The Destroyed

by Brett Battles

  She had been right to come out of hiding.

  Evans leaned back in his chair, his hands falling to his sides.

  Mila had been so focused on what she had just learned that it took a second to register that Evans had moved. She jumped up, her gun in front of her. Evans was already twisting to the side, bringing up a gun hidden within the back of his chair.

  His pistol cracked once, the bullet flying past her head and lodging in the wall behind her. Two spits through her suppressor kept him from pulling his trigger again, both her shots catching him high in the chest.

  “You asshole!” she said.

  She wasn’t an assassin. No matter how dangerous it would have been to leave him alive, she hadn’t wanted to kill him. The information was all she came for. If the Lion found out from Evans that she was alive, so be it. She’d still have the upper hand.

  She eased over to the window that overlooked the walking street. While her shots had been muffled, his single one had not. But there was no one rushing toward the building, and no one standing by the front door pushing the intercom button. The books, she realized, had probably absorbed much of the noise.

  She looked back at Evans. “Asshole,” she repeated. “Why did you do that?”

  Three minutes later, a girl in jeans and a dark green tank top descended the back stairs of Johnston’s Rare Books Finding Service, and turned down Darby Drive. Her mousy blonde hair was pulled back in a single ponytail that went halfway down her back. She knew those who saw her would think she was just a teenager enjoying the sunny day.

  If only.

  CHAPTER 9

  THAILAND

  FOR MONTHS, QUINN’S daily routine had been up before dawn, breakfast, meditation, three classes in the morning, lunch, two classes in the afternoon, work on the temple—Quinn was paying for the renovations himself—dinner, read, then sleep. Any deviations, such as helping Ton and his family with the farm, were only extensions of the other things he was doing. In the half year since he’d arrived at Wat Doi Thong, he had never traveled more than a few miles away.

  Prior to leaving that morning, Quinn had apologized to the head monk for his abrupt departure, and promised he would be back as soon as possible. The money for the restorations, he assured the man, would continue to be available. His only request was that someone be sent every day to help Ton in the fields. The monk assured him that would happen.

  Now he sat in the back of a speedboat with Nate on one side and Daeng on the other, heading for the chaos of Bangkok and the rest of the world. He had known he would have to reemerge one day, but in his mind it had been in the distant future.

  Mila had forced the issue. The question was, why? Why had she come out of hiding?

  No, he corrected himself. His only question should be: What would he have to do to get her to disappear again?

  Mila, what the hell is going on?

  __________

  DURING THE VOYAGE, Daeng made a call and arranged for them to be picked up at Thewes Pier, just north of the Rama VIII Bridge in Bangkok. When they arrived, they found a black sedan with tinted windows waiting for them.

  The driver was on the large size for a Thai man. He was bald like the monks back at Wat Doi Thong, though Nate doubted he’d ever donned the orange robes. By the deference he displayed, it was clear Daeng was his boss.

  “Someplace with a secured Internet connection,” Quinn said to Daeng as he climbed into the backseat with Nate.

  “No problem,” Daeng said, getting into the front passenger seat. “I’ll take you to my place.”

  They drove through Bangkok for twenty-five minutes before stopping in front of a high metal gate in the middle of a dirty white wall. The driver pulled out a phone and made a quick call. Seconds later, the gate was pulled open from inside.

  The world within the walls felt like it had been transported from somewhere outside the city. The vibrant greens and reds and yellows and purples of the vegetation looked almost unnatural. It was a jungle, controlled, well taken care of, but a jungle nonetheless.

  The house was located near the very center. It, too, was different from anything else Nate had seen in the city, a beautiful two-story home constructed of glass and metal that would have fit in nicely next door to Quinn’s place in the Hollywood Hills.

  The driver parked in a designated area not too far beyond the gate, and they all climbed out.

  “While I’m getting some lunch together,” Daeng said as he led them inside, “you can use one of my laptops. There’s one on the kitchen bar.”

  “Thanks,” Quinn said. “Will it track what I’m doing?”

  Daeng bowed slightly. “There’s tracking software on all of my computers, but it can be easily turned off.”

  “Good. I’d like you to do that.”

  The interior of the house was surprisingly spartan, given how the outside looked. Utilitarian furniture that was nice but not expensive, a few photographs and a handful of paintings on the white walls and that was about it. There were none of the touches a designer might have added, and nothing beyond the paintings and photographs that could be considered decorative. The only lavish item was a waterfall built into the wall in the foyer. It would have probably been beautiful but it wasn’t running, and there was no water in the small pool at its base. Through the windows of the living room, Nate could see a grass area in back where at least a dozen kids were playing while four or five women watched.

  The kitchen was off to the left and opened into a dining room with a simple wooden table long enough to seat twenty people. Between the two rooms was a raised bar with a closed computer on top.

  Daeng tapped away at several keys then took a step back. “All set.”

  Quinn immediately got on, and Nate moved in behind him.

  ADR-3 was one of dozens of remote servers Quinn, Nate, and Orlando used when necessary. They were all owned by companies that had no idea part of their computer storage space had been usurped for private use.

  Using the appropriate login and password, Quinn quickly found the file Peter had uploaded and copied it onto Daeng’s machine.

  While they waited for the transfer, Nate said, “You want to tell me who this Mila Voss is now?” He’d tried asking a few times on the boat, but Quinn had said nothing.

  Nate thought he would get the same non-response as before, but Quinn said, “She was a courier.”

  “A courier? Was she supposed to have been killed in action?” While the majority of the time a courier’s job was a piece of cake, it could also be extremely dangerous. Mostly they traveled alone, and there was always the danger of someone wanting the packages they carried.

  But Quinn said, “She wasn’t on an assignment at the time. Well, I guess technically she was, but…”

  Nate frowned. “So…someone ordered her killed. That’s why you were there. To get rid of her body?”

  A pause. “Yes.”

  “And yet she’s alive.”

  Quinn made no reply.

  A few seconds later, the download finished. Quinn opened the file and hit PLAY.

  The first part started with a man falling to his death in front of a building. This was soon followed by the arrival of another man wearing a baseball cap. Both Nate and Quinn watched with trained eyes as the second man checked the body for any signs of life, then got up and disappeared into the crowd.

  The second part of the video was a split screen showing the man in the cap on both sides, then one side morphed into an image of a woman while the other remained unchanged.

  Quinn hit PAUSE.

  “That’s her?” Nate asked, surprised by the transformation.

  Quinn nodded.

  “So she is alive.”

  Quinn closed the computer. “That was never an issue.”

  “You mean you knew?”

  “Of course I knew.”

  “But you told Peter she was dead.”

  “I told Peter I got rid of a body.”

  “You made it pretty clear you thought it
was her.”

  Quinn remained silent for several seconds, then said, “If I’d told him the truth, Mila wouldn’t have lasted another twenty-four hours.”

  “Wait. I just want to get something straight. Did you know she was alive before you disposed of the body? Or was it something you realized after?”

  Though Quinn said nothing, the look on his face was answer enough.

  “Are you kidding me?” Nate said. “How many times have you hammered into me the importance of integrity? Of maintaining an excellent reputation? You were hired for a job that you lied about. Not just today, but back then, too.”

  “Life isn’t always so black and white.”

  Nate stared at his mentor. “That’s not how you trained me.”

  “Training’s what gets you by until you have enough experience to know where you can bend the rules.”

  “So this is one of those rule-bending situations? That’s a pretty damn big bend.”

  Quinn stood up and glanced at Daeng. “Where’s the toilet?”

  “Through the living room, and down that hall,” Daeng said. “Second door on the right.”

  Without looking at Nate, Quinn left.

  Nate chastised himself. He had no idea what the extenuating circumstances were with this woman, and knew he was in no position to judge Quinn’s actions. Chances were, he would have done the same thing. He was just surprised, that’s all.

  “How about a beer?” Daeng asked, holding out an opened bottle of Chang.

  “Thanks,” Nate said, taking it from him. He drank deeply then set the bottle on the counter.

  Daeng nodded in the direction Quinn had gone. “Your friend—he’s searching.”

  Nate picked up the beer again. “Searching?”

  “When a soul gets unhinged, it is very difficult to return it to where it should be.”

  “His soul is unhinged?”

  “What would you call it?”

  Nate shrugged, but said nothing. The truth was, it was a pretty accurate description. Having his family threatened had obviously sent Quinn reeling. But his mother was fine, as was his sister. Nate knew that firsthand. He’d been with Liz a few weeks earlier.

  Outside, one of the kids screamed, then laughed. Nate turned to see a small boy running across the lawn with three other chasing him. “Are any of those kids yours?”

  Daeng shook his head. “No. I don’t have any.”

  “Oh. I just thought…” He trailed off, unsure what to say next.

  “They’re Burmese,” Daeng said.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “The children. The women, too. They’re Burmese.”

  “Refugees?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought the situation in Burma was getting better.”

  “Yes, but it still has a long way to go.” He looked out the window. “They’ve been in camps in Thailand for years. Most of those kids have never even been in Burma.”

  “They live here with you now?”

  Daeng shook his head. “Only visit. When I can, I have some of them smuggled down here, so they can have a little time away from the camps. They’ll have to go back soon.”

  Nate looked out at the kids again, wondering, not for the first time, exactly who Daeng was.

  Before he could ask anything more, Quinn returned.

  “Thank you for delivering the message, Nate, but it probably would be best if you went home now,” Quinn said. “What I need to do next will be best handled on my own.”

  “Look,” Nate said. “If I sounded disrespectful, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “That’s not it at all. You said what you needed to say. The questions you asked were ones I would have asked in your place. But this is something you shouldn’t be involved in. It happened before you were around so you’re untainted. Go. Get out of here. I don’t need you.”

  “Damn,” Nate said, a mischievous grin on his face. “Sounds like you’re breaking up with me.”

  From the look in Quinn’s eyes, it was obvious he didn’t see the humor in the situation. As he was about to say something, Nate held up a hand, stopping him.

  “I don’t care when this thing happened. I’m pretty sure you’re going to need some help, so I’m not going anywhere.”

  “This isn’t your—”

  “You can kick me out, but I’ll just follow you. And I’m good now, too. Real good. You know you won’t be able to lose me.”

  “I can’t ask you to get involved.”

  “You’re right. But I can volunteer. And I do.”

  Quinn looked at him for a moment longer, then his gaze strayed to the bottle of Chang on the bar. He turned to Daeng. “Please tell me you have more of those.”

  __________

  THE PROBLEM WAS, Nate was right. Integrity was the backbone of being a good cleaner.

  A cleaner’s job was to make bodies disappear, or, at the very least, make it appear as though the victim died by some other means than the real one. With full access to the scene of the event, a cleaner was entrusted with evidence that would not only put the actual killers in jail for the rest of their lives, but the clients, too. A sloppy cleaner could accidentally leave some of this behind, whether at the scene or the place they got rid of the body or someplace else entirely. An unscrupulous cleaner could purposely do the same. Soon word would get out about those types, and work would dry up if the cleaners in question weren’t killed outright. Integrity, performing to a higher standard, playing straight with clients—these were the things that kept work coming in.

  With Mila, Quinn had broken that code.

  When he had stood in Daeng’s bathroom after walking out of the kitchen, rubbing his face with his hands, he knew he couldn’t put Nate in a situation that might ruin his future. Was he surprised when Nate refused to walk away? No.

  What he actually experienced was relief, and that just made him feel worse.

  “So, what’s the mission?” Nate asked, quickly glancing at Daeng and back at Quinn. “Or…?”

  “Daeng’s already agreed to help me,” Quinn said.

  “Wait. You didn’t want me tainted, but you’re not worried about him?”

  “I worry about everything, but Daeng’s as stubborn as you are.”

  Nate shook his head, then shrugged. “All right, then, I’ll ask again. What’s the mission?”

  “Simple. We find Mila.”

  “And then?” Nate asked.

  “We cover her tracks and make her vanish again.”

  “What if she doesn’t cooperate?”

  “Then we’ll have to figure out a way to convince her.”

  “You’re running this show,” Nate said. “If that’s what you want to do, that’s what we do.”

  “Thanks,” Quinn told him, meaning it.

  “When do we start?”

  “Now.” Quinn held out his hand. “I need to borrow your phone.”

  __________

  QUINN CARRIED NATE’S mobile into the living room. He selected a name from Nate’s contact list, then hit CONNECT. Once he did, he had a sudden urge to hang up as quickly as possible, but instead he raised the phone to his ear.

  One p.m. in Bangkok meant it was eleven p.m. in San Francisco the day before. Would she still be up? Or would he wake her? It had been three months since he’d last talked to her. No, he realized. Four. Oh, God.

  Orlando answered after one ring. “Did you find him?”

  She obviously thought Nate was calling. “He did.”

  He wasn’t sure how to read the pause that followed. Anger? Disinterest? Annoyance?

  “Hey,” she finally said, that single syllable adding nothing to his understanding of what she might have been thinking.

  “I’m…I’m sorry. It’s been a while.”

  “It has.”

  She is not making this easy.

  “I…I just…”

  “Are you calling to chat? If you are, you’re doing a pretty bad job.”

  “No. I, um, need your help.”
<
br />   “Of course you do.” She paused. “Mila Voss, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Figured. I’ve already pulled everything together I could find so far. I’ll email it to you.”

  “Thank you. Peter put a video up on ADR-3, security footage of Mila showing up at a hotel in Tanzania. There’s a dead guy in the shot, too. Peter didn’t tell me who he was. I was wondering if you could find out? Maybe even see if there’s a connection between the corpse and Mila?”

  “I can try,” she said, sounding somewhat resigned. “You know, I met her once.”

  “You did?”

  “She was working on an assignment that ran in tandem with something Durrie and I were on.” Quinn’s late mentor had once been Orlando’s boyfriend, not to mention the father of her son, Garrett. “I liked her. I was sad when I heard she died.”

  “She didn’t die.”

  “So I gather. You had something to do with that?”

  “Yes.”

  Nothing for a moment, then, “I’ll find out what I can and get back to you.”

  “I…I miss you,” he said, but his words fell on dead air. Orlando had already hung up.

  CHAPTER 10

  FRIDAY, MAY 12th 2006

  8:48 PM

  LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

  IF HE COULD have run flat out, Quinn would have, but it was out of the question. A warm, beautiful Friday night along the Las Vegas Strip meant the crowds were even more massive than usual. The best he could manage was to weave in and out of the waves of people that seemed to be throwing themselves in his way every few seconds.

  Once, in a rare moment when a stoplight ahead had halted traffic, he moved out into the road and made a full block in the same amount of time it had taken him to travel a quarter block earlier. Ahead, he could see the Lux casino, and, across the street, the faux cityscape and scaled-down version of the Empire State Building in front of the Manhattan Hotel, his destination.

  “She’s been spotted,” Jergins had said over the phone. “They’re converging there now.”