The Cleaner (43 page)

'I saw you die,' Quinn said.

'You saw what I wanted you to see,' Durrie said. 'I saw the bullets hit you.' 'You heard a gun fired into a stack of boxes.

What you
saw
was a couple of jerks from me, and the contents of a bag of blood. That's it. You never even checked my wounds. Ortega didn't give you enough time before he knocked you out.'

Ortega, the third member of their team. Of course he'd been in on it, too. 'But I did check your pulse. There was none.'

'Come on, Johnny. There are dozens of drugs that'll stop your heart. Me, I was more worried about getting it going again. Thankfully, Ortega was standing by with a shot of adrenaline.'

Quinn knew they'd been idle long enough without entering a destination that the elevator had probably reset itself, allowing it to go either up or down. He reached out quickly and pushed the button for the floor above them. The elevator began to lurch upward.

'Cute,' Durrie said. 'But it's not going to change anything.'

Garrett turned toward his father, burying his face against Durrie. Quinn thought he heard the boy sobbing, but it was faint.

'You said I betrayed you. Why would you think that?' Quinn asked, ignoring the comment.

'Don't fuck with me.'

'Don't accuse me of something I haven't done,' Quinn said. Then a thought hit him. 'It's Orlando, isn't it? You think something happened between us. Nothing has
ever
happened between us.'

Durrie snorted. 'I was blind to it at first, you know,' he said. 'For all I know, you two had been carrying on for years. Then Mexico City gave you away.'

'It was just a job,' Quinn said. 'Nothing happened. Orlando told you that. She wasn't lying, dammit.'

Durrie laughed. 'Oh, I pretended to believe her, but I'm not stupid, Johnny. You two alone, sharing a room, and nothing happened? Right. You don't get something like this from sleeping on the floor.'

The elevator car slowed to a stop and the doors opened.

'Wait,' Quinn said. 'You think Garrett's
my
son?'

'Of course he's your son. That's what you get when you fuck my girl.'

Quinn couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'Garrett is your son. I've never touched Orlando, not like you're saying.'

'Don't even try that bullshit. This isn't fucking high school, Johnny. And I'm not a stupid idiot.'

The doors to the elevator started to close again. Quinn reached out to keep them open, then flipped the stop switch on the panel as he stepped quickly into the open doorway. He faced Durrie.

'What's that going to buy you?' Durrie asked.

'A moment to talk.'

Garrett was crying openly now.

'Shut up,' Durrie snapped at the boy. Garrett only began crying louder. Durrie shot a look at Quinn. 'Tell your kid to knock it off.'

'Garrett,' Quinn said gently, 'everything's going to be all right. Okay?' The boy said nothing, but after a moment his cries diminished to a soft sob.

'Nothing
ever happened between Orlando and me. Nothing. I haven't even seen her for four years.'

'See what I mean about being a bad father?' Quinn's eyes narrowed. 'If I had a son, I would never do that to him.'

'You didn't have a choice. With me gone, you probably thought Orlando would be all yours. But you were wrong, weren't you? Once I was dead, she couldn't deal with being with you any longer. She probably took off without even telling you where she was going, didn't she?' Durrie laughed. 'You've got to know the way your woman thinks. I guess that's one more thing I'm still better at than you.'

Quinn stared at his mentor. He wanted to scream, 'You're wrong,' but he couldn't get his mouth to open.

'You want to know the truth, Johnny? I don't really give a damn what you did with her,' Durrie said. 'Hell, you did me a favor letting me see who she really is. I'll tell you what really pissed me off. It was you.' Durrie paused. 'I got you all set up. I gave you everything you needed. Training, experience, contacts. But that wasn't enough, was it? Couldn't just carve out your own niche. You wanted my piece of the action, too.'

'You don't know what you're talking about,' Quinn said. 'I never wanted anything more from you than what you were willing to give.'

'You talked about me behind my back. You got me blamed for insignificant things that could have happened to anyone. Eventually I wasn't getting the jobs I used to. The Office stopped calling. And where did all their work go to?'

This can't be happening,
Quinn thought. Durrie's delusion was so complicated, so complete, Quinn didn't know how to fight it.

'You,' Durrie went on. 'You got everything, just like you planned. But it wasn't enough for you, was it? If I was still around, there was always the chance I could be a problem.'

'No,' Quinn said.

'So you got the Office to help. Peter would have been only too glad to see me gone.' 'No,' Quinn said. 'None of that's true.' Durrie smiled. 'I know the gig in San Francisco

was a setup. You were going to get rid of me there, weren't you? But I surprised you. I died before you could even spring your idiotic trap.'

'You're twisting everything,' Quinn said. 'There was no plan. No one wanted to kill you. Peter didn't even want you on that job.'

'I never forgot. No way you can forget deceit like that. Sure, I had to lay low for a couple of years. Then I eased my way back in slowly, planning it out, waiting for the perfect opportunity. When it was time, I was ready.'

'Bioterrorism? Is that what you were waiting for?'

'Fuck. It could have been stealing a truckload of toilet paper, for all I cared. I just needed a few things to line up for me.'

'The Office. Me.' Quinn paused. 'Orlando.'

'The bitch was a problem. I spent my first two years after San Francisco alone, no contact with anyone in the business. I mean no one. I had to make sure everyone believed I'd been killed. By the time I resurfaced, she was gone. I almost sent some people to look for her right away, but I stopped myself. I had bigger plans. Couldn't chance accidentally tipping her off. So I had to wait and use less . . . overt methods. You can understand that, can't you?'

Another Durrie maxim: Never risk exposure unless there is no option.

'It took a while, but I did finally trace her as far as Ho Chi Minh City,' Durrie said.

'Tucker?' Quinn asked.

A laugh. 'Piper, actually,' Durrie said, a smug look on his face. 'He didn't know he was working for me. If he did, I'm sure he wouldn't have been so helpful. Sent Leo with him to be my eyes. But even then, they couldn't find her. Not without making a lot of noise. They could have flushed her out, sure. But that would have tipped her off, and she might have fled. I already knew a better way.' Quinn stared at his mentor, guessing what Durrie would say next, but not wanting to hear it. 'Even though you'd been keeping your distance,' Durrie continued, 'I had no doubt you knew where

to find her. I know the way you think, remember? You wouldn't have been able to handle not knowing where she was. I had no doubt that if I just put a little pressure on you, you'd run right to her.' Another pause. 'And you, Johnny, I knew exactly where you were. I've always kept tabs on you.'

Quinn could feel the anger building inside him, but he pushed it back. 'So you hired Gibson and made me a special request.'

Durrie smiled approvingly. 'His job was to motivate you to leave Los Angeles. Once you were in Vietnam, it was Leo's turn. And all he needed to do was follow you. Poor Piper still doesn't know we found her.'

The elevator buzzed at them, unhappy that its door had been open so long. Garrett was sobbing deeply, almost hyperventilating.

'Decision time,' Durrie said. 'Are you going to clean this up? Or does Garrett stay with me?'

Suddenly Quinn felt a presence just off to his left, outside the elevator. Without showing a sign of having detected anything, he placed his hand on the wall just outside the elevator, as if he needed the extra support.

'You let Garrett go now, right here, and I'll go down with you,' Quinn said as something metallic touched his left hand.

Durrie laughed again. 'I think we'll hold on to him just a little longer.' Quinn raised his fingers and let the metal slip underneath. 'That's the deal.' Durrie raised his gun, pointing it at Quinn's head. 'Get back in the elevator. That's the deal.'

Quinn paused for a moment, then stepped back into the elevator, shielding the hand that now held a gun from Durrie's sight. Garrett was still pressed against his father, his back to Quinn.

As Durrie leaned over to disengage the stop switch and push the lobby button, Quinn's empty hand shot out and grabbed Garrett's shoulder. The boy screamed as Quinn first pulled him away from Durrie, then shoved him through the open doorway and out of the elevator.

Durrie turned quickly, but Quinn was already launching himself at his old mentor. He knocked Durrie against the wall with a loud thud. Behind them the elevator doors closed, and the car began its downward plunge.

Durrie raised his knee, using it to push Quinn off, then grabbed for his gun. But Quinn already had his gun pointed at Durrie.

'Don't,' Quinn said.

But Durrie raised his pistol. Quinn kicked out, hitting the barrel of the gun just as Durrie pulled the trigger. The bullet flew harmlessly above Quinn's head, piercing the wall of the elevator.

'I don't want to shoot you!' Quinn said.

Durrie got another shot off, but again Quinn was able to alter the trajectory enough to keep it from hitting him.

'Dammit, Durrie. Stop!'

Again, his mentor aimed the gun at him. Quinn was out of position this time. He wouldn't be able to reach Durrie's gun in time.

He had no choice.

He pulled the trigger on his own pistol, screaming out in frustration. Unlike Durrie's, the cop gun Quinn carried had no suppressor. The roar filled the elevator, deafening him momentarily.

There was no need for him to fire a second shot.

Chapter 43

Getting out of the hotel had been a simple matter of keeping his head down and heading straight for the exit the second the elevator doors had opened on the ground floor. A few hotel employees were looking toward the elevators, no doubt wondering what the odd noises had been. But Durrie's dead body was not directly visible beyond the small elevator lobby. Quinn had even heard the doors close behind him as he walked away, further covering his escape.

He waited across the street in the Gendarmenmarkt, keeping watch on the hotel. From where he was standing, he was able to see both the main front entrance and the service door. A few minutes later, Orlando and Garrett exited through the side door.

They stopped in on Dr. Garber unannounced. He didn't look pleased, but he showed them to one of the examining rooms. He dressed Quinn's wounds, then gave him some medicine to fight any potential infection. Once he was done with Quinn, he gave Garrett a thorough checkup, pronouncing him fit and healthy.

At Quinn's request, Dr. Garber left them alone in the room when he was finished. Orlando held Garrett in her lap. He still seemed a little tentative with her, but he was warming up. Durrie hadn't been with him long enough to do any permanent damage.

At least that's what Quinn told himself.

'Thanks for the gun,' Quinn said.

It seemed to take her a moment to realize what he was talking about. 'Sure,' she said. 'I didn't know what else to do.' She looked at him. 'I didn't thank you for saving him, did I?'

'Don't,' Quinn said. 'He wouldn't have needed saving if it wasn't for me.' She shook her head and put a hand on his arm. 'Thanks.' He liked the feel of her touch, but too soon she moved her hand away.

'Can I borrow your phone?' he said.

He called the Mole. 'It's done,' Quinn said.

'Good . . . or bad?' the Mole asked.

'Good.'

'And the boy?'

'Safe.'

'Then I don't. . . need to . . . make any calls.'

'No. But I would like you to send the sample and your results to Peter.' 'Of course.' Quinn's next call was to the Office. Once Peter

was on the line, he filled him in on the basics, then said, 'I'm going to send you a video file. Jansen made it. You'll also be receiving a separate sample you can use to cross-check everything. Those things and the remaining tainted mints Nate delivered to the embassy should go a long way to making some people realize they had a bit of an assessment breakdown.'

'I'd say that's a pretty fair guess,' Peter said. 'Jansen says that HFA backed the operation.

Someone needs to deal with them.' 'I'll pass it along.' Quinn paused. 'I need you to get Nate out.' 'I thought you didn't need me for anything

anymore.' 'I'm too tired to argue, Peter. Just get him out,

okay?' 'I'll see what I can do.' 'And Kenneth Murray?' 'He's being reassigned. A promotion, actually.

The embassy in Singapore. There's a lot of traffic

that goes through there. He'll have plenty to do.' 'Thank you,' Quinn said. 'Burroughs isn't happy, though.' 'I'm sure you'll throw him a bone.'

There was a report on the television the next morning. A terrorist plot to strike somewhere in Berlin had been thwarted. The nature of the threat was not revealed. The least surprising part of the story to Quinn was who was taking credit.

'NATO is pleased that our efforts have led to the dismantling of this attempted act of terrorism,' Mark Burroughs said. He was standing in front of a podium overflowing with microphones. Quinn couldn't see the spook's feet, but he imagined one was wrapped in a cast. 'I will be flying to Washington later today to personally brief the President.'

Quinn, Orlando, and Garrett had spent the night in a small hotel owned by a friend of Dr. Garber's. It had been a restless night for Quinn. His mind still seemed to be on overdrive, reliving the events of the previous day. Sometimes the results changed, showing him how close he had come to losing everything.

At breakfast, Quinn and Orlando said very little. In fact, they had said very little to each other since they had left Dr. Garber's. As they were finishing, Orlando's phone began to ring. She answered it, then held it out to Quinn.