Brett Battles - The Destroyed

He stood up and quickly scanned the surrounding roofs. “There,” he said with relief.

She was one building away and preparing to hop across to the roof of another.

He sprinted after her, with Nate only a step behind him. They jumped to the next building without breaking stride.

“Wait!” Quinn yelled.

Mila didn’t even look back.

The next gap was wider. They had to stop, back up a bit, then make a run at it and jump. By then, Mila was already on the adjacent roof, but instead of continuing on, she headed for the building’s stairwell door.

“Mila, no!”

Again, she acted as if she hadn’t heard him.

“I got her,” Nate said.

In a burst of speed, he raced past Quinn, jumped the next gap, and made a beeline for the access door Mila had just gone through. As Quinn ran after him, he could hear sirens heading in their direction. Someone had called the cops. Normally, that would have been a problem, but in this case, unless the ones shooting at them were complete idiots, they would be forced to make themselves scarce. Anything that accomplished that would be a good thing.

He rushed through the door and onto a small landing, quickly grabbing the handrail to keep from losing control. He’d expected to hear the steps of the other two pounding down the stairs somewhere below him, but what he heard instead were the unmistakable sounds of a struggle.

He found them lying on the third-floor landing. Nate was behind Mila, his arms wrapped tightly around her, and his legs entwined in hers so she couldn’t kick out. That wasn’t stopping her from trying, though, or from attempting to head-butt him in the chin.

“I could use a little help,” Nate grunted as Mila jammed her head back again.

“You can let her go,” Quinn said.

“Are you sure?”

“She’s not going anywhere.” To make certain of that, he blocked the flight of stairs leading down.

Mila went on struggling as if she hadn’t heard Quinn.

“Relax,” Nate told her.

As he let go, he scooted away to avoid being hit. She rolled onto her hands and knees, and jumped to her feet.

“Get out of my way!” she yelled at Quinn.

He held his ground. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

“Then why did your partner tackle me?”

“Wasn’t exactly something I wanted to do,” Nate said, standing.

Quinn could see several red marks on Nate’s neck and face, and what looked like teeth marks on his hand. He focused on Mila.

“What the hell were you thinking showing up again? You’re going to get yourself killed for sure this time.”

Her jaw clenched, she said, “I don’t care. I don’t have a choice.”

“What are you talking about? Mila, do you want to really get killed this time?”

She stepped toward him and tried to push him to the side, but he wouldn’t move. “Please. Get out of my way.”

“I can’t.”

“Move!”

“I can’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because Julien’s not alive to save you from yourself. It’s my job now.”

When the call came in, both Peter and Olsen were in their shared office.

Peter checked the ID.

“Is it them?” Olsen asked.

Peter nodded, then picked up the call. “Report.”

“The team we’d designated Group C turned out to be a direct hit,” Michaels said.

“Is that so?”

“They led us to an apartment, and a little while later, the woman arrived.”

Peter knew Julien and Mila had been close, and that Julien had lived in Rome up until his death. Where, exactly, Peter hadn’t been able to find out. It had been a risk to send the team there, but it’d been the only lead Peter had. After that it had been up to Michaels to find out who else might be working in the city, and perhaps helping the woman. Peter was happy it had paid off.

“Did you get her?”

Michaels hesitated. “No.”

Peter forced himself not to look at Olsen. “Go on.”

“We gave her some lead time, then followed. When we broke down the door, we ended up exchanging fire with the two men we’ve apparently been tracking. Unfortunately, they made their escape through a back window. And…”

When his team leader didn’t go on, Peter said, “Michaels?”

Though he could hear the other man breathing, Michaels still said nothing. That’s when Peter realized the man must have information he wanted to give Peter, but wasn’t sure he should be relaying it over this call. Peter said, “It’s clear-to me, anyway-that they’ve been working together.”

It wasn’t quite standard code, but Michaels got the message. “I’m only talking to you?”

“Right,” Peter said.

“Okay. I got a glimpse of the guys with her. They were a couple dozen feet above me, and backlit by the sky, so not easy to get a good read on them, but…”

“Yes?”

“I can’t be sure, but one of them stuck his head over the edge of the roof, and, well, I think it might have been…Quinn.”

Quinn? What would Quinn be doing in Rome with a woman he was supposed to have disposed of years ago? “Is that a positive?”

He could hear Michaels take a breath. “Sixty percent, maybe. I wouldn’t put it much more than that.”

Low, but still more than Peter liked.

“I can tell you one thing,” Michaels said. “The apartment belonged to the Frenchman. There were pictures inside of him, some with the woman, some without.”

“Where do you think…she is now?” He almost said “they,” but caught himself at the last second. For the time being, it was better if Olsen was unaware of Quinn’s involvement, at least until Peter knew more.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know. The police showed up so we had to pull out before we could locate her again.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Just a few minutes.”

“She can’t be far, then. You need to find her.”

“Understood,” Michaels said.

As soon as Peter hung up, Olsen asked, “They missed her? How?”

In the time it took Peter to pick up his empty coffee cup and stand up, he considered his options and came up with a course of action. “Apparently she wasn’t alone. She and her companions were able to get away.”

“Who was with her?”

Peter shook his head. “The team wasn’t able to get a visual on them. No way to know.”

“So they’ve lost her?”

“For the moment.” Peter headed for the door.

“You’re awfully calm about this,” Olsen said.

Peter paused. “It’s only a matter of time before we find her again.”

“That’d better be true. Otherwise this will all fall on you.”

FRIDAY, MAY 12 ^ th 2006 12:53 PM LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

When Quinn saw Julien exit the terminal at McCarren Airport, he hit SEND on his phone, shooting off the text he’d written ahead of time.

The Frenchman stopped and pulled out his own cell. After reading the message he’d just received, he casually turned away from the line of taxis, walked over to the crosswalk, waited until traffic had stopped, and made his way onto the bridge that led to the parking structure.

Quinn lowered his binoculars and started the car. He arrived at the exit to the stairwell just as Julien came up the final step. The Frenchman threw his bag into the trunk, climbed into the front passenger seat, and they took off.

“I did not know I was so important,” Julien said, then let out a low, full laugh. “A personal pickup?”

“I had a little time.”

“ Merci beaucoup. ”

Quinn nodded, but said nothing else as they exited the parking garage.

“I’d forgotten how brown it is here,” Julien said as they drove toward the Strip.

“It is the desert.”

“Sure, but you don’t think about that when you think about Vegas.”