“Sorry. You won’t be needing this anymore,” he said. He thought about saying it again in Italian, but it was clear from the look on the guy’s face that the message had been received.
As Nate turned for the door, he looked down at the phone. Just like he’d thought, on the screen was a picture of himself, Quinn, and Mila. The man had been in the process of texting it to someone. Nate deleted the text and pulled out the phone’s battery. He stuffed the phone in one pocket and the battery in another, then opened the door and headed outside.
Quinn and Mila were walking down the sidewalk, already a building and a half away.
Nate was only two steps past the door when Thup.
The sound of a bullet through a suppressor.
Instinctively, he dropped to the ground and pulled out his gun.
Behind him the door to the building opened. Before he could look back and shout a warning, there were two more thups, then the crumpled oomphs of bodies falling on concrete.
Somewhere ahead there was a scream.
Then a car door slammed, and an engine roared to life.
That was the point when he raised himself to his knees. The two injured men behind him wore police uniforms. One was unconscious but the other was rolling back and forth, groaning.
Nate shifted his gaze to where he’d last seen Quinn and Mila. Where the two had been standing, one lay sprawled on the ground.
Quinn.
On the street a sedan was speeding away. Nate got a quick glimpse of its license plate, automatically memorizing its number, but knowing it wouldn’t matter. The car, undoubtedly with Mila inside, was surely stolen.
He jumped to his feet and ran over to his mentor. There was blood on the sidewalk and all over the upper part of Quinn’s shirt. The bullet had hit near the base of his neck just above his clavicle, both entry and exit wounds no more than an inch from each other. As ugly as it was, it could have been a lot worse if it had been just a bit to the right, where it would have pierced his windpipe and shattered his spine.
People were starting to come out of their homes to see what had happened.
Nate knew he had to get Quinn out of there now. He looked down the street. Two cars were heading in their direction. The first was a taxi with a passenger, the second a sedan with a couple of kids in back.
Nate lifted Quinn to his feet, and dragged him into the street just in time to get in front of the taxi. The driver had no choice but to stop. He gestured angrily and honked, but only once. The gun in Nate’s hand convinced him another blast of the horn was unnecessary.
Nate locked eyes with the passenger in back and motioned with his pistol for him to get out. The guy seemed glad to do so, and within seconds was running in the other direction. The driver seemed slightly more hesitant to leave.
Nate took a step closer to the car and motioned again. The cabbie apparently felt his loyalty to his taxi had been fulfilled. He scrambled out the door and followed after his passenger.
Nate quickly maneuvered Quinn into the backseat, did what he could to tie off the wound using Quinn’s shirt, then climbed behind the wheel and pressed the gas pedal to the floor.
CHAPTER 20
A cleaner who knows what he’s doing always has a variety of contacts in the places he has worked: suppliers of weapons, local talent, information sources, and-though hopefully seldom needed-someone who could provide discreet medical services. On his previous job in Rome, Nate had been given the number of a Dr. Pelligrini, but had never had the need to call it.
That fact had just changed.
The phone rang four times before a man sounding hurried answered. “ Si?”
“I’m in need of a second opinion on a hairline fracture,” Nate said in English, reading the phrase from the notes on his phone.
The doctor paused, then gave him an address with instructions on where to park behind the building, and what to do when Nate got to the door. The man hung up.
As much as he didn’t want to waste the time, Nate knew they had to switch vehicles before they arrived at the doctor’s place. By now police all over town would have been notified to look for the cab. The last thing he needed was for it to be found parked at the medical facility where Quinn was being treated.
He called Daeng, brought him up to speed, and agreed on a quiet place to meet not far from their hotel.
Nate reached the rendezvous point three minutes later, but Daeng wasn’t there yet.
“Come on, come on, come on.”
He looked back at Quinn. His mentor was still unconscious, the makeshift bandage soaked with blood. Nate reached back and grabbed Quinn’s wrist, checking the pulse. Weak, but steady.
Just then a Volkswagen Golf hatchback with Daeng behind the wheel screeched to a stop next to the taxi.
Working quickly, the two men transferred Quinn to the VW’s backseat.
“You want me to drive?” Daeng asked.
“I’ll drive,” Nate said.
Daeng got into the front passenger seat and twisted around so he could keep an eye on Quinn.
Nate took the quickest route to Dr. Pelligrini’s office. The narrow alley that ran behind it was easy enough to find, though the white door the doctor had mentioned was more a faded yellow.
Nate jumped out, knocked three times on the door as he’d been instructed. For several seconds nothing happened, so he repeated the sequence. This time, just as he finished the last knock, the door opened, and a short, thin, balding man with tired eyes looked out.
“Dr. Pelligrini?” Nate asked.
“Yes,” the man said. “You’re the one who called?”
Nate nodded, and led the doctor over to the car. Daeng had already opened the back door.
Dr. Pelligrini took one look at Quinn and said, “Quickly. Bring him inside.”
Draping Quinn’s arms around their shoulders, Nate and Daeng carried him inside to a small examining room near the back door.
“Are you here alone?” Nate asked. The office was quiet and he’d seen no one on the way in.
“My nurse.”
“Trustworthy?”
The doctor scoffed as he started peeling the bandage off Quinn’s neck. “Of course. She’s my wife.”
Once the cloth was removed, blood welled in the wound.
“How long ago did this happen?”
“Less than fifteen minutes.”
“Do you know his blood type?”
“A-positive,” Nate said.
“Are either of you A-positive?”
Nate and Daeng shook their heads.
“Don’t you have any here?” Nate asked.
“Yes, we have it, but I like to replace, you understand?”
“Mine might not be the same,” Daeng said, “but you’re welcome to some of my B.”
“I’m happy to donate, too,” Nate said.
The doctor looked over at them. “I need some space. There’s a room down the hall where you can wait, but find my wife first and send her in here.”
“I’d rather stay,” Nate said.
“No. Out of the question. I must operate, and cannot have you here. You think I’m going to hurt your friend?”
