through the brush. All was quiet.

He took a step forward, then peered through the window.

No one. Only a map, half-folded and jammed between the two front seats.

Oteros car, Quinn decided.

The evidence wasn’t perfect, but the fact that the map had been stowed between the seats instead of tossed onto the passenger seat could very well have meant there had been two people riding up front. But more than that, the half-open map itself was a better indication that this wasn’t the assassin’s car. The assassin would have been following Otero, not worrying about how to get to the final destination. In fact, he wouldn’t even have known where the final destination was.

Quinn ran back to the highway, then headed north again.

He knew he had to be close now. If Otero had been the one the assassin followed, his vehicle couldn’t be too far away. He probably had been able to place a tracking bug on the Mondeo, then had sat back and followed a mile or two behind. Any closer and Otero would have noticed. But once the Mondeo had stopped moving, the assassin would have closed the distance, parking as close as he dared without drawing attention.

“Car,” Nate said.

Quinn stopped instantly, and turned to the south as if he could see Nate on the road in the distance. “Is it him?”

“No,” Nate said. “It’s about a mile off, heading toward us. But it’ll be here in a minute or two.”

“Make sure whoever it is doesn’t see you.”