The Cleaner (35 page)

'Tomorrow,' the Mole said.

The world that had disappeared a moment ago came rushing back at Quinn. He suddenly felt like he was being watched, that at any second the knowledge he now possessed would get him killed.

'It is . . . worse than you . . . think.'

'What do you mean?'

'Watch . . . the video.'

The idea of creating a disease to kill a specific section of the population made Quinn want to vomit on the spot. It was extremism in the severest of forms. If they were successful, the act would rival what Adolf Hitler had done to the Jews during World War II.

The choice of disease was revealing, too. Polio. Millions would die. And many of those who didn't perish early on would be crippled and eventually have the life squeezed painfully out of them. Gruesome, hideous, atrocious, immoral. No word Quinn could think of seemed strong enough.

The Mole's revelation did clear up one thing, though. Campobello. Quinn should have seen it earlier. Taggert, or rather Jansen, had been trying to deliver the message even after he died. It was right there on his driver's license. Not Campobello, Nevada. Campobello Island. The one off the coast of Maine, where FDR had had a summer home. The same famous home he'd been in when he learned of his own polio diagnosis.

There was a small shopping mall on Karl Marx Strasse, near the north end of Neukölln. Quinn found an American-style burger place on the second floor with a couple of public Internet stations set up in the lobby.

The first thing he did was use the password the Mole had given him to download the video and save it to his memory stick. He resisted the temptation to watch it right away. There were too many people around.

Next, he pulled up a new window. He had a hunch, and he needed to see if he was right.

Within seconds he was on the website for Grob Communications. A link on the left side of the screen led him to a list of upcoming events being serviced to some extent or another by Duke's company. Most of the list comprised names of German organizations holding meetings and conferences. But two others stood out:

International Organization of Medical Professionals

And several items below it:

European Union Friendship Conference for the Balkan States

Quinn clicked on the conference. There were lists of which countries had accepted the invitation to attend and who they were sending as representatives. Grob Communications was organizing several events, including the opening luncheon at the St Martin Hotel the following day – only hours after Borko's deadline for shipment.

All the member nations of the EU would be represented, as well as Russia, Ukraine, and Switzerland. But the stars of the show were Croatia, Slovenia, Macedonia, Serbia, Montenegro, and Bosnia-Herzegovina. Each nation was sending dozens of attendees. By the looks of the list, most were civilians, people in positions of influence. The government officials on the list seemed to be mid-level office holders, probably the people who really got the work done. Quinn noted that the largest delegation by far was from Bosnia.

He sat back, letting it all sink in. After a few moments, he clicked off the Grob Communications website. He sent a final e-mail to the Mole, then went back outside and called Peter.

'Christ, Quinn. What the hell is going on?'

'Have you figured out who your double agent is yet?' Quinn asked.

'I told you. There is no double agent.'

After what Quinn had learned in Brussels, he'd begun to suspect that himself, but he wanted to hear the whole story from Peter. 'Then who fed Borko the info he needed to take you down?'

There was a pause, then Peter said, 'I know you've talked to Burroughs. So you know Jills was working for us.'

'Yeah,' Quinn said. 'Why didn't you just tell me that in the first place?' 'I had clients. Certain trusts that couldn't be broken.'

'Yet you rolled over on Burroughs.'

'I gave you the name of someone you could talk to,' Peter said. 'That's all.'

Quinn shook his head. In Peter's world, he had just been trying to save face. Even in desperation, he'd been unwilling to compromise his integrity. Not because of any moral code, but because doing so might jeopardize future work.

'What about Jills?'

'She wasn't just a one-time hire. She'd started working for me full-time six months ago. Not ops work. She was here with me, working on project planning. I put her on the Taggert job because I trusted her and needed it done right.'

'And you didn't want to waste one of your top guys on such an easy gig,' Quinn guessed.

No answer at first, then, 'That, too.'

'So she knew everything,' Quinn said, connecting the pieces. 'And before they killed her, they made her talk.'

Neither of them spoke for several seconds.

Quinn finally broke the silence. 'Listen to me. You need to do exactly what I say. If you don't hear from me in the next twenty-four hours, shut it all down. Airports, harbors, border crossings. Everything.'

'Why?'

Quinn hung up the phone without another word.

The cab dropped Quinn off a block from Sophie's place. He hadn't intended to come back so soon, but when he called after he'd finished with Peter, Sophie told him Nate had woken up for a while that morning. Quinn couldn't pass up an opportunity to talk to his apprentice and see if he might be able to tell him something that could help.

First, though, he had called Orlando and told her what he'd learned from the Mole. He wanted to leave out the part about Garrett's abduction, but he knew that wasn't an option. Her reaction was several moments of silence followed by a terse 'What are we going to do about it?'

Quinn described the plan that he'd worked up. She hadn't liked it, but she couldn't suggest anything better. They went over a list of things they could need. Though some of the items were unusual, Orlando was confident she could find everything.

As Quinn walked toward Sophie's place, he saw Dr. Garber come out the front door. Quinn jogged to catch up to him. The doctor glanced nervously over his shoulder as Quinn approached. But when he saw that it was Quinn, he slowed his pace.

'Herr Quinn,' the doctor greeted him.

'How is he?'

'As good as possible, after one night. He'll be good as okay soon enough. Until then, he should take it very easy.'

'Thanks,' Quinn said. 'I appreciate everything you've done.'

Quinn was about to turn around and go back to Sophie's place, but something in the doctor's manner made him hesitate.

'I won't be coming back,' the doctor said.

'What? Why?'

'This is too dangerous, even for me. Everyone is looking for you. This morning I had a visitor. Someone I've never met before. But he seemed to know that you and I have worked together in the past. I told him I hadn't heard from you in two years. I'm not sure he was convinced. But he did say if I saw you, I should call him.'

'He gave you a number?'

The doctor reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. On the back someone had handwritten a telephone number. On the front, professionally printed in black ink, was the name Dahl.

'Here,' he said, handing the card to Quinn. 'This way I won't be tempted.'

Nate's eyes were closed when Quinn entered the guest room. Sophie had barely said a word to him when she had let him in. Now she was busying herself in the kitchen.

The wooden chair was still beside the bed where Quinn had left it. As he sat down, he said, 'Nate?'

Nate's eyelids fluttered, then parted slightly.

'It's Quinn.'

'Quinn?' Nate's voice was a hoarse whisper. 'Where the hell have you been? He smiled. 'You want something to drink?' 'Water.' There was a glass of it on the nightstand. Quinn

picked it up and held it to Nate's lips. At first Nate only took a sip. But as Quinn started to move the glass away, Nate said he wanted more. By the time he leaned back against the pillow, the glass was nearly empty.

'How're you feeling?' Quinn asked. 'Like someone threw me under a train,' he answered. 'How do I look?'

'I think that's probably a fair assessment.'

'Great,' Nate said, his voice flat. He paused. 'Thanks for coming back for me.' 'I had some time on my hands.' Nate started to laugh, but ended up wincing in pain.

'You all right?' Quinn asked.

'Sure,' Nate said. 'Never better.'

Quinn said, 'Do you remember much?'

'More than I wish I did.'

Nate told Quinn he had never seen who had taken him out that night at the water plant. He had been standing in position, watching the street for over an hour, then something painful slammed into his right thigh. Needle-like, he said. The next thing he knew, he woke up in the hotel room.

'Sometimes they'd beat me up right there,' Nate said. 'Sometimes they'd take me down the hall to another room. All the furniture had been cleared out. There was a rope hanging down from the ceiling. They'd string me up by my wrists. Ask me questions. Throw a few punches.'

'What did they ask?'

'Questions about you. About Orlando. What you were doing. Where you might hide out. How we were supposed to communicate with each other if the op was blown.'

'You didn't tell them that,' Quinn said.

Nate smiled. 'I told them. I just told them the wrong place.'

Quinn couldn't help but be impressed. This wasn't the Nate he'd come to expect. This Nate was resilient, strong-willed.

'I think when they realized I was new, and they wouldn't get much more out of me, they stopped.'

'You did great, Nate,' Quinn said. 'You kept them away from us. I couldn't have asked for more than that.'

Quinn's phone rang. 'You need some more water?' he asked Nate.

'I'm okay.'

Quinn stood and answered his phone. 'Yes?'

'There's an. . . office building in Charlottenburg. . . on Kaiserdamm,' the Mole said, in response to Quinn's last e-mail. He gave Quinn an address. 'I am told . . . they will . . . be assembling welcome . . . packets there for each . . . of the . . . attendees . . . once they are prepared. . . they . . . will be taken to the . . . luncheon and placed on the tables . . .candied mints . . . are one of . . . the favors to be . . . included.'

'You're confident about this information?' Quinn asked.

'Very,' the Mole said.

Quinn hung up. When he turned back to the bed, Nate was actually sitting up. 'Do you remember any of the people you saw?' Quinn asked him.

'There were mainly two guys.' After Nate described them, Quinn was fairly confident it was the two guards he'd locked in the closet.

'What about Borko?'

'Yes,' Nate said. 'I met him one time.' There was a pause. 'He's not a nice guy.' 'What happened?' Nate pointed toward his left shoulder, the one

that had been dislocated.

'Borko did that?' 'Yeah, but not before I kicked him in the balls.' 'That might have been why he did that,' Quinn

suggested. 'Yeah,' Nate said. 'I thought about that later.' 'Did you meet anyone named Dahl?' Nate hesitated. 'I might have.' 'What do you mean?' 'I was pretty out of it most of the time. A lot of

people seemed to come and go.' 'Can you describe any of them?' Nate thought for a moment. 'There was this one

guy, a little older. The others seemed to defer to him.' Nate closed his eyes. 'Sorry, that's not very helpful, is it?'

'It's fine,' Quinn said. 'You did good.'

Chapter 35

Quinn went out to the kitchen. He had hoped to get more out of Nate. Maybe after his apprentice had a little more rest, he'd remember something else. The older guy, though, that could have been Tucker. Or Piper. If it was, it meant the man everyone was calling Dahl was in town. Which could also mean that Garrett was here, too.

'Who are you?' It was Sophie. She had entered the kitchen quietly behind him.

He turned. 'What?'

'You heard me. Who are you?'

'The same person I've been since the day we met.' 'No,' she said. 'The person I met was nothing like you. It was all a lie, wasn't it?'

'Sophie, please.'

'All a lie.'

He looked at her for a moment. 'You would have never believed the truth.'

She scoffed, then sat down at the kitchen table, her back to him. Quinn knew there was more he should say but he just wasn't up to it. There were too many other things he had to focus on. Without another word, he turned and walked back to the bedroom.

'Thanks,' Nate said as Quinn handed him the glass. 'How are we going to –'

Nate's question was cut short by the sound of a muffled buzzer. It was the doorbell. Quinn rushed over to the bedroom door and opened it. Sophie was only a step away from the front door. She stopped before she opened it, turning to Quinn.

'The police are here,' she said, her face hard. 'They called me this morning and asked me to call them if I saw you.'

She pulled the door open and started to step onto the landing at the top of the stairs.

'Sophie. No!' Quinn shouted.

He was too late. Gunfire reverberated up the stairway. Sophie stumbled back against the doorway, several patches of blood growing on her blouse. She looked at Quinn as if she wanted to say something. Then her eyes became unfocused and she collapsed to the floor.

Quinn pulled out his gun and sprinted across the room, stopping just short of the landing where Sophie lay, eyes closed. There was nothing he could do. She was dead.

He pressed himself against the wall beside the door and listened for anyone coming up the stairs. At first there was nothing, then he heard footsteps near the bottom landing. Two seconds later, something heavy struck one of the steps near the top.

Quinn dove behind the couch, landing prone on the floor just as an explosion rocked the building.

As the roar of the blast diminished, Quinn pushed himself to his feet. He rushed back into the guest room. Nate was lifting himself off the bed, his movements slow but determined.

'What the hell was that?' Nate asked.

'Hand grenade,' Quinn said. 'It'll be easier if I carry you.' 'Are you sure you can?' 'I did it last night.' 'Okay,' Nate said. 'Can you hold a gun?' 'I think so.' Quinn gave Nate his SIG, then he picked him