Becoming Quinn (jonathan quinn thriller)

by Brett Battles

  “Come where?”

  “Houston, Texas.”

  Jake looked out the window, staring at a nothing. An investigator job? Sure, it was with a private firm, but did that matter? He knew he could do the job well. So, hell yes, he was interested. Texas was fine, too. It fit right in with his criteria of being out of the cold zone he’d grown up in.

  “Mr. Oliver? Are you still there?”

  “Sorry,” Jake said. “Still here.”

  “So, can we set up an interview? Or…”

  “Yes. I would love that. I’m definitely interested.”

  “Fantastic. I know this is kind of short notice, but would you be available tomorrow? We’d fly you out, of course.”

  Tomorrow was quick, but it wasn’t like he was doing anything. “Sure. I can do that.”

  “Great. My secretary will call you with details in a little while. Until then, have a great day, and I look forward to meeting you in person.”

  “Yeah. I look forward to meeting you, too.”

  * * *

  “Yes. I would love that,” Oliver said. “I’m definitely interested.”

  Durrie pulled the headphones off and set them on the table. He didn’t need to hear any more. The plan was on. The rest of the details he already knew.

  The truth was, he was pissed. Taking the kid out was a borderline call at best. Yes, his continued pursuit of the woman had been an issue, but as Durrie had predicted and pointed out, Oliver had started to lose interest when the trail of information dried up. The only question was whether his interest would return in the future.

  Durrie had argued that, with the right encouragement, Oliver would put it behind him and not look back. What he kept to himself was that he felt Jake Oliver’s death would be as much a crime as the woman’s had been. The kid had raw skills and instincts that were better than a lot of operatives who’d been in the business for years. Besides picking out Larson and Timmons from the crowd at the hotel, the stuff the cop had noticed at the Goodman Ranch Road site, the connections he’d made, the path he had followed — the true path — had all been brilliant. Then finding the phone at the impound yard?

  Durrie had nearly thrown a fit over that. How could Larson not have remembered that the woman had dropped her phone? The job had been riddled with screwup after screwup, every single one traceable back to Larson.

  And every single one uncovered by the kid.

  That morning when they saw that Oliver had the phone, Larson had wanted to kill him at the first opportunity. Durrie had to practically tie the assassin down to keep that from happening. The thing that really saved Oliver’s life was the fact that having two missing rookie police officers from the same substation at the same time would create a much larger problem. Questions would be asked, and where the answers led could be dangerous for some very important people. Durrie had been forced to make the same argument day after day until finally Peter took Larson off the assignment.

  The decision to finally remove Oliver had been Peter’s alone.

  “We just can’t take the chance,” Peter had said. “He’s resourceful. I don’t buy that just because he’s stopped looking into things now means he’s giving up forever. One month from now, one year, ten — it could still be a problem.”

  Durrie knew he was right, but the waste, the goddamn waste!

  The plan was straightforward. Now that some time had passed, they would lure Oliver out of town to a place where no one knew him, and finish things there. Durrie was to stay in Phoenix and empty out both Oliver’s and Davies’s places, then make sure little things like shutting off utilities were taken care of so that the two cops’ “moving out of state” would look legitimate.

  No, Durrie didn’t like it at all, but it was the job. It was what he was paid to do.

  * * *

  That afternoon Jake made a few calls, checking to be sure Usher International was someplace worth working. According to the people he talked to in Houston, Usher was a well-respected agency, headquartered there, but with offices around the world. Not long after he found this out, Mr. Usher’s secretary called with his flight information, and told him the ticket would be waiting for him at the counter. A car would then pick him up at the airport in Houston, and bring him straight to the offices. Did he have a favorite beverage they could have on hand for the meeting? A preference for dinner in case things went long? He told her he was flexible.

  After hanging up, he actually felt a bit of hope for the first time in a while, a feeling that things were going to be okay.

  He packed an overnight bag in case he would be there longer than a day, then treated himself to a meal out.

  23

  Durrie hadn’t slept well.

  There were times when he could be a good little soldier, blindly doing whatever he was told. And there were times when he could perform his duties while well aware of the ludicrous nature of the assignment. But never in his nearly two decades in the business had he contemplated what he was contemplating now.

  It wasn’t an altruistic move born out of a sense of decency or kindness. Those were not qualities Durrie would use to describe himself. It was opportunity and waste — losing the former by committing the latter — that was making him think this way.

  He knew better than to share his thoughts on the matter with anyone, so he had spent a rough night tangling with them himself. When he gave up and pulled himself out of bed at 5 a.m., he had two plans in his mind. One, the plan he was expected to carry out, and the other, the plan he thought he should.

  The only question he had was, which one would it be?

  * * *

  Jake’s flight was scheduled to leave at 11 a.m. It would take only a couple of hours to get to Houston, but with the time zone change he wouldn’t arrive until just after 2 p.m. His meeting with Mr. Usher was scheduled for 3 p.m., which seemed tight, but since they were the ones who’d made the arrangements and were picking him up, Jake wasn’t going to worry about it.

  He was up early enough to go for a run. It was nice to feel the road beneath his feet. He hadn’t done any real exercise since he’d been let go from the force. He’d been too wrapped up in first trying to find Berit, and then trying to figure out what he was going to do with his life. But now the warm air and the sweat were revitalizing.

  Back home, he showered, made himself some instant oatmeal, then spent thirty minutes trying to decide which tie to wear with his only suit. Finally ready, he headed out to his car.

  * * *

  Durrie spent the time between 5:30 and 8:00 a.m. preparing. Whichever plan he would ultimately go with, there were things that needed to be done first for each. It was a busy two and a half hours, but he needed to be in front of Oliver’s apartment building before the kid left for the airport, so he had to make the most of his time.

  Once he was in position a block from where Oliver lived, he placed the portable receiver on the dash, and turned it on. It was quiet in Oliver’s car — no engine noise, no sound of breathing.

  Durrie settled in his seat.

  At 8:25, the dead air on the receiver was replaced by the sound of a car door opening. Less than thirty seconds later, the engine started.

  * * *

  The airport was only a fifteen-minute drive away. Jake would easily be there before the recommended one hour prior to departure for domestic flights. He glanced at his overnight bag sitting in the front passenger seat, and went through a quick mental checklist of everything inside to be sure he didn’t forget anything. Satisfied, he pulled out of his space in the parking garage, and headed for the exit.

  Outside, the day had grown considerably warmer than it had been when he’d gone on his run. He cranked up the A/C a few notches, and switched on the radio.

  It’s going to be a good day, he told himself. A new beginning.

  The idea of that was really starting to appeal to him.

  * * *

  The former cop didn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry, then again, the airport wasn’t that
far away. Durrie followed just a couple of cars behind, his mind still going back and forth. He knew if he waited too long, the decision would be made for him, and Jake Oliver would be flying toward his death in Houston.

  Durrie wasn’t going to let it come to that. Whatever was going to happen, it would be what he decided was best. To do otherwise would be to take the easy way out, and he hated people who took the easy way. If more people would just take responsibility and make a damn decision, the world might not be as screwed up.

  By the time Oliver pulled into the airport parking lot just off Van Buren Street, Durrie knew which plan he was going to carry out.

  He turned in after Oliver, the tension of having to make a decision finally gone.

  * * *

  All the spaces closest to Van Buren were taken, so Jake kept driving until he found a spot about two-thirds of the way into the giant lot, up against the fence and far from the entrance. He turned off his engine, and retrieved the cardboard sunscreen he kept folded on the back seat, then propped it up against the front windshield. If there was one thing he’d learned since living in Phoenix, it was how quickly the sun could damage the interior of a vehicle. Case in point, the crack in his dash just above the glove compartment.

  Protection in place, he grabbed his bag and climbed out of the car.

  * * *

  Durrie slowed as Oliver turned his Civic into an empty spot.

  Yes or no? he thought, giving himself a last chance to change his mind. But the answer was still the same. He rolled forward until his car was blocking the Civic. From the movements inside he was sure Oliver hadn’t noticed.

  Durrie grabbed the weapon out of his kit bag, and quickly exited his sedan. By the time Oliver opened his door, Durrie was standing just ten feet away.

  * * *

  Jake didn’t notice the man until after he’d shut his door and turned toward the parking lot. He thought the guy wanted to get into the car next to his, and was just waiting for Jake to get out of the way.

  “Hi,” he said. “If you move back, I can get out, then you can leave.”

  When the man didn’t respond, Jake took a hard look at him, and was about to ask what his problem was, but the words caught in his mouth.

  It was the third man from the Lawrence Hotel, the one who’d entered the elevator and been briefly acknowledged by the light-haired guy. There was no mistaking him.

  Jake took a step forward. “I’ve got a plane to catch. So if you’ll excuse me…”

  He kept moving as if he were going to push past the man, but halted in his tracks when the guy raised his hand. In it was a weapon, not a traditional pistol, but something that looked like a cross between that and a Taser device Jake had seen a demonstration of at the station.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” the man said. “Trust me, it’s better this way.”

  Jake let his breathing grow even. At best he had one chance, so he couldn’t afford to blow it.

  “What do you want?” he asked, casually positioning himself in the middle of the space between the two cars that fenced him in.

  “At the moment that doesn’t matter.”

  “I kind of think it does,” Jake said.

  “Yeah, well…sorry.”

  The man pulled the trigger.

  Jake had anticipated the move, and brought his bag up a half-second before four tiny darts, each attached to a wire, shot out of the end of the weapon.

  As soon as they pierced the side of the bag, Jake threw it at the man, then whirled around and rushed toward the fence. Slowing prior to reaching it, he turned again and hopped onto the hood of his Civic, then started to run from car to car, jumping the gaps.

  His gaze searched the parking lot, looking for anyone within earshot. He knew if he could get someone’s attention, it might be enough to deter the man from pursuing him. But the lot was huge, and the closest person was standing next to the building where the shuttle bus stopped, looking in the other direction.

  Jake chanced a brief look back. While the man’s car was still parked behind his, there was no sign of the man himself.

  As Jake jumped from the hood of a Volvo onto that of an SUV, he could see trouble three cars ahead — a minivan with basically no hood at all. He altered his path as he neared, then jumped higher than usual when he came to the gap, his hands reaching for the van’s roof. But his foot slipped as he took off, and his stomach hit the edge where the roof and side met, bending him at the waist like an L.

  Momentarily stunned, he hung there for a second.

  Keep moving!

  His legs heard the message first. They began scrambling around the side of the van and over to the windshield. One foot reached the glass, but something grabbed his other.

  He looked back and saw the man holding fast to his ankle with one hand. In his other hand—

  A needle!

  Jake tried to kick back with his foot, but the man was strong and had been ready for this. To counter, Jake pushed up from the roof, and started to turn onto his back, intending to lash out at the man with his other leg. But just as he pivoted onto his hip, he felt a prick in his calf. The man immediately let go of his ankle and stepped back.

  Jake lost his grip and slipped to the ground. He staggered a moment, but was able to remain on his feet. “What did you do to me?” he yelled.

  “You’ve seen me before, haven’t you?” the man asked.

  “Hell, yes, I’ve seen you before,” Jake said. “You were at the Lawrence Hotel. You had something to do with the murder out on Goodman Ranch Road. Don’t think I’m not going to turn you in.”

  The man eyed him curiously for a moment. “How did you know?”

  Jake felt a sudden disconnect from his skin, as if a thick layer of foam had been injected between it and the tissue beneath. “What did you do…to me?”

  “Looks like we both have questions.” The man paused. “I’d sit down if I were you. Less chance of bruising when you fall.”

  Jake was having a hard time understanding what he meant. Less chance of…what?

  Suddenly he bumped into the van.

  “Sit down,” the man told him.

  Jake did.

  “What…what…” Jake desperately searched for other words, but none came.

  The man was at his side now. “Don’t fight it.”

  Jake felt his body turn and realized the man was moving him. Soon his back was leaning against the van.

  “Don’t fight it,” the man repeated, his voice becoming a distant whisper. “Don’t…”

  Jake heard no more.

  24

  The call came exactly five minutes after the plane Jake was supposed to be on had taken off. Durrie didn’t need to check the caller ID to know that it was Peter. He left the phone sitting on the table by the door, unanswered. He wasn’t ready to talk.

  The truth was, he was still stunned by what had happened at the airport parking lot. Not so much by Oliver’s ability to improvise and almost get away — that was admirable to be sure but not entirely unexpected. No, it had happened moments before that, when Durrie had confronted him. The ex-cop’s eyes had flared in sudden recognition.

  He had seen Durrie before.

  Then, after he had drugged the kid, Oliver had said, “You were at the Lawrence Hotel.” Timmons and Larson had not been the only ones Oliver had picked out.

  Unbelievable.

  The mobile home they were in was located forty-five minutes south of Phoenix, off Interstate 10. It was in the middle of a large piece of nothing, its nearest neighbors miles away on their own little plots of barren land. It had been the safe house for the mission the previous month. If things had gone wrong and any member of the team had needed to hole up somewhere, this was where they would have gone.

  Durrie knew he and Oliver couldn’t stay there for long. It may have been a safe house, but it was also a location known to Peter and the Office. They needed to drop completely off the map, someplace no one would ever be able to find them.

&n
bsp; The problem was, there were a few things Durrie still had to take care of in Phoenix. He’d been paid for a job, and he had no intentions of not fulfilling his duties. He figured he could use the mobile home for at least six hours, maybe even up to half a day before someone showed up to check it.

  From the outside, the trailer looked like just another sad, old home, closer to the end of its usefulness than the beginning. But this was no off-the-assembly-line clone. This was a specially built, composite-fiber-reinforced-frame structure, with an interior layout that was functional and could serve a variety of needs. One of those potential needs was met by the inclusion of a detention cell.

  The room was just wide enough for a narrow bed and a toilet. In deference to the heat of the desert, it was air conditioned, but otherwise soundproofed.

  Durrie lugged Oliver inside, and laid him on the bed. He then retrieved the large bottle of water he’d purchased during his morning prep, and put it in the room on the floor. Chances were, Oliver would remain unconscious until he came back, but if he didn’t, the bottle would be there if he was thirsty.

  Durrie closed the door, then engaged the double bar system that secured it to the walls, ceiling and floor. In the living room, his phone was ringing again. He picked it up, and slipped it into his pocket, once more ignoring Peter.

  Outside, he reprogrammed the lock with a new combination, then looked at his watch. He’d give himself four hours just to be safe. That should be enough.

  * * *

  It felt as if someone had taken a hatchet to Jake’s skull. The pain radiated in a line just off center, from an inch above his left eye all the way back to the nape of his neck. Slowly, he moved a hand to his head and carefully touched his hair, sure he would find a gaping wound. But there was no blood or exposed bone. Whatever was causing his distress was on the inside.

  The day came back to him in bits and pieces, like images caught in a strobe light. The man with the weapon, Jake’s attempt to get away, falling onto the van, then the man again, a needle in his hand, and finally the prick on Jake’s skin.