Brett Battles - The Destroyed

“Let me see if I can find him.”

He was on hold for nearly three minutes before Misty came back on.

“Sorry for the wait. Connecting you now.”

A double beep, then, “Jesus, Quinn. Where the hell are you?”

“Hello, Peter.”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

“No.”

“Haven’t changed, have you?”

Quinn let that one pass without comment, wanting to get this over with. “I’ve been told we have a ghost.”

“Would be nice if that were the case. Afraid this one’s very much flesh and bone.”

“Mila Voss.”

“So it appears.”

“Where was she seen?”

Peter briefed Quinn on the incident in Tanzania, and the discovery of a disguised Mila Voss hovering over a body on the sidewalk.

“Security detection software picked it up first, then matched it to a known photo. Ninety-nine-point-five-percent sure it was either her or her twin sister. But as far as we know, she doesn’t have a twin.”

“Who was the dead guy?”

“Not important.”

Quinn knew that probably wasn’t true, but he didn’t push. “I’d like to see the footage.”

“It’s already uploaded. I put it on one of the servers you and I have used in the past. ADR-3.”

“All right, I’ll check it.”

“Hold on,” Peter said, sensing that Quinn was about to hang up. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

Quinn waited.

“You were the one who was supposed to have disposed of her body,” Peter said.

“I was.”

“So what happened?”

“The body I was given, I got rid of.”

“Yeah, but was it dead when you made it disappear?”

“I don’t typically dispose of people who are alive.”

“And it was Mila?”

“You can read my report, Peter. It’s all in there.”

“I did read it. You were the one who ended up having to ID her. So, was it Mila?”

“I disposed of the body of a woman that was Mila’s height, had her hair, wearing the clothes she had last been seen in, and dropped off at the hospital by the driver who’d picked her up at the airport. It sure as hell looked like Mila to me.”

“So as far as you know, the body you got rid of was Mila’s.”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

“Then how the hell is she walking around alive?”

“I was relying on the assassin for information. If I recall correctly, he had a spotter following her from the airport. Why don’t you ask him if they fingered the wrong person?”

“Not a bad idea, except Kovacs was killed several months after that assignment. So that’s not an option.”

“Well, I’m not sure what else you want me to say, Peter.”

Peter let out a defeated breath. “If it really is her, this is a total fuckup.”

“The best I can do is look at the footage and tell you what I think. Other than that, I’m as much in the dark as you are.”

“Honestly, I’m looking for anything that will help at this point. If you find something, call me right back.”

Quinn hesitated. “There’s no computer where I am, so it could be a day or so before you hear from me.”

“The sooner the better,” Peter said, then hung up.

As Quinn handed the phone back to Nate, he tried not to think about how many lies he’d just told. What happened on this job in Las Vegas had gone against all his training, but he was the one who caused the job to go off the rails. He was the one who’d made the conscious decision to ignore the professional detachment he was usually so good at maintaining. He had hoped it would never come to this, but even then he’d known the secret of that night-that Mila Voss was still alive-would come to light one day.

That day had finally arrived.

Nate pocketed his cell. “Okay. I’ve done what I promised. I’ll leave you alone now and head back to Bangkok.” He held out his hand. “If you need me, you know how to reach me.”

I’m not ready to go back, Quinn thought. In a few more months, maybe. Not now.

But he could no longer suppress the words whispering in the back of his mind. “I’ll make sure she stays safe,” his old friend Julien had said. “But if there comes a day that I can’t, then it will be up to you.”

A pact, one that Quinn couldn’t ignore.

He finally looked up, but didn’t take Nate’s hand. “It’s too late to leave now. We’ll get some sleep and head out in the morning.”

“You’re coming, too?”

“Yes.”

SEVEN YEARS EARLIER LUCERNE, SWITZERLAND

“He’s in the room,” Henrik whispered over the comm in Quinn’s ear.

Quinn touched the bag sitting on the floor beside him. It contained the tools he had predetermined would be needed on the job ahead. His current location was a little-used storage room in the basement of the Chateau Gallant Hotel in Lucerne, where he could remain out of the way until his specialized services were needed.

After consultations with Henrik, the team leader, when he’d first arrived, Quinn had been pleased to find out that the method chosen for the elimination of the subject would be mess-free. A powerful, quick-acting anesthetic would be released from a metal canister hidden behind the headboard as soon as the subject lay down for the night. Once he was under, Henrik would enter the room and administer the fatal dose of Beta-Somnol. Henrik and his team would then have five minutes to locate the documents the subject was supposed to be carrying before Quinn took over. If things went according to his plan, and they usually did, the body would be out of the hotel and on its way to its final resting place no more than seven minutes after that.

He glanced over at Julien. The larger Frenchman looked somewhat ridiculous in his coveralls, but it was better than dressing him as a bellhop. At his size-several inches over six feet and broad in both shoulders and chest-he would have instantly stood out to the hotel staff. It was less likely, though, that anyone would know all the maintenance personnel who might service the facility.

“Won’t be long now,” Quinn said.

“Good. I’m starving. Maybe on the way out of town we can stop for something to eat, oui?”

“How about we get rid of the body first and eat later.”

Julien shrugged. “I do not think he will mind.”

Quinn rolled his eyes, but gave no other response.

Over the comm, Henrik was giving the play-by-play of what was happening in the room. Apparently the subject was trying to get some work done before going to sleep.

Julien pulled out a deck of cards. “Some more poker while we wait?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I was lucky earlier. Don’t you want a chance to win back what you lost?”

“I have a feeling you’ll still be lucky.”

“Luck, who knows where it lands? Sometimes good for me, sometimes good for you. You know this.” He smiled. “Okay. This time we play just for fun, huh?”

Quinn was saved from declining again by Henrik announcing that the subject had finally decided to crawl into bed.

“All right. Looks like his eyes are closed,” Henrik said. “I’m activating the gas.” He was quiet for a few seconds. “He should be breathing it in right about…now.” Another pause, this one for half a minute. “All right, we’re going in.”

There was the sound of movement over the radio, then the click of a door opening. That would be the room Henrik was using just down the hall from the subject. More movement, then another click.

“Okay, we’re inside,” Henrik whispered.

Quinn grabbed his bag and stood up. That was their cue.

“You’re sure about not stopping for food,” Julien said as they left the room.

“I’m sure,” Quinn replied.

Julien frowned for a second, then suddenly brightened. “Maybe the target ordered room service and didn’t finish. Can’t let that go to waste, huh?”