The Cleaner (18 page)

'We're on the five p.m. to Berlin,' Quinn said. 'Lufthansa.'

As they moved on, Quinn sensed the mood of his apprentice changing, becoming tenser. Until now, they had been playing a game of hide-andseek. But Berlin was a real job, real work, and, undoubtedly, real danger. And the memory of Gibson couldn't be far from Nate's mind.

'Pop quiz,' Quinn said.

'I'm sorry?'

'In
The Odessa File,
tell me what Jon Voigt's character did right at the printer's shop.' 'Um . . .' Nate blinked. 'He took the gun.' 'Right. And what did he do wrong after breaking into Roschmann's mansion?'

'Easy. He didn't shut the door behind him. But he did get away with it.' 'True. But if you're in the same position?' 'I close the door. Every time.' 'Good,' Quinn said. 'Nothing to worry about,

then.'

In Europe, unlike Vietnam where even in January it seemed like summer, winter had taken a firm hold. The temperature upon their arrival in Berlin was hovering just below zero degrees centigrade, immediately bringing back memories of Colorado to Quinn.

Tegel Airport was not a large facility by international standards, but it was light-years beyond Tan Son Nhat International Airport in Ho Chi Minh City. Tegel had the amenities most international travelers expected: restaurants, bars, bookstores, souvenir shops, information booths. The terminal at Tan Son Nhat had been nothing more than a distribution warehouse that moved people from street to plane or plane to street.

Quinn paused as he disembarked the flight, letting his mind shift gears. He was in Germany now, a country he was familiar with. The Germans spoke a language that he spoke as well as a native. It was almost like being home again. That is, if you liked living in a place where you had to be constantly on guard. Dozens of organizations had field offices in Berlin, so you never knew who might be in town. And while he had initially thought Vietnam would have been the safest place on the planet for him and Nate – a reality that was shattered by Tucker and Piper – he knew Germany was quite likely the most dangerous.

His guard up, Quinn led his apprentice from the gate through the terminal to the main exit. He'd been to Berlin more times than he could count, and he'd used Tegel Airport on many of those occasions. So when they stepped outside into the cloudy, cold night, he instantly knew to turn left and walk toward the end of the building. There they found

a row of waiting beige taxis. Like most German cabs, they were all Mercedes.
'Guten Tag,'
the driver said as his new passengers climbed in. Quinn nodded.
'Guten Tag.'

The taxi took them across town to the Four Seasons Hotel on Charlottenstrasse, kitty-corner to the Gendarmenmarkt and across a side street from the Dorint Hotel. The Dorint was the hotel in which Duke had arranged for Quinn to stay, but Quinn wasn't expected until Sunday. He'd purposely arrived early so that he could get a feel for what might be going on without any interference or bias from Duke. By the time they'd checked in and been shown to their suite, it was just after 8:00 p.m. on Friday night.

Their accommodations had two bedrooms. Quinn took the one on the left, set his bag on the bed, then headed into the bathroom and took a steaming hot shower.

When he reentered the living room thirty minutes later, he found himself alone.

'Nate?' he called.

There was no answer.

He walked over to the other bedroom. The door was partially open. Looking inside, he found Nate sprawled across the bed, jacket off, but otherwise still fully dressed. His breathing was slow and deep, rhythmic. Quinn closed the door and returned to the living room. It was late enough. Barely. No sense in waking him up.

After ordering dinner from room service, Quinn retrieved his computer and set it up on the desk.

It didn't take long before he was online. As he hoped, there was a message from Orlando, sent several hours earlier:

Flt. confirmed. We're on for dinner.

Good news. I've heard from more than one source you're no longer hot property. Should be safe for you to walk the streets again. But I'd be careful. Everyone might not have gotten the update yet. Now Borko. Dropped out of sight. No one I've talked to has had contact with his organization for six weeks +. Makes me think he's involved. More but I'll tell you when I get there.

As for the slide, my friend says it's a mess. Could take days, or more. Looks to be a tissue sample. Says almost zero chance of any exposure.

BTW, things at the Office still shit.

Arriving early p.m. in Berlin. Will see you at nine. I hope

you got me a room. I'm not sleeping on your floor. 0.

If anyone was going to sleep on the floor, it would be Nate. But there'd be plenty of room for both once Quinn moved over to the Dorint. The Four Seasons suite would be a perfect base for Orlando to set up her gear.

Quinn logged off his e-mail more relieved than he expected by the news about the slide.

As exhausted as he was from the travel, he still had a little while before he would allow himself to go to sleep, so he opened his web browser and brought up a search engine. He typed in 'Robert Taggert' and was rewarded with nearly ten pages of hits. Apparently it was a common name. He found one mention of a Robert Taggert from the eighteenth century. There was also one who served in the Army of the Republic during the American Civil War. Quinn quickly discarded any links to Taggerts who were either dead or too young to be the man who'd been consumed by the fire in Colorado. This narrowed his list considerably.

Quinn's Taggert had probably been in his fifties. This impression was backed up by the photocopy of the driver's license Ann Henderson had given him. To be safe, Quinn decided to give himself a ten-year window, considered for a second, then adjusted it to a range of men between forty-eight and sixty-five years old. The list condensed again, leaving only twenty-five relevant links.

Seven referred to the same Robert Taggert, a business administration professor at Clemson University. Two more led Quinn to an East Lansing, Michigan, man who was protesting the local development of a shopping mall. Twelve links were to different locations of a chain of auto service establishments in Kentucky owned by a Robert Taggert. And the final four were articles, each of which mentioned a different Robert Taggert.

A knock on the door interrupted Quinn. Room service had arrived with his dinner. As the server set the tray on the table next to his computer, Quinn pulled out five euros from his pocket. He tipped the man, who smiled politely, then left.

Quinn sat back down at the table and took a bite of his steak before returning his attention to his computer. With a little more searching, he was able to find pictures of five of the matches: the professor, the Michigan protester, the auto service king, and two others. None even came close to matching the picture Quinn had. There were no pictures available of the other two, but after reading the articles, he doubted either was the man he was looking for.

It was what he'd expected when he'd begun: no records of
his
Taggert. That left two possibilities. The first was that Taggert had never done anything to get his name on the Internet. Quinn found that highly unlikely. The second, however, that Robert Taggert wasn't the real name of the guy who had died in Colorado, made more sense.

Removing the Taggert name as a variable, Quinn spent the next hour searching for any missing persons who matched Taggert's description and fit the time frame. There were a few, and he made a note of each. He'd give the info to Orlando after she arrived and let her take a crack at it.

After another forty-five minutes of surfing the net, Quinn disconnected the link and put his computer into sleep mode. He got up and stretched. His body, screwed up by all his recent travel, didn't know which end was up. Most of his dinner remained untouched. He was tempted to just crawl into bed and go to sleep, but instead he plopped down on the couch and grabbed his phone.

'Where are you?' Peter asked as soon as he came on the line.

'En route,' Quinn said into his cell phone.

'You're not in Berlin yet?'

'Duke said he didn't need me until Sunday.'

'Really?' Peter said. 'I guess that makes sense.'

'Why?'

'Duke got word to me that there's some sort of meeting going down next week. He has evidence it might have something to do with our . . . situation. He's trying to get a fix on its location. Once he does, you'll go in, bug it, then see if he's right.'

'Do you know who's involved?' Quinn asked.

'Still no word.'

Quinn considered sharing the name Piper had told him, but decided not to. Best to be sure before throwing gas on a fire. 'I heard the contract on me has been canceled.'

'I heard that, too,' Peter said. 'Lucky you.'

'I take it things aren't going well there?'

Silence on the other end.

'Who'd they get?' Quinn asked.

'Pretty much the whole first string. Every ops team has had damage. '

'How many dead?'

'Seven for sure. Three more we can't get ahold of. Another three in the hospital. And a fourth at home nursing a concussion. ' 'What about there in the District?' Quinn asked.

'Things have been quiet for days now, ' Peter told him. 'But I'm not doing a lot of walking around in the open. '

'How many other operations have you been able to get going?'

'You're kidding, right?' Peter asked. 'The only thing I have even partially going is the thing with you and Duke; otherwise I've got no one available to me. My ability to mount even a simple field operation is gone. They didn't need to get any of us here in D. C. They've already put us out of business. For the short run, anyway. '

'Only staff members, ' Quinn said, more to himself than to Peter.

'You were probably thrown into this by mistake, ' Peter said. 'It doesn't matter. You're not marked anymore.'

Neither of them spoke for a moment, then Peter said, 'Call me when you get there. '

Quinn spent most of Saturday familiarizing Nate with Berlin. The city had an excellent public transportation network, the jewels of which were the U-bahn and S-bahn train systems. In effect, the U-bahn was the subway, while the S-bahn was an aboveground service. Of course, there were times when the U-bahn traveled aboveground and the S-bahn below. Aparently even the great German planners weren't always perfect.

They rode the trains for hours, getting off on occasion to check out some of Quinn's old hangouts. They never went inside anywhere Quinn thought he might be recognized, but it was good to see that most of his former 'safe' locations were still intact. He almost passed checking on Der Goldene Krug, but in the end they made the stop, albeit only looking at it from across the street. Quinn was tempted more than he had been at any other location to go in for a drink. But in the end, he led Nate back to the U-bahn station.

Temptation was one thing, but stupidity was something else entirely.

'Please tell me you're kidding, ' Nate said.

'I told you to dress warm, ' Quinn told him.

'I did. '

They were standing in a darkened alcove that served as an entrance to an old stone office building. It was about half a block away and across the street from Amirit, where Quinn was to meet with Orlando. The air was particularly cold that evening. The forecast had called for temperatures dipping as low as minus five degrees centigrade. Nate was wearing a long London Fog jacket over a bulky sweater. On his head was a dark stocking cap. He held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, while the other was jammed into a jacket pocket. 'We shouldn't be more than an hour and a half, '

Quinn said. 'If you see anything suspicious, I mean anything, you text me 911 immediately. ' Nate pulled his hand out of his pocket. He was holding a cell phone. 'I just have to hit Send. '

'All right then. ' Quinn started to turn away, then looked back. 'Stomp around every once in a while. Quietly. It'll slow down the frostbite. '

When Quinn entered Amirit, he found Orlando already waiting for him at a table across the room against the wall. She had chosen the chair that allowed her a direct view of the front door. Quinn walked over and sat in the empty seat across from her. Almost immediately, the waiter approached. Quinn ordered a
Hefeweizen
while Orlando said she wasn't sure yet. Nearly as quickly, the man was gone.

'Pleasant trip?' Quinn asked.

'As far as I know, ' she said. 'I slept the whole way. '

'Where's your stuff?'

Quinn heard a dull thud from under the table. Glancing down, he saw a brown duffel bag between Orlando's feet.

'I'm traveling light, ' she said.

'Anybody follow you?'

She stared at him. 'Yeah, ' she said. 'He's sitting at the table behind you. Would you like me to introduce you?'

Quinn smiled. 'A simple no would have been fine. '

'Do you really think I'd be here if someone had tailed me?'

'So you did check, then, ' he said.

'You can be really annoying sometimes, you know that?' she said. 'Where's Nate?'

'Keeping watch. '

'You left him outside?'

Quinn shrugged. 'It's good for him. '

The waiter returned with Quinn's beer before either of them could say anything else. 'Would you like to order now?' he asked. Orlando chose the lamb curry and a glass of

cabernet sauvignon. Quinn ordered the chicken Madras and some garlic naan. By unspoken agreement, they engaged in small talk until the food arrived.

Their meals were served in copper-colored bowls, the aroma of curry, lamb, and garlic preceding the delivery by several seconds. Once the food was on the table, Quinn pushed the one containing the chicken Madras toward Orlando.

'Try it, ' he said.

She took a spoonful and put it over some of the rice on her plate, then took a bite. The look of satisfaction on her face said it all. They ate in silence for several minutes.

'Anything new I need to know about?' Orlando finally asked.

'Not from Duke, ' Quinn said. He took a sip of beer. 'But I did talk to Peter last night. Apparently Duke's onto some sort of meeting. Peter wants us to bug it and check it out. '