The Enraged (A Jonathan Quinn Novel) (28 page)

T
HE SECOND QUINN
hung up, he glanced over at the laptop Nate was holding. Looking back at him from a video chat window was Orlando. He could see his sister, too, hovering at the edge of the picture.

“So?” he said above the drone of the jet flying him and the other men north to Virginia.

“Give me a second,” Orlando said.

He hated how weak her voice still sounded, but she did seem to have more energy than before, and as hesitant as he was to admit it, she did look better.

She typed something on her computer, then smiled. “I made four numbers available. They’ve gotten two so far.” She looked into the camera. “
I
would have gotten all four by now, by the way, but they’ll tease them out soon enough.”

“And you’re sure they won’t get the rest yet?”

Her smile turned flat. “I’ll pretend you didn’t ask me that.”

“I was just checking,” he said.

He saw her reach toward the camera a split second before the video call cut out.

__________

G
RIFFIN’S CELL PHONE
rang as he was climbing into the back of Morten’s car for the drive out to the airport.

“Finally,” he said under his breath when he saw it was Dima. He looked to make sure the divider separating him and the driver was all the way up before answering. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I…I’m sorry,” Dima said, sounding justifiably nervous. “There have been several meetings. I couldn’t get out of them.”

“Meetings? You missed my call for
meetings
?”

“Director Stone was relieved of duty today, but we only found out a few hours ago. Director Cho’s been holding video conferences with everyone, going over, um, status of jobs, uh, what our responsibilities are. I, I think there’s going to be a shake-up.”

Stone was gone? That wasn’t good. The guy was a jackass who didn’t know what he was doing, but that’s what made him useful to Griffin and Morten. He was an easy way into the intelligence community, kind of like a back door a coder might put into a piece of software. They could get things through him without anyone knowing what they were really doing—including Stone. The intelligence they’d been able to acquire had been incredibly useful to their work. But that was more a long-term problem that could be figured out later. Right now, Griffin needed to stay on point.

“If something like that ever happens again, I expect you to contact me either through e-mail or text, at the very least. It’s for your own benefit. I wouldn’t want to think that you were purposely ignoring me, and have to release the information I’ve been holding on to for you.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you. I swear.”

That’s what Griffin liked to hear. Desperation. “I understand that, Michael. Just wanted to make sure we were clear.”

“We’re clear.”

“Good. Then we’ll put that behind us. Now, can I assume you’ve made progress identifying what vehicle our friends left the cabin in?”

“Yes,” Dima said quickly. “Yes, I have.”

“Well, this is good news. Tell me.”

“You were right. The owner of the cabin has a car he keeps there. A Jeep Wrangler. It’s ten years old. Dark blue with a black hardtop. Did you see it there?”

“No. Is there a chance the owner had taken it somewhere else?”

“I checked myself, claimed to be with his insurance company. The…the owner said it was still at the cabin.”

“Excellent work. You know what I’m going to ask you to do next, don’t you?”

“See if I can find out where it went?”

“Very good.”

__________

I
MMIGRATIONS AND CUSTOMS
was always Morten’s least favorite part of a trip. Thankfully, his plane arrived at Dulles right before three other international flights landed, putting him and his fellow passengers at the head of the line.

Passport stamped and bag collected, he headed outside to where his car was waiting for him at the curb. While the driver put his luggage in the trunk, Morten climbed into the back.

“Good evening, sir,” Griffin said. “I hope you had a good flight.”

“It was fine, thank you.”

“I’m happy to hear that.”

The trunk slammed shut, the driver slipped into his seat, and within seconds, they were driving away.

“So, are we buttoned up yet?”

“Not quite,” Griffin said. “But I anticipate it won’t be long now.”

Morten scowled. This was not the news he wanted to hear. “Explain.”

Griffin told him what had happened that day, ending with the revelation that apparently this Steve Howard character knew about Miranda Keyes, and their connection to Peter’s death.

Morten’s mood darkened. That son of a bitch Peter. Why couldn’t he have left his wife buried?

“Tell me how you’re planning on solving this…problem,” he said, teeth clenched.

“By locating Howard, which is in progress as we speak. Once that occurs, I’ll pay him a visit, find out who else knows and where they are, then eliminate all the problems.”

Griffin’s confidence didn’t make Morten feel much better. This problem should have never reached this point. “How long until this is finished?”

“A day, two at most.”

Morten settled back in his seat and said nothing for the rest of the trip.

__________

T
HE CHARTER JET
carrying Quinn, Nate, Lanier, Berkeley, and Curson landed at 10:18 p.m. Waiting for them at the private hangar were three black Suburbans. Two of the vehicles were already full. The third had only a driver and passenger, the latter standing near the front of the SUV, his hand clasped behind him.

As Quinn and the others approached, the man stepped forward, meeting them halfway, and held out his hand to Quinn.

 “Witten,” Quinn said, shaking.

“Quinn,” Witten said. “Sorry I never got back to you.”

“You kept your men from shooting us, so I’m willing to forgive and forget.”

“Mighty big of you.”

Quinn turned to the others. “Everyone, this is Clyde Witten. I’ll let you introduce yourselves.” He looked past Witten to the vehicles. “And I suppose this is the famous O & O?”

“Out for a final hurrah,” Witten said.

“Final?”

“We’ve been told to expect reassignment.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“It happens.”

Quinn glanced at the trucks again. “Any of your people know I’m the one who shot your colleague the other day?”

“Just me.”

“And I trust you won’t shoot me in the back?”

“Not planning on it.” He stepped to the side and motioned to the vehicles. “Shall we?”

CHAPTER
34

G
RIFFIN HAD JUST
returned to his office when
UNKNOWN
appeared on the display of the found cell phone for the third time. He rushed over to his desk and plugged it into his computer.

“Hello?” he said.

“How do I know you won’t have me killed if we agree to meet?”

Griffin smiled. The mere fact that Howard was even contemplating a meeting meant Griffin had him. He only needed to reel Howard in. “As I told you before, you can choose the location.”

In the silence that followed, Griffin sensed the other man thinking over his options.

“Are you back in DC now? Or are you still in Trevor Hollow?” Howard asked.

“DC. Where are you?”

The man laughed. “Not DC.” A pause. “But I’ll be there tomorrow. Perhaps something can be arranged.”

“Tell me the time and place.”

“I’ll call you in the morning.”

As soon as the call disconnected, Griffin phoned the geek.

“I think I might have cracked it,” the geek said.

“You got the rest?” Griffin asked. To this point, the kid had only been able to identify four numbers, leaving six to go.

“Give me, like, five minutes.”

It ended up taking the geek seven to call back.

“So? Did you get it?” Griffin asked.

“Hell, yeah, I did. Told you no one could hide anything from me.”

After writing down the number the kid rattled off, Griffin hung up. On his phone was the customized application allowing him to pinpoint cell-phone location. He input the number, and was rewarded thirty seconds later with a glowing blue dot in the middle of a map.

A low chuckle escaped.
You’re a liar, Howard
.

Unlike what the man had told him, it appeared Howard
was
in DC. Not only that, he was only a few miles from where Griffin was.

For two minutes, he stared at his phone, waiting for the blue dot to move, but it remained anchored in place.

Excellent.

Griffin had made a career of not only recognizing opportunities, but acting on them. Leaving the tracking app running on his cell, he picked up his desk phone and called Dima.

“I need your assistance.”

“What do you want me to do?” Dima asked.

“I want you to dip into that wonderful armory you have there at O & O, then meet me.” He gave Dima an address two blocks away from where Howard was.

“Are you kidding me? I can’t leave here. I’m on duty.”

“I’m sure you can arrange it.”

“I can’t come—” Dima paused. “Hold a second. I have a team calling in.” It was nearly a minute before Dima came back. “Mr. Griffin, I am not a field agent.”

“You were once.”

“Yes, but that was years ago.”

“I just need your presence. I don’t need you to kill anyone,” Griffin said. While the second part was true, the first was only partially so. Yes, he needed Dima’s presence, but that was because he’d decided Dima’s usefulness had come to an end, and it was time to eliminate the weak link. If he could get Dima to help him in the process, all the better.

“Okay, okay,” Dima said, defeated. “I’ll get someone to cover the rest of my shift. But it’ll take at least thirty minutes for me to get there.”

“Make it twenty. Oh, and Michael?”

“Yes?”

“There’s one other thing I’d like you to bring.”

__________

“S
2 TO S1,”
one of Witten’s men said over the radio.

“Go for S1,” Quinn replied. Unlike the others, he was the only one not wearing a radio in his ear, and had to rely on the Suburban’s dash-mounted unit.

“Griffin is on the move,” the spotter reported.

“Copy that.”

__________

T
HE BLUE DOT
on the tracker led Griffin to a twenty-four-hour diner called Mama Jo’s. Arriving ten minutes before his scheduled rendezvous with Dima, he did a slow drive-by so he could peer in the windows, but while he could make out several people sitting at tables and a handful of customers at the counter, the layout of the restaurant made it impossible for him to see all the diners.

He checked his phone again. The blue dot had not moved, so either Howard had left his cell at Mama Jo’s, or he was inside.

Griffin picked up his speed, intending to turn down the next block and head over to the meeting point, but he saw something that caused him to bring his car to a quick stop. Parked at one of the metered spots, a full half block beyond the restaurant, was a Jeep Wrangler, dark blue with a black hardtop. He checked the license number against the one Dima had given him. It was a match.

Howard was definitely here.

Griffin hurried over to the meeting point and was pleased to find Dima waiting for him. A honk of the horn prodded the O & O man out of his vehicle and into Griffin’s.

“Did you bring what I asked?” Griffin said.

Dima removed an inch-wide, rectangular box from his pocket, and tried to hand it to Griffin.

Griffin kept his hands on the wheel. “Prep it, please.”

“Oh, uh, okay.”

Dima fumbled with the box before finally getting the top off. Inside was an empty syringe and a small glass bottle.

“How long are you going to want the subject knocked out for?” Dima asked.

“Not long. Twenty minutes should do it.”

Dima consulted the chart on the inside of the box cover before filling the syringe from the liquid in the bottle. “They only give a range. It, um, could be as long as forty minutes.”

“That’s fine,” Griffin said.

Dima capped the needle and, his hand slightly shaking, gave it to Griffin.

“Relax,” Griffin said. “This is going to go nice and smooth.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Have a little chat with someone.”

“With who?”

Griffin sneered, and shifted the car into Drive. “One of the people your men were supposed to catch two days ago.”

__________

 “S
3 TO S1.”

“Go for S1,” Nate said. With Quinn now in position, Nate had assumed command.

“Rendezvous with Dima complete.” The way the spotter pronounced Dima’s name left no doubt how the O & O team felt about a leaker in their ranks.

“Copy that, S3.”

__________

G
RIFFIN SPED BACK
to the block Mama Jo’s was on, and parked at the curb two spots in front of the Jeep. Once they exited the sedan, Griffin took a look around. It was a mixed-use street, businesses with some apartments above. At this hour, though, the only place open was the diner, and the lights in the majority of the apartments were off.

He checked the tracker. The blue dot was still centered over the restaurant.

“Do you remember what the driver of the BMW in the pictures you sent me looked like?” he asked Dima.

“Well enough, I guess.”

“I want you to go down to that restaurant and see if you can spot him inside from the window. Don’t stay long, though. If he’s moving, I need you back here.”

“Sure,” Dima said. He was clearly still nervous.

“Are we going to have a problem, Michael?”

“What? No. Of course not.”

“Then get it together.”

“I’m together. Don’t worry.”

As Dima headed toward Mama Jo’s, Griffin stepped back into a recessed entrance to a closed hair salon about thirty feet past the Jeep on the restaurant side. He could stand within its shadows and watch Mama Jo’s, then move farther back where he wouldn’t be seen by anyone walking by.