Iris clung to Nate, a short laugh escaping her mouth every few seconds. It had become a game to her, and that was fine with Quinn. Better that she was happy than crying.
When they reached the back of a rectangular building that butted up against the large grassy playground, Quinn stopped. There was a chain-link fence that ran along the back of the field, and just beyond it a wooded area that separated the school grounds from the golf course.
"We need to get over there," Quinn said. He did a one-eighty, checking if they had been followed. So far so good. "I'll go first. Once I'm over, I'll give you a signal, then you follow."
"Got it."
Quinn did one final look around, then sprinted across the grass. It took him just over ten seconds to reach the fence. He tossed the pistol onto the other side, then placed his hands on the top crossbar and pushed himself over.
Once rearmed and partially hidden by a nearby tree, he scanned the school. There was no one but Nate and Iris, so he gave his apprentice a single wave.
Quinn met them at the fence. Nate handed Iris over the top, and Quinn gently maneuvered her the rest of the way over. He then hugged the girl to his chest and turned to head for the cover of the trees. That's when he heard the shot.
Nate, already pulling himself over the fence, grunted, then fell to the ground on Quinn's side. Quinn darted behind the same tree as before, getting Iris out of any line of fire. He pulled his gun out, then peeked around the tree.
Nate was dragging himself along the ground toward the cover of the grove.
"Are you hit?" Quinn asked.
"I'm fine," Nate said.
Quinn glanced through the fence back at the school. There were two men in police uniforms crouched near the corner of one of the buildings. Quinn aimed his pistol so that he would hit a spot in the grass off to their right, then pulled the trigger twice.
As he'd hoped, the sound of the shots sent the officers running for cover. It also caused Iris to yell out in surprise.
"Up. Quick, quick, quick," Quinn said to Nate.
Nate got to his feet and lunged into the woods.
Quinn rubbed Iris on the back. "You're going to be all right," he said. "No need to cry."
"Here," Nate said, holding out his arms.
Quinn handed the girl to him, and instantly she went quiet.
"You're just the one who made the big noise," Nate said to Quinn. "Don't take it personally."
Quinn looked back at the school. The police officers were still out of sight, but he knew that wouldn't last for long.
"We need to keep moving," he said.
If he headed south and a bit to the east, he knew they would get to the road that led to the golf course clubhouse, but that would be the first place anyone looked for them. So he turned left.
As they ran, Quinn pulled out his phone and called Orlando.
It rang five times, then clicked over to voicemail.
Dammit, he thought, then tried it again. Same response.
The trees were thinning to the right. Beyond was the green fairway of one of the holes. Not surprisingly, there was no one out on the course. The facility had no doubt been shut down due to security concerns for the now-canceled event at the school. Quinn moved to the left, keeping more trees between them and the open space.
After several minutes, he saw a wooden fence ahead of them that separated the course from the backyards of several houses. Once again he had Nate wait as he approached alone. What he was hoping to find was a gate behind one of the houses. No luck on that front, but what he did find was an empty house waiting for a new owner.
"Over here," he called.
As Nate hopped the fence, Quinn saw that the shoe and pant leg near Nate's right ankle had been ripped apart.
"What the hell happened?" he asked.
Nate looked down at the damage. "I got hit," he said. "But see? No blood. Bonus for missing a leg. I have to tell you, though, the vibration stung like a son of a bitch."
Nate was going to do fine, Quinn knew. Just fine.
As they headed across the backyard, Quinn's cell phone began to hum.
"Hold on," he told Nate.
Orlando's name was on the screen.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "I don't know where Nate is."
"He's with me."
"And the girl?"
"We've got her."
He could hear her sigh. "Thank God."
"We could use a ride, though," he said.
"That I can help with."
He told her where they were. "I'm going to leave Nate here with the girl. Pick them up and get out of town."
"Where the hell do you think you're going?"
"I need to find Tucker."
A pause on the other end. "That won't be necessary," she said. "He's dead."
And as soon as she said it, he knew where she'd been.
There was no statute of limitations on a mother's vengeance.
Hardwick had followed the car south on the 101 all the way to Santa Barbara to a motel called the Santa Barbara Beach Inn. He hadn't been seen because the person he was trailing had no reason to suspect he was being followed. Arrogance. An arrogance that had served him well for years, but was ultimately going to bring him down.
He parked in the lot and got out of the car. The fat suit he'd worn when he'd met with Quinn was gone. He was leaner and in far better shape than he'd portrayed at the museum.
Once he found which room the man was in, he located a maid working alone on the second level. She hadn't put up much of a fight. It was too bad he had to kill her, but he couldn't leave anyone who would recognize him. He pulled her cart into the room where he'd left her, then shut the door. He would be long gone by the time anyone found her.
Her passkey in hand, Hardwick listened at the man's door. A TV was on inside, and somewhere water was running. A shower, he realized.
Perfect.
He used the key and let himself in.
The suite was nice enough. Not the Four Seasons, but livable. Of course, Hardwick would have never stayed there. He assumed it was chosen more for its low profile than for its décor. The living area consisted of a couple of couches, a small dining table, some odds and ends to give the space character, and a plasma TV hanging on the wall and tuned to CNN.
To his right was a door that led to a spacious bedroom, with attached master bath. That's where the sound of the shower came from.
Hardwick checked his watch: 9:15.
As if on cue, the shower turned off.
Hardwick made himself comfortable on one of the couches. From the bathroom he could hear first the flush of the toilet, then the sink turn on, then off.
When the man entered the living room, he wore only a towel around his waist. He crossed to the TV, and seemed annoyed by what he saw.
"Expecting something else?" Hardwick said.
The man whipped around, surprised. "What are you doing here?" he said.
Hardwick smiled. "It's such a big day for you, Anthony. I didn't think you'd want to spend it alone."
"You will call me Mr. Rose," he said, his tone as arrogant as his driving habits had been. Anthony was his given first name. No one ever called him that. "And you're right. It is a big day. We should see the results in a few minutes."
Hardwick stood up. "I'm not talking about your little plan in Morro Bay. That, I'm fairly confident, isn't going to come off as you expect."
"What are you talking about?"
"The LP has always had a plan, Anthony. And what we do in support of that plan is carefully worked out years ahead of time."
"I'm well aware of the plan, James. That's exactly what I've been working toward. What I will have accomplished this morning will bring us just that much closer. This was all worked out months ago. The council approved my plan and has funded the operation. So whatever it is you're trying to tell me is just more of your bullshit."
"The council. Right." Hardwick smiled. "Who do you think sent me?"
&nb
sp; Mr. Rose's eyes narrowed as his lips pressed together in obvious anger. "Enough. You've overstepped your bounds. I'm sure the council has no idea that you're here." He turned and started scanning the room, looking for something.
"Your phone's on the wet bar, if that's what you're searching for."
This only seemed to make Mr. Rose angrier. He marched over to the bar, one hand holding up his towel, the other clenching and flexing as if it was the only thing keeping him from flying into a rage. After picking up the phone, he punched a couple of buttons, then raised it to his ear. Hardwick watched as Mr. Rose held it in place for several seconds, then moved it out so he could see the screen. His eyes grew wide as he read the message Hardwick knew would be there.
"Oh, I totally forgot," Hardwick said, then looked at his watch. "The council had your phone disconnected four minutes ago. Here. Use mine." He pulled out his own phone and held it out to Mr. Rose.
Mr. Rose didn't move. "I don't need to make a call to know that you're lying."
"Then let me do it for you."
Hardwick activated the speakerphone function, then dialed.
There were two rings, then, "Hello?"
"Mr. Kidd, please," Hardwick said.
Mr. Rose shot him a look.
"One moment," the voice on the phone said.
"Didn't anyone tell you?" Hardwick said to Mr. Rose. "Mr. Kidd's the chairman now."
Movement on the other end of the line, then the hollow sound of another speakerphone being activated.
"James?" a voice said.
"Yes, Mr. Kidd," Hardwick said. "I'm here with Mr. Rose right now."
"Ah. And you've delivered our message?"
"I'm in the process."
"This is ridiculous," Mr. Rose blurted out. He took several steps toward Hardwick and the phone. "Where is Chairman Vine?"
"Is that you, Mr. Rose?" Mr. Kidd said.
"Where's the Chairman?"
"I'm the Chairman. If you're looking for Mr. Vine, he retired."
"That's bullshit!" Mr. Rose yelled.
"It is not . . . bullshit," a new voice said over the phone. It was older, and its staccato delivery was unmistakably that of the former chairman. "I turned over power to Chairman Kidd ten weeks ago. So, Mr. Rose, you are talking to the Chairman."
"Ten weeks?" Mr. Rose said to himself. He looked at the phone as if he could see Mr. Kidd on the other end. "But my operation, you continued to fund it."
"It was useful to us for a time," Chairman Kidd said. "We do owe you a thanks. Without your operation, we would have never been able to dispose of some of our more ardent enemies. The DDNI will no longer be hunting us, and as of this morning the Office has ceased operations. Those are both because of you."
"But why try to stop what I was doing? I don't understand. It served the plan."
"Actually," Hardwick said, "it was decided that it would serve the plan better if your operation were to fail spectacularly. The result will be just as good as if you had succeeded in killing the targets. In fact, probably better."
"It's all in service of the plan, Mr. Rose," Chairman Kidd said. "I think there is only one little matter left to take care of."
"Wh . . . what?" Mr. Rose asked.
"Mr. Hardwick will fill you in." Almost before the last word was spoken, the call was disconnected.
Hardwick glanced at the television. There was a handheld shot from a street where dozens of people were running. In the background, smoke was rising in the air. The graphic at the bottom of the screen identified the location as Morro Bay, California. In the text scroll beneath that, this information:
SCHOOL VISIT BY G8 SPOUSES DISRUPTED PRIOR TO THEIR ARRIVAL ON THE CAMPUS • NO CASUALTIES YET REPORTED • CHAOS IN STREETS IN MORRO BAY • SCHOOL VISIT BY G8 SPOUSES . . .
Hardwick looked over at Mr. Rose and saw that the old man was watching the television, too.
"I don't think we could have asked for a better result," Hardwick said, smiling.
Mr. Rose looked at Hardwick, then at the useless phone he seemed to realize he was still holding. When he threw it, it wasn't a surprise. Hardwick was already moving toward him, the phone missing him by several inches and slamming harmlessly into the cushion on the couch.
Mr. Rose, though, displayed a surprising amount of speed. He was already moving toward the bedroom the moment the phone left his hand. Hardwick sprinted after him, getting to the door just before it closed all the way.
He shoved it open, knocking the older man back. Mr. Rose had one hand on the bed to keep from falling.
"The council knew you wouldn't take this well," Hardwick said. "And they just can't afford having you cause them any other problems. I'm sure you understand."
Hardwick pulled his Beretta out from the holster under his jacket.
"You wouldn't fucking dare," Mr. Rose said.
From a pocket in the jacket, Hardwick methodically removed his suppressor and attached it to the barrel of the gun. When he was done, he pointed it at Mr. Rose.
"Now everything is nice and clean. This operation of yours will be attributed to a small terrorist cell working out of Eastern Europe. G8 summit. Economic terrorists. Wouldn't be the first time. You, of course, will be branded the ringleader. The cool thing, though, is that in the process of carrying out your little terrorist plot, you were forced to kill several members of the U.S. government who just happened to be enemies of the LP. In fact, turns out they were the ones who wanted to take us down the most. Lucky us."
Mr. Rose said nothing.
"And the best part?" Hardwick said. "Those who aren't dead think we were trying to help them stop your threat. It puts us in a most . . . useful position. Again, thanks."
"Fuck off," Mr. Rose said, then dove toward the pile of clothes next to the bathroom.
Hardwick had been expecting the move. His first bullet caught Mr. Rose in the left shoulder, the second in the right hip. The man fell to the floor several feet short of the clothes pile that almost, but not quite, covered up the pistol that was beneath it.
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.
The Unwanted Page 46
