responsibility. The only thing he’d been hired to do was get rid of the body. Except, much to the disapproval of his old mentor Durrie, he’d never been one who focused solely on his job and ignored everything else. On this particular operation, he was fully aware that the main focus, beyond the subject’s death, was to obtain a set of documents.
He grabbed a knife out of his kit, and cut around three sides of the square, turning the skin into a flap. Underneath was exactly what he’d been worried he’d find, a small container holding a stack of microphotographs.
The documents. Had to be. Old-school spy craft at its best.
Son of a bitch.
With extreme reluctance, he called Peter.
“Don’t tell me you’ve already finished,” Peter said.
“Still in progress.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Has Henrik given you an update?”
“Yes. Very disappointing.”
“Maybe not.”
After he finished explaining what he’d found, Peter sounded almost jubilant. “Oh, thank God! Good work. Really, really good work.”
“I don’t want to hold on to this. That’s not my responsibility.”
“Of course not. Stay on the line. Let me see if I can reach Henrik and arrange a handoff.”
Henrik, it turned out, had followed protocol and gone to ground. It would be at least another twenty-four hours before he checked in again.
“Don’t worry,” Peter said. “I’ll arrange an alternative. Tell me where and when.”
Deciding that the photos were less a problem to be driving around with than the body in the back of the van, Quinn set a rendezvous time for after the disposal of his primary cargo.
Once that was done, Quinn and Julien took the van to the location Quinn had given Peter for the handoff- a darkened street a few blocks behind St. Leodegar’s Church. As Quinn had planned, they arrived fifteen minutes early to do a quick reconnaissance on foot to make sure the area was clean.
“Five minutes,” he said. “Then we’re out of here.” He’d already done more than his due diligence by reporting what he’d found and agreeing to the handoff. He wasn’t about to risk his and Julien’s lives by spending any more time in Lucerne than they had to.
Two minutes before his self-imposed deadline, they heard the whine of a scooter growing louder and louder as it neared their street, then stopping just around the corner.
The silence that descended was soon broken by the sound of footsteps echoing softly off the old stone buildings. A silhouette appeared at the end of the block, walking toward them. The person was no more than five foot three or four, and had a matching small frame. Despite the helmet, Quinn knew it was a woman. It wasn’t just her size that gave her away; it was how she walked in the confident yet natural way only a woman could achieve.
“Beautiful night for a stroll,” she said as she neared, her voice distorted somewhat by the helmet.
“Could be warmer,” Quinn replied, completing the on-the-fly recognition code Peter had come up with.
She reached up and pulled her helmet off, releasing a torrent of thick, shoulder-length hair. Even in the darkness, Quinn could make out her face well enough. His first thought was that she was probably Eastern European. She had the slightly Asiatic eyes and high cheekbones that graced the faces of many Slavic models. If it weren’t for her height, she probably could have been one, too.
“Mila,” Julien said, surprised. He smiled and threw his arms open wide.
The woman grinned and let the big Frenchman envelop her in a bear hug. When he finally pulled back, he held her in front of him, a hand on each of her shoulders as he looked her over.
“How have you been?”
“Good,” she said.
“Keeping busy?”
“Yes. Thank you for passing my name around.” Not Eastern European. American. Unless she’d worked her ass off getting rid of any trace of an accent.
Julien scoffed. “Please. It’s what we do, huh? Help each other out?”
“Not everyone thinks like you. I mean it-thank you.”
“Are you guys finished?” Quinn asked.
Julien threw an arm around the woman’s shoulder, and turned her to face Quinn.
“Have you met Mila Voss yet?” he asked.
“Uh, no. But apparently you have.”
Julien laughed more loudly than Quinn would have liked, given the supposed secrecy of their meeting.
“Of course, I know her,” Julien said. “I got her into the business.” He leaned forward, his volume dropping only a few decibels. “We were together for a while. You know-young woman, Paris, a handsome man like me. It was only natural.”
The woman looked embarrassed. Quinn couldn’t tell whether it was because she regretted her relationship with Julien, or because she didn’t want that to color Quinn’s professional opinion of her.
“Julien, please,” she said. She patted him a few times on his ribs, and pulled out from under his arm. “We talked about this, remember?”
“What?” he asked, then his smile faltered a bit. “Quinn’s different. He’s not going to care.”
She sighed.
“Okay, okay,” Julien said. “ Je suis desole.” He looked at Quinn. “Some things are apparently better left unsaid.”
“I’m going to have to agree with you on that,” Quinn said.
“Let’s start again, d’accord? Jonathan, this is Mila Voss. Courier extraordinaire. Mila, this is the legendary Jonathan Quinn.”
She held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
“You, too,” Quinn said. “Now, if you guys don’t mind, maybe we can get this handoff taken care of and get the hell out of here.”
“Of course,” Mila said.
“I have a great idea,” Julien said. “Quinn and I are going to grab a late dinner after this. Maybe you can join us?”
Quinn was about to tell Julien that was a bad idea when Mila said, “Thank you, but I’ve been instructed to deliver this without delay. Maybe some other time.”
The Frenchman looked disappointed.
“Sure,” Quinn said quickly. “Some other time.” From his pocket, he pulled out the envelope he had put the microfilm into, and gave it to her. “That’s it.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll, uh, just be on my way. It was good to meet you, Mr. Quinn.”
“Just Quinn is fine. Good to meet you, too, Mila.”
She gave Julien another hug. “Be safe, okay?” She hesitated before adding, “I still worry about you.”
“No need to ever worry about me. I will live forever. I worry about you.”
She hit him on the arm as she pulled away. “Find a good woman and settle down. That’s what you need to do.”
“Is that an offer?”
She shook her head and laughed to herself as she walked away.
Once she disappeared around the corner, Quinn said, “You’re still in love with her.”
“I’ll always be in love with her,” Julien replied wistfully. Then, in a tone of recharged energy, said, “I will always be in love with any woman who shares my bed. Why would I invite them there otherwise?”
Quinn saw right through the lie of the second part, but he could tell the first was one hundred percent true.
