Brett Battles - The Destroyed

“Yeah, it has.”

In Paris the previous fall, Julien had been helping Nate get Quinn’s sister Liz to someplace safe, and had ended up dead for his efforts. Nate had been the one to find his body. Which meant it was unlikely anyone had set foot in the apartment since before then.

As Quinn crossed the room, Nate said, “Wait. What does Julien have to do with finding Mila?”

“Maybe nothing.”

“Quinn, stop.”

Nate’s mentor hesitated and turned back around.

“I appreciate that this isn’t easy for you,” Nate said. “But you’re hurting my ability to help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

He could see Quinn struggling with how to answer. Finally, his mentor said, “Mila and Julien were friends.”

“ Good friends?” Nate asked.

“At one time. But they were always close.” Again, he paused. “Julien would have done anything for her.”

So that’s why Quinn needed to help Mila. He owed Julien a debt he could never repay. Nate owed him, too, for that matter. Helping Mila had to be an attempt to help offset some of the imbalance.

“Is there a reason she would come here?”

“Perhaps.”

“But why?”

“Because he left it to her.”

“He left his apartment to a dead woman? Can you even do that?”

Quinn sighed and closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, he said, “He left it to me, all right? But for her.”

“Oh,” Nate said. “But it’s still a long shot that she’d come here, don’t you think?”

“There’s something of hers here, something Julien was holding for her.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I just know she hasn’t been here yet. I left a tell on the brick with the key.”

“You think whatever he was keeping for her has something to do with why she came out of hiding?”

“I have a feeling it does.”

“But you don’t know what it is,” Nate said.

“It’s not my business.”

Nate ran everything through his mind, then said, “Okay, so we should probably set up a watch,” Nate said. “The three of us can rotate.”

“Yes,” Quinn looked relieved. “Definitely.”

“In the apartment or not?”

“I don’t want to scare her off.”

“All right, so not. What’s our time window?”

“If she doesn’t show up in the next forty-eight hours, she’s not coming.”

“I’ll take the first shift,” Nate said. “You can go back to the room with Daeng and fill him in.”

Quinn started to protest, but then caught himself and nodded. “I need to put the keys back first. If she comes and finds them gone, she’ll take off before we can get to her.”

Four minutes later, Nate stood alone in the darkened entrance of a building across the street, images of Julien replaying in his mind. If the Frenchman would have helped this Mila Voss woman, then that was all Nate needed to know.

He was all in.

THURSDAY, MAY 11 ^ th, 2006 4:03 PM LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

The flight from Los Angeles to Las Vegas took less than an hour, the flight attendants barely having time to serve drinks and collect the trash before strapping back in for landing. Quinn had been through McCarren Airport many times, so he was able to quickly navigate through the terminal and to the parking structure where he found the promised car exactly where he’d been told it would be.

The drive to the Planet Hollywood Hotel on the Strip was quick, and soon he was heading up to the room number he’d been given. When he reached it, he knocked on the door, and took a step back. As soon as he heard someone approaching on the other side, he looked up at the tiny camera temporarily mounted high above the door, and waved.

Pointing out to those inside the hotel room that he knew the camera was there was probably unnecessary, but he couldn’t help it. He saw every detail, and since he’d never worked with these people before, it was a good way to let them know that right up front.

The door opened and a small guy in a light gray suit peeked out. “Can I help you?”

“I’m expected,” Quinn said.

The man made a show of scrutinizing Quinn’s face, then opened the door all the way. “Come on in.”

The room was a suite with a sitting area straight in from the door, a bar off to the right, and a dining area to the left. Beside the guy in the gray suit, there were four other men present. Two were also wearing suits, though in black, while the remaining two were dressed in buttoned shirts and slacks. They were all seated around the dining table, with several pieces of paper scattered in front of them.

One of the suitless guys stood up as Quinn came in. “You must be our cleaner.”

“I am.”

The guy held out his hand as Quinn neared. “Perry Jergins. I’m team leader.”

“Jonathan Quinn.”

They shook.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jonathan.”

“You can call me Quinn.”

“All right, then. Let me introduce you around.” He turned back toward the others. “Okay, we got Whit Kaufman, Leo Kovacs, Maurice Danner,” Jergins said, pointing individually to the men sitting around the table. “And Cary Hills is the one who opened the door for you. This here’s Quinn, our cleaner.”

Quinn exchanged nods and hellos with the other men.

Jergins waved at the chairs. “Have a seat. We were just going over the details. I’ll bring you up to speed, and you can let me know if you need anything specific. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”

“Sounds good.”

The plan was pretty straightforward, which pleased Quinn. All too often, planners tried to get fancy when there was no reason for it. Quinn believed those people were attempting to live up to the James Bond vision of their world. Bond was enjoyable enough on screen, but if any of that happened in real life, those involved would find themselves not only out of work but rotting away in a prison somewhere. Or dead.

The operation’s target would apparently be tricked into coming to a room in the hotel. When the target arrived, the assassin, Leo Kovacs, would already be inside, waiting. Since this wasn’t an operation in which the subject needed to be interrogated first, Kovacs would eliminate the person immediately. Once this was done, he would text Quinn, who would then move in and get rid of the body.

“It’s a no-brainer,” Jergins said. “The target has no idea, so there’ll be no problems getting her into the room.”

Her, Quinn noted, not that it made a difference. It was just that the majority of bodies he dealt with were male.

“The other guys are here just to get things set up. By op time, all three will be well out of town. Since mission specs call for this to be very low profile, I’ll be running backup myself. Given the circumstances, I should be more than enough.”

Kovacs picked up one of the papers and laid it in front of Quinn. “This is a layout of the room,” he said. He pointed at a spot next to the bed, around the corner from the door. “I’ll be here so I won’t be seen when she comes in.”

“What are you planning to use?” Quinn asked, hoping like hell he wasn’t going to say gun or knife. If so, Quinn would lobby hard to cover the termination room with plastic sheeting ahead of time. Otherwise, a mess like that would be a huge pain in the ass.

“Poison from a needle on the back of a ring. All I have to do is grab her and stick her anywhere. Paralysis is almost instantaneous. Death comes a few seconds later.”

“Do you expect her to fight back?” Again, Quinn was concerned about a mess, though straightening out a room or dealing with anything that might get broken was a lot easier than getting blood out of the carpet.

“A little,” Kovacs said. “She has some training.”