Becoming Quinn

Brett Battles Becoming Quinn

For Jon Rivera

A true friend by any definition

1

MAY 1996

Durrie wasn’t a fool.

No way would he position himself right next to the old barn when the takedown happened. Where one bullet was sure to fly, others would often follow. Once things calmed down, he could move in. That’s how he liked to work.

So instead, he’d set up a hundred feet away, behind an old steel tank that looked like it had been empty for years. If a bullet did somehow end up heading in his direction, the tank would rob it of whatever momentum it had before it could reach him.

To keep tabs on what was happening in the barn, he had a small monitor on the ground beside him displaying a feed from a camera inside. The camera and monitor were connected by a long cable that ran through a signal booster so that the image wouldn’t be too degraded. He could have used a wireless camera, but the technology was still new, and didn’t always work correctly. Until it did, he preferred to go the tried-and-true hardwired route.

The agent tasked by the Office to perform the termination, a guy named Larson, was already in the barn. Durrie could see him in the monitor, leaning against the wall and taking a sip from the cup of coffee he’d brought along. In addition to Larson, there were four other members of the operation team. Two were hidden near the barn, while the other two were positioned down where the private dirt road met the blacktopped street the target would be arriving on.

The selection of the site was good. Not perfect, Durrie noted, but good. They were on the edge of Phoenix, Arizona, in an area populated mostly by small horse ranches that would undoubtedly be swallowed up by development at some point in the future.

Now, though, the barn’s closest neighbor was a half-mile away. A mile would have been better, but you took what you could get. At least it wasn’t happening in a hotel room downtown.

Durrie checked his watch, then took a look at the road. Nothing. In the wide-open surroundings he should have been able to see the guy’s headlights by now.

Perhaps the target had found out about his reduced life expectancy. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone had figured out their services were no longer needed. If that happened, the ops team would have to go on the hunt, and Durrie would have to follow. That was not something he was interested in doing. Durrie was a cleaner, his job to get rid of the body. Anything that made doing his work harder brought with it the potential of discovery. Not a pleasant prospect.

He looked back at the monitor, annoyed. Someone had screwed up somewhere, and he and the ops team were going to have to deal with it. Why couldn’t everyone be as good at their job as he was? It would sure make things a hell of a lot easier.

He was about to check his watch again when a pinprick of light caught his eye. He looked toward it. Headlights on the blacktop road, heading this way.

He stared at them, watching them approach, then willing them to slow as they neared the dirt road. As if on command, he saw brake lights flare off the shrub behind the vehicle.

When the car turned, he smiled.

Sure, someone was about to die, but it was the target’s tough luck. He should have thought about the likely outcome before trying to make some extra cash selling secrets.

“Heat sensor confirms only one person in the vehicle,” one of the spotters near the turnoff said over the radio. “ETA one minute.”

On the monitor, Larson set his coffee cup on the ground, and moved into position in the center of the barn. Though Durrie couldn’t see it, he knew the man was palming the remote control for the automated rifle mounted in the rafters. As soon as the target was in position:

Click.

Bang.

Done.

Well, that was if your target cooperated. Durrie thought it was unnecessarily complex. It would have been better, in his mind, to have a gun hidden nearby that the shooter could grab when needed and pull the damn trigger himself. Though no one had said anything, Durrie had a funny feeling someone had decided this was a good opportunity to field-test a new toy.

“Vehicle has stopped.” This was a different voice. Durrie recognized it as belonging to Mills, one of the ops team members near the barn.

Durrie looked away from the monitor, and over at the mirror he’d set up so he could see the building around the side of the tank. The target’s sedan was parked right next to the barn’s door. The driver sat behind the wheel, seemingly frozen in place. Maybe the guy did know what was about to happen, Durrie thought. Or at least sensed something was wrong. Durrie sure as hell would have.

Strike that.

Durrie would have never allowed himself to get into this position in the first place. If he sensed he was on the verge of being taken out, he would have disappeared, and no one would have ever found him. He’d already made the preparations. In this business, it was probably more a question of when rather than if he was going to have to disappear.

Finally, the guy got out of his car.

“Visual on target,” Mills said. “ID confirmed.”

No going back now, Durrie thought.

The target walked around the sedan to the barn’s entrance. He hesitated there a moment, then opened the door and went inside.

Durrie turned his attention back to the monitor. Larson, still in position, had donned a disarming smile.

“Owens,” he said. “I was getting worried.”

“Took me a little longer to get here than I expected,” the target said. He was standing just inside the door, several feet from the kill zone.

Durrie frowned, his eyes narrowing. If he’d drawn up the plans for this operation, Owens would be dead by now, and Durrie would be moving in to wrap up the corpse and get it out of there.

“Sorry about that,” Larson said. “The op we wanted to talk to you about is sensitive. So the more isolated, the better.”

Owens snorted a laugh.

Oh, he knows, all right.

“Okay,” Owens said. “So tell me about it.”

“It’ll be easier if I show you. I’ve got some photos and a map you’ll need.” The agent turned and started walking toward the far wall, then stopped and looked back. “They’re over here.”

Owens didn’t budge. “Are they heavy?”

“No,” Larson said, confused.

“Then I like where I am right now.”

There was a click over the radio comm, then Timmons — the ops leader and other man stationed at the barn — said, “Prep alt B.”

Durrie knew Timmons wasn’t particularly fond of the automated gun setup either, but its inclusion had come