Shadow of Betrayal
Page 39
Hardwick knelt down beside the old man. Mr. Rose drew in several rapid breaths, but he showed no fear, only anger.
“Don’t worry,” Hardwick said. “Your body won’t be here for long. I planted enough evidence to lead investigators to this room before the end of the day. Which means I should probably be on my way.”
“Someday this will happen to you,” Mr. Rose said, teeth clenched. “Someday they won’t want you anymore.”
“I don’t doubt it. But not today,” Hardwick said, then stood back up. “Today, you’re the one not wanted.”
He pulled the trigger one last time.
Once he was back in his car and on the road, he called the Chairman.
“It’s done,” he said.
“Excellent.”
“Have you heard anything concrete about Morro Bay?” Hardwick asked.
“Two car bombs went off, but nothing else. It looks like your friend Quinn was able to minimize the damage. I still wonder if maybe we should have let the operation succeed.”
“No,” Hardwick said. “This was perfect. If the targets had been eliminated, the focus would have been on finding the people behind the attack and exacting revenge. But now the focus will be more on prevention, more tightening of security. Paranoia, that’s the key.”
“You’re right, of course,” Chairman Kidd said. “Excellent work, James. I believe it’s now time for that vacation.”
“Yes,” Hardwick said. “It is.”
He smiled to himself. Nothing was better than a job well done.
CHAPTER
43
MARION CAME RUNNING OUT OF THE MOTEL THE minute she saw them pull into the parking lot. She’d been watching the news for over an hour, trying to see if she could spot Iris in the group of children being ferried away from the school. Reportedly they were taking them to a nearby medical facility as a precaution.
The reporter had said none of the children had been harmed. Marion had let out a prayer of thanks when she heard that. But where was Iris?
Quinn jumped out of the car before they were even parked.
“Back in the room,” he said to Marion.
“Why?” she asked.
He walked quickly up to her. “Because we don’t want to draw any attention.”
“Iris?” she asked.
“Inside, okay?”
As she turned to do as he said, she heard a familiar voice behind her call out.
“Goah.”
She whipped around. Nate had just emerged out of the back seat. In his arms was the one thing Marion wanted to see more than anything.
“Goah,” the girl said, smiling at Marion.
Marion rushed over and took Iris in her arms.
“Goah,” Iris repeated.
“Yes,” Marion said. “Goah. Goah.”
In Marion’s room, Quinn gave her an edited version of what had happened. There was no reason to let her know how close the girl had come to dying. If Marion sensed he was holding back, she didn’t say anything. She seemed content just to hold Iris and kiss the girl’s cheeks.
“We need to get her to a doctor,” Quinn told her.
“What? Why?” Marion said, scanning the child. “Is she hurt?”
“The implant,” Quinn said. “She needs to get it out.”
Marion touched the spot where the implant had been inserted. “Right. Of course.”
“I know a place in L.A. Very discreet. And once they’re done, we’ll get you home.”
A dark look crossed Marion’s face.
“Don’t worry,” Orlando said. “We’ll make sure the papers you have for her will hold up. Iris will be yours now and always.”
“It’s not that,” Marion said. “I’m just not sure where home is now.”
In the wake of the Morro Bay attack, and the subsequent washing up on a beach in Virginia of another high-ranking CIA official—this one named Chercover—the Office was disbanded. But as much as the FBI wanted to pin the bombings and murders on the negligence of Peter and his people, they couldn’t.
Quinn didn’t want to care. He was going to be through with the Office after this job anyway. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a sense of loss. No matter how annoying Peter was, the Office had, for the most part, done some decent work.
Now there was a void waiting to be filled.
The last conversation he’d had with Peter had been short.
“I’ll make sure your money is transferred before we close our accounts,” Peter had said.
Quinn frowned. It didn’t feel right to be paid to stop the murders of dozens of children, let alone the others who would have died at the school. But he realized there was something he could do with his fee. Marion. He’d deposit it in her account. Of course, the amount would shock her, so he’d have to send her a note first so that she didn’t do something stupid like tell the bank they’d made a mistake.
“I also thought you’d like to know about the children who’d been …” Peter seemed to be unable to finish the sentence.
“What about them?” Quinn asked.
“All but one survived. The doctors say he had a heart condition that just couldn’t handle the stress of being kept drugged for so long, followed by all the excitement at the school.”
“He?”
“A little boy. That’s all I know.”
Quinn paused as an image of the boy on the gurney squeezing his hand pushed everything else aside. Though he didn’t wish death on any of the children, he hoped for his own sanity that this boy was one of the living.
“One last thing,” Peter said. “You remember the man you caught in the apartment building in New York before you discovered the DDNI’s body?”
That seemed like years ago to Quinn. “Al, right?”
“Al Barker,” Peter said. “I was able to have one more conversation with him before the Feds showed up. I brought a picture of Hardwick with me that I’d taken from the NSA website. When he looked at it, he identified him as Mr. Monroe.”
“Monroe?”
“The landlord who owned the building. Remember?”
“What the hell?” Quinn said. Hardwick had owned the building where Quinn had found the DDNI?
“I think we’ve been played,” Peter said. “I think we might have just done what the LP wanted us to do. But no one will believe me anymore. I’m out of the game. I just thought you should know so you can keep an eye on your back. Since you’re still in good standing, they’ll be concerned about you. You’re one of the few out there who know they exist and can cause them a problem.”
Quinn let it sink in for a moment. Even if they had been set up, there had been no choice. Quinn had to do what he’d done. The alternative would have been a disaster. “What are you going to do now?” he asked.
“Get drunk,” Peter said.
The line went silent for several seconds before it was replaced by the dead air of a disconnected call.
Nate sat behind the wheel of Quinn’s BMW, his brand-new prosthesis pressing down on the gas pedal. They were heading south toward L.A., having retrieved the now-dusty car from where they’d left it in the Alabama Hills.
“You still want me to take you straight to the airport?” Nate asked.
Quinn glanced at the clock on the radio. By the time they reached the city, there would be less than two hours before his flight.
“Yeah. Straight there.” Tonight he’d be sleeping in a hotel in Minneapolis, and tomorrow, after a long drive north, he’d be having dinner in his parents’ kitchen.
Quinn stared out the passenger window at the upsweep of the Sierra Nevadas. After a moment, he looked over at Nate.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said.
“Yeah? What?” Nate asked.
“I was thinking maybe you’d like to move into the guest room of my place.”
Nate stared at the road ahead, his expression impossible to read.
“I’m not going to be around that much,” Quinn said.
“Where are you going?�
�
Now it was Quinn’s turn to stare out the window. “San Francisco.”
A smile cracked on Nate’s face.
“I guess I’m kind of asking you to watch my place for me,” Quinn said.
“What about my training?”
“Your training won’t stop.”
Nate looked skeptical. “Don’t jerk me around. I’m just going to be a glorified house sitter, aren’t I?”
Quinn didn’t answer for several seconds. When he finally did, he said, “No, Nate. You’re going to be a cleaner.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Help with this novel has come from various sources, some old, some new, and some I’m sure to forget to mention. Thanks to Jon Rivera, Helene Cariou, Lorena Philp, Jim Hardwick, and Tammy Sparks. All have provided assistance and support in abundance. And to Kelly for the same and more.
A huge thanks also to the sanity squad: Robert Gregory Browne, Bill Cameron, and Tasha Alexander. Not only did they help me focus, but they also gave valuable feedback and suggestions throughout the writing of this book.
And to team Quinn at Bantam Dell in the U.S.: Sharon Propson, Sharon Swados, and Nita Taublib. And at Preface in the U.K.: Rosie de Courcy, Trevor Dolby, Ben Wright, Paula Hogben, Nicola Taplin, and all the rest. And, of course, my agent, Anne Hawkins. But most of all, thanks to my wonderful editor at Bantam Dell, who makes everything I do better, Danielle Perez.
Finally, I couldn’t have done this without the love of my three children—Ronan, Fiona, and Keira—who make life meaningful.
As far as any mistakes you might find in the story, I’m told that I’m supposed to take the blame. Guilty as charged.
Shadow of Betrayal is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Brett Battles
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
DELACORTE PRESS is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Battles, Brett.
Shadow of betrayal / Brett Battles.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-440-33867-3
1. Quinn, Jonathan (Fictitious character)—Fiction. I.Title.
PS3602.A923S53 2009
813’.6—dc22 2009004143
www.bantamdell.com
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