Game Changer (20 page)

31

Quinn and Rachel retired into the basement of their borrowed
home once again, and Quinn recounted his conversation with Coffey, telling her
about the fly drone he had discovered. As long as the life of this innocent
woman was on the line, he wasn’t about to play games. She deserved to have all
information available, even if classified. Besides, with a mind like hers,
perhaps she could solve this puzzle where he couldn’t.

“So what now?” she asked when he had finished. “I’m guessing
you don’t think it’s safe just yet to go back to my life.”

“I wish I could tell you otherwise,” said Quinn. He was
about to continue when the cat issued a screech from upstairs like nothing
Quinn had ever heard. It was aggressive, and violent, and the most threatening
sound that could possibly come out of a domestic feline.

Quinn motioned for silence at the same time as his eyes
darted around the room. He had little doubt they had at least one visitor, and
probably two or more. And while the cat had warned Quinn, the intruders would
know that he was now on alert and act accordingly. Which meant whoever had
entered the house wouldn’t open the door to the basement and make themselves
sitting ducks.

Quinn had to act quickly. They had broken in soundlessly,
despite dead-bolted doors, so they were pros. If not for the cat’s warning he
and Rachel would have been easy prey. But the intruders couldn’t be sure their
targets were in the basement, and there would be too many windows for them to
be able to cover all possible exits.

Quinn looked up at the sole basement window, set into the
outside yard within a large steel window well with a gravel floor, and assessed
his chances. If this were
his
op, he
would plant a man with a gun pointing at the closed basement door and send
others on his team to clear the rest of the house, room by room.

He had to assume that any attempt to open the door to the
upstairs would be met with a barrage of gunfire. Climbing into the window well
and then the yard beyond, on the other hand, was at least a fifty-fifty
proposition, maybe better. But he wasn’t about to risk Rachel’s life on these
odds along with his own. He needed a place for her to hide, and there were
precious few options.

He lowered himself to the carpeting and lifted the heavy
fabric skirt at the bottom of one blue couch. There was about an eight-inch gap
between the bottom of the couch’s wood frame and the floor. Rachel Howard was
slim, but he wondered if she was slim
enough
.

“Hide under here,” he whispered, urgency in his voice.

“I’ll never fit,” she whispered back. “And it’s the first
place they’ll look.”

Hiding under a couch might seem obvious and cliché, but
Quinn had a feeling it would not be searched. Like a hidden compartment in a
magician’s box, it seemed too tight a space for a grown man to consider as a
possible hiding place. And once she was under, Quinn would re-straighten the
fabric skirt, which was so thick it almost appeared rigid and unmovable. This
was also their only option.

“You’ll fit,” he whispered, hoping this was true. “Trust me!
It’ll work,” he added with far more confidence than he felt. “Now!” he
insisted. “Hurry!”

Rachel flattened herself against the carpet and slid
underneath the couch. The wooden frame compressed her back like a girdle, but
she was just able to force herself under. Quinn hastily straightened the fabric
skirt, jumped to his feet, and repositioned one of the oak end tables. He stood
on top of it and slid open the window above him, popping out the screen. He
then pulled himself up and through as quietly as he could.

But he only made it halfway.
 

As he was pulling himself through he was hit with a blast of
electricity, the type he falsely remembered Davinroy having delivered. He fell
back to the carpeted basement floor like a brick, gouging his right leg on the
edge of the end table on his way down, drawing blood.

The man who had stunned him propelled himself through the open
window and onto the floor with the ease and grace of a gymnast. He stood over
the bleeding, still-paralyzed figure of Kevin Quinn with a smug expression on
his face.

“My partner’s clearing the house,” he said calmly. “But I
knew if you were in the basement you’d never come through the door. So I made
sure to cover your only other exit.” He shrugged. “It’s what I would have done
in your position.”

While Quinn was still incapacitated the man pulled him a few
feet to the white steel pole that ran floor to ceiling and linked his wrists
together around it with a plastic zip-tie.

He then contacted his sole partner, who was soon descending
the stairs to join him. Duke the cat cautiously and silently flowed down the
steps also, well behind the incoming killer, alert and ready for action. Quinn shot
an imperceptible nod at the small feline in appreciation for his warning, which
had at least given Quinn the chance to hide Rachel.

The newcomer had a prominent scar on the left side of his
neck. “Where’s the girl?” he demanded the moment he stepped off the stairs, and
Quinn found himself wishing whoever was responsible for the scar had managed to
finish the job.

“Not here,” said Quinn, having recovered from the effects of
the stun gun. “I stayed as bait. To draw out any hostiles.”

“Looks like you succeeded,” said Scar with a smile of
superiority. “A little
too
well. You
didn’t think these hostiles would end up on top, did you?”

He gestured to his partner, the gymnast. “Make sure she’s
not here.”

The man who had stunned Quinn walked around the room and
looked for a hidden door or possible hiding place, returning to his original
position moments later. He caught his partner’s eye. “How confident was our
employer that she was with him?”

“Very. But he wasn’t
certain
.
We’ll worry more about her in a second. First, I need you to search this guy carefully.
From what I was told, you’re looking for some miniaturized tech. It’s supposed
to look like a fly, although it’s damaged, so who knows. Our employer thinks he
might have it on him.”

The gymnast squinted at Quinn. “You want to make this easy,”
he said, “and just give it to me?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Tell your Russian
employer that he’s lost his mind.”

The man laughed. “For what he’s paying us, he can send us on
as many snipe hunts as he wants.”

He searched Quinn for a full five minutes—thoroughly—before
finally giving up.

“So I assume the Russian still wants me alive?” said Quinn
when the search was abandoned.

“Barely,” said Scar. “Having you alive is a nice-to-have,
but not a need-to-have. He told us to kill you if there was any chance you’d
get away. And to feel free to waste you the moment you became a burden. I’d remember
that if I were you.”

“How did you find me?” said Quinn, lowering himself to a seated
position on the carpet, his linked arms sliding down to the bottom of the pole
and his right leg still bleeding.

“Apparently the stealth phones used by my predecessors
weren’t as untraceable as they thought,” said Scar. He pointed a semi-automatic
pistol at Quinn’s chest. “Now tell me where the girl is!”

“I have no idea,” replied Quinn. “I warned her the Russian
was after her. After that I convinced her it would be best for us to split up.
I told her to go into hiding, but purposely made sure I didn’t know where she
was going.” He delivered a fake smile. “You can’t tell what you don’t know,
right?”

“I don’t believe you,” said Scar simply.

“I don’t give a shit what you believe.”

Scar shook his head, almost in pity. Without warning he kicked
Quinn viciously in the leg, in the center of his wound, which sent waves of
searing pain throughout his body. Quinn groaned in agony.

“Where is she!” demanded Scar.

“I don’t know!” spat Quinn through clenched teeth. “If I
knew, I’d tell you.”

Scar bent down and pressed the barrel of his gun into his
prisoner’s forehead. “Did I mention our employer said you were expendable? Last
chance to tell me the truth.”

Quinn closed his eyes. “Do what you have to do,” he said. “I
can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

The man paused for several agonizingly long seconds and
finally removed the barrel from Quinn’s forehead and backed away. “My partner
and I are going to go upstairs and have a talk,” he said, and then with a cruel
smile added, “wait here.”

They had just reached the stairs when Duke made his presence
known once again. He issued a tentative meow and began to push his way through the
fabric skirt at the bottom of one couch.

“What do you two
assholes
need to talk about?” barked Quinn suddenly, but his desperate attempt to create
a distraction was too late. Both men had already turned to observe Duke.

Shit!
mouthed
Quinn. He had been so close. Live by the cat, die by the cat.

Both men moved quickly. Scar pointed his weapon where the
cat had sought ingress under the sofa while his partner crouched down by its
edge and used his considerable strength to topple it over backwards.

Lying flat on her stomach, but no longer pinned to the
carpet, Rachel Howard was as exposed as a cockroach under a sudden spotlight.
She rolled onto her back and then to a seated position, taking exaggerated breaths
now that the weight had been lifted from her struggling lungs.

Scar followed her with his weapon.
 
“I’m really sorry about this,” he said with a
shrug, preparing to fire.

“Then don’t do it,” she pleaded, tears beginning to well up
in her eyes.

“Nothing personal,” he said, his expression not showing a
hint of pity or mercy. “But there’s a lot of money involved.”

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut and braced for oblivion.

Quinn had risen from the floor and was trying frantically to
defy physics and disengage himself from the steel pole, but his attempts were
useless. As Scar pointed his gun at Rachel’s forehead, Quinn closed his eyes as
well, unwilling to bear witness to the brutal murder of an innocent woman.

The near-deafening sound of two gunshots exploded into the
air and Quinn screamed out in anguish, knowing that all of his skills, all of
his experience, had failed to save the brilliant woman he had come to like and
respect so very much.

32

Even before Quinn’s scream ended he knew his assessment of
the situation was flawed. Two gunshots had been fired, yes, but Scar had not
been responsible. Instead they had originated from the window well, angling
down precisely through the still-open window and taking out both mercs, leaving
Quinn and Rachel unscathed.

The man responsible poured himself through the window and
jumped to the basement carpet, landing softly, while the cat bounded silently
up the stairs and through the open door, deciding he had seen more than enough
human aggression for one day.
 

Scar had fallen across Rachel and she was almost hysterical
as the man’s blood began soaking into her shirt. The newcomer removed the merc’s
body and knelt down beside her and repeated, “It’s okay,” over and over again
in his most soothing voice. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Hypnotically.

Quinn’s mouth fell open as recognition finally wormed its
way through a disbelieving skull. It was the Israeli. Eyal Regev.

Impossible. He was dead.

And if he wasn’t dead, as Quinn’s senses now seemed to
suggest was the case, what was he doing here? Eliminating competitors so he
could hog the reward?

“Eyal?” whispered Rachel, coming out of her shock, but
immediately tensing once again as she remembered the night before.

Regev looked relieved that she had found her bearings. “It’s
okay,” he repeated one last time. “You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you. I
promise.”

“How are you alive?”

Still lashed to a steel pole, Quinn had never felt so
helpless. The best he could do was remain quiet and see how the conversation
developed, which was maddening.

“I was wearing an advanced bulletproof . . . well, not vest,”
replied Regev. “Call it an undershirt. Much lighter and stronger than the
current gold standard.”

“But I saw the blood,” said Rachel.

“You were supposed to. They’re
engineered to produce a blood-like fluid when hit. Even with a vest, a bullet
will put you on your ass. While you’re down, the last thing you want is for the
shooter to realize you’re wearing body armor. His next shot will be between
your eyes.”

Regev stood and backed away, so
he now had both Quinn and the professor in his field of vision. “Special Agent
Quinn,” he said, studying him carefully for the first time. “Nice to see you
again. I have to say, I like you better strapped to a pole.”

“I like you better with a bullet
in your chest,” said Quinn. “On the other hand, given what just happened, I may
have to rethink that.” He nodded at the Israeli. “You look good for a dead man.
My compliments to your tailor.”

Regev laughed. “The tech truly
is amazing. They’re having to develop new physics to account for how well it’s
able to spread out and nullify the force of a bullet. And just so you know,
after a few patents, we are planning to share it.”

“We?” said Quinn intently. “Are
you going to tell us who you work for? Who you really are?”

“My name really is Eyal Regev,” replied
the Israeli. “And I suppose I don’t have much choice but to come clean at this
point.” He sighed. “I’m with Israeli Intelligence. The Mossad.”

“The Mossad?” repeated Rachel with
a look of confusion. “Why in the world would the
Mossad
want me dead?”

Eyal laughed. “Dead is the last thing we want you,” he said.

He reholstered his weapon and rubbed his chin in thought.
“We both were operating under some poor assumptions last night, I’m afraid. I
wasn’t trying to kill you. I was trying to save you from
him
,” he explained, nodding toward Quinn.

“
He
wasn’t trying
to kill me, either,” said Rachel.

Regev nodded in amusement. “Yeah, I get that now. I did say
we were
both
misguided. Good thing I
didn’t kill him last night when I had the chance.”

“When did you have the chance?” snapped Quinn, his pride
refusing to allow him to take the Israeli’s contention lying down.

“When you shot me. I had you in my sights first, but I
couldn’t risk hitting Rachel.”

Quinn thought back to the positioning of the relevant
parties the night before and realized this might be true. Either way, there was
no point in discussing it further. “Tell us about last night, then,” he said.
“How do you figure in?”

“We were running surveillance on the professor’s house and phone,”
began Regev, “and—”

“Shit!” interrupted Rachel in outrage. “My phone was bugged
too?”
 

“Not bugged,” said Regev. “Just tracked. But still, I am
truly sorry about the invasion of privacy,” he added, looking genuinely
contrite.

The Israeli faced the Secret Service agent once again. “When
her phone remained stationary at a church parking lot,” he said, “the AI we
have monitoring things alerted me. So I began paying close personal attention.
I was watching when you entered her house. When you immediately found and
disabled my bugs, I knew you were a player.”

“And not her favorite uncle coming for a visit?”

“Exactly. I ran you through Mossad’s facial recognition software,
which is top drawer.”

Quinn didn’t doubt this for a moment. The Mossad had
maintained an unsurpassed reputation for innovation for decades, and he
wouldn’t be surprised if their facial recognition systems were as good as their
bulletproof vests.

“Turns out I got a match to a special agent the Mossad had learned
through the grapevine had tried to assassinate Matthew Davinroy the night
before. A raving mad lunatic, foaming at the mouth about a pregnant wife he
didn’t have. I know you’ve been busy, but the story broke in the media this
morning.”

“Thanks,” said Quinn dryly. “I’ll be sure to check it out.”

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted with Rachel Howard, but I didn’t care. You’re
clearly dangerous and unstable. I wasn’t willing to take any chances. You
hadn’t killed her yet, but I wasn’t going to wait for that to change. The
Mossad is spread a little thin so I’m working with a gun for hire, in a house
that, not coincidentally, is less than five minutes from here. The moment I
learned who you were, Agent Quinn, I set an attack in motion.”

Regev paused and assessed the man before him. “I have to say you were
very impressive. I still can’t believe that we failed.”

“So your partner is alive also?”

Regev’s face fell. “No. These vests are in short supply, and
meant to be kept secret, so he didn’t have one. I’m afraid he really is dead. My
fall through the window knocked me out for a short while. When I came to you were
gone. I gathered up my fallen . . . employee, cleaned up a bit, and left.”

“I’m sorry about your man,” said Quinn. “But he
was
trying to kill me.”

Regev shrugged. “It’s unfortunate, but he did know the
risks.”

“How did you find us here?” said Rachel.

“I had no idea where you went after last night. But while I was
trying to pick up your trail I decided to set up video surveillance of the
outside of your house and vicinity. When I noticed your two visitors staking
out your neighbor’s house, I put two and two together and got here as soon as I
could.”

Quinn’s eye narrowed. “How long did you have them in your sights?”
he asked.

“Almost from the moment you were hit with the stun gun.”
 

“So what took you so long to act?” demanded Quinn.

“You obviously haven’t been paying attention,” said Regev. “
Rachel
is my priority. You aren’t. And
she wasn’t in play for some time. So I thought I’d listen for as long as I
could to gather intelligence. You know,” he added, gesturing toward himself, “
Mossad
agent.”

“Learn anything valuable?”

“Very. First, a clear confirmation that you weren’t trying
to kill her. The opposite, in fact. You were willing to die to protect her.
That’s why you’re still alive.”

“And second?” said Quinn.

Regev hesitated. “Maybe we’ll save that for later. Or maybe
not. Depending.”

“Depending on what?”

“Depending on how you factor into things, Special Agent
Quinn. Why don’t you tell me how you came to be interested in the professor.”

“You first,” said Quinn. “Why were you and the Mossad monitoring
her?”

“No,
you
first,”
said Regev firmly, making a show of raising his gun once again. “I insist.”

Quinn sighed. “You’re going to find what I tell you
impossible to believe.”

“Try me.”

“The media accounts of what happened are true,” said Quinn.
“I really did try to kill the president and I really did make the accusations you’ve
heard about. But I’ve since learned my memories of what happened, what set me
off, were false. Implanted. I came to realize my mind was tampered with.”

Quinn expected Regev to be rolling his eyes, but instead he
was nodding. “Yeah. We guessed as much.”

“What?” said Quinn, and Rachel looked just as shocked as he
did.

“I’ll tell you all about it. But please finish your story.”

Quinn wanted badly to press the Israeli, learn what he meant
by his last statement, but he knew this wouldn’t get him anywhere. Regev was in
control and would decide if, and when, he provided further information.

“Not much else to tell,” said Quinn. “I was abducted by two
mercenaries.”

“Were they working for the Russian I heard you talk about?”

“Yes. I got the drop on them and learned this Russian wanted
Rachel dead. When I realized she was an expert in memory, I thought I could
protect her and get some answers. Kill two birds with one stone. That’s it.” He
stared hard at the Israeli. “Now it’s your turn.”

“Not just yet,” said Regev. “Tell me about this fly drone
these men were looking for.”

“Fly drone? Is that a drone that flies?”

“Very clever. So you found one. A damaged one. What did you
do with it?”

“Scar spoke about tech that resembled a fly. He never said
anything about a drone. So why would you draw that conclusion?”

“Scar?” said Regev.

“The merc about to shoot Rachel,” explained Quinn. “That’s
how I thought of him.” He gestured with his head toward the man’s body on the
ground, and to the scar on his neck that was still visible. “So are you going
to answer my question? Where did you get the idea he was talking about a drone?”

“What else could it be?” replied Regev. “Every intelligence agent
in the world knows that a flawless fly drone is the holy grail.” He paused. “So
where did you hide it?”

“I didn’t hide it. I don’t even know what you’re talking
about. But even if I did, why would I tell you? You’re a foreign spy working on
American soil, illegally surveiling a prominent scientist. You haven’t said
word one about your reason for this, or your intentions. And while you saved
Rachel’s life, you’ve been pointing a gun at me and haven’t cut me loose from
this pole.”

Regev smiled broadly. “Well, you
are
the most wanted man in the country,” he pointed out in
amusement. “I’m pretty sure I could get arrested for letting you go.”

“I’m not laughing.”

Regev sighed. “Okay. You make some good points. I suppose I
could give you better reasons to trust me.” He removed a phone from his pocket.
“So let’s take a pause while I check in with headquarters. The decision to bring
you up to speed is above my pay grade.”

Seconds later Regev was speaking Hebrew into the phone at a
furious pace, rightly convinced that neither listener could decipher more than
one or two words, at best. Unsurprisingly, the call was audio only.

After ten minutes, Regev returned the phone to his pocket.

He faced Quinn and nodded. “Okay, Special Agent. I have a
green light to trust you with some sensitive information. This being the case,
it’s time to become civilized again. I’ll cut you loose and the three of us can
adjourn to a safer, more comfortable place.”

“Somewhere that isn’t knee-deep in dead bodies might be
nice,” said Rachel.

“Where do you have in mind?” said Quinn.

“I told you I bought a place five minutes from here. I’ve
introduced some security upgrades. Basically, I’ve turned it into a fortress. Trust
me, no one will find us there.”

“Good. I’ve got a rucksack with weapons and supplies I’ll
want to bring. Including the equipment that identified your bugs. But I assume
you’ll want to scan us and the bag for possible electronic surveillance anyway—just
in case.”

“
Baytach
,” said
Regev in Hebrew. “Of course,” he amended. The Israeli rolled his eyes. “But do
us all a favor, leave the phone you took from your mercenary friend here,
okay?”

“Yeah, thanks for the tip.”
 

“Don’t mention it,” replied Regev. Then, with a grin
spreading across his face, he added, “And let’s leave the cat behind as well. I
think he may be working for the other side.”