still be there.
"Quinn," Misty said, her voice mellowing. "We were wondering when you'd call. Hold on, he's expecting you."
There was a short pause, then Peter came on the line.
"Well?" he asked.
"The church is taken care of," Quinn said. "The bodies are about to disappear, too."
"No blowback?"
"Not from my end," Quinn said, annoyed. He was good at his job, and blowback from anything he was responsible for never happened.
"Good."
"The shooter?" Quinn asked.
Peter hesitated. He was notorious for not wanting to share more information than he had to. But then he said, "He's on a plane. Should be here in a few hours." Another pause. "You did great. Catching him, I mean. That's bonus worthy."
"You're right. It is."
The ship's engines suddenly died down to a low rumble. Quinn stepped out of the cabin and onto the rear deck. The sky was a mixture of dark blue and faded orange. In the east, over the sea and toward the U.K., the sun would soon peer above the horizon.
Baulder called down from the bridge. "I've got nothing on the radar for miles."
"Hold on," Quinn said into the phone. He looked west first, toward the lights of the distant Irish coast, then did a sweep of the horizon. There were no other boats within sight. "Works for me."
Nate and Howard took that as their cue. They lifted the first body off the deck and heaved it over the stern and into the water.
As they reached down for the next one, Quinn brought the phone back up.
"Consider the job done," Quinn said. "That's one."
"One what?"
"Our deal. You've got two more jobs, then we're clean. Goodbye, Peter."
"Wait," Peter said.
"What?"
"Was there . . . anything on the bodies?" Peter asked.
Quinn hesitated. He could still throw the tiny package he'd found into the ocean with everything else, and claim there was nothing. "I found an envelope," Quinn said. "I assume that's what you're looking for."
"Yes," Peter said, relief in his voice. "Yes, definitely. That's got to be it."
"I'll mail it to you when I get back."
"I can't wait that long. I need it now."
"Well, you can't have it now."
"Where are you headed after this?" Peter asked. "Back to Los Angeles?"
Quinn remained silent.
"Okay, don't tell me," Peter said. "But wherever you're going, can you at least make a connection close to me?"
Though Quinn wasn't opposed to making life difficult for Peter, the envelope was obviously important enough for people to get killed over. The sooner he got rid of it, the better. "Atlanta work for you?"
"When?"
"I'll email you," Quinn said, then paused for a moment. "If your contact in Atlanta doesn't show up on time, I'm not waiting around."
He hung up.
The wind was beginning to pick up. It was brisk, bone chilling. As Quinn watched Nate and Howard toss the last of the bodies into the sea, he slipped his hands into his jacket pockets. The fingers of his right hand brushed up against the all-important manila envelope.
Whatever was inside had resulted in the deaths of four men. Quinn would be happy when it was no longer in his possession. But there was something that tickled at the back of his mind, that little internal warning signal he'd had since birth. This time it was telling him that getting rid of the package might not be the end of things.
He hated that feeling.
CHAPTER
5
ONE WEEK LATER
ROOM 531 OF THE GEIST HOTEL IN WASHINGTON, D.C. The only light was the blue-white glow emanating from ten wide-screen monitors. But for the three men standing together in front of the displays, that was more than enough. Peter, head of the Office, was more or less the host. It was his assistant who had arranged for the room, his techs who'd set up the equipment, and his agent standing guard near the suite's exit. But it was really the other two men who were running the show. They were his clients, after all.
His two guests stood together, separating themselves from Peter as much as possible in the small space available. Except for their age difference, and the fact that the younger one appeared to be of
"Quinn," Misty said, her voice mellowing. "We were wondering when you'd call. Hold on, he's expecting you."
There was a short pause, then Peter came on the line.
"Well?" he asked.
"The church is taken care of," Quinn said. "The bodies are about to disappear, too."
"No blowback?"
"Not from my end," Quinn said, annoyed. He was good at his job, and blowback from anything he was responsible for never happened.
"Good."
"The shooter?" Quinn asked.
Peter hesitated. He was notorious for not wanting to share more information than he had to. But then he said, "He's on a plane. Should be here in a few hours." Another pause. "You did great. Catching him, I mean. That's bonus worthy."
"You're right. It is."
The ship's engines suddenly died down to a low rumble. Quinn stepped out of the cabin and onto the rear deck. The sky was a mixture of dark blue and faded orange. In the east, over the sea and toward the U.K., the sun would soon peer above the horizon.
Baulder called down from the bridge. "I've got nothing on the radar for miles."
"Hold on," Quinn said into the phone. He looked west first, toward the lights of the distant Irish coast, then did a sweep of the horizon. There were no other boats within sight. "Works for me."
Nate and Howard took that as their cue. They lifted the first body off the deck and heaved it over the stern and into the water.
As they reached down for the next one, Quinn brought the phone back up.
"Consider the job done," Quinn said. "That's one."
"One what?"
"Our deal. You've got two more jobs, then we're clean. Goodbye, Peter."
"Wait," Peter said.
"What?"
"Was there . . . anything on the bodies?" Peter asked.
Quinn hesitated. He could still throw the tiny package he'd found into the ocean with everything else, and claim there was nothing. "I found an envelope," Quinn said. "I assume that's what you're looking for."
"Yes," Peter said, relief in his voice. "Yes, definitely. That's got to be it."
"I'll mail it to you when I get back."
"I can't wait that long. I need it now."
"Well, you can't have it now."
"Where are you headed after this?" Peter asked. "Back to Los Angeles?"
Quinn remained silent.
"Okay, don't tell me," Peter said. "But wherever you're going, can you at least make a connection close to me?"
Though Quinn wasn't opposed to making life difficult for Peter, the envelope was obviously important enough for people to get killed over. The sooner he got rid of it, the better. "Atlanta work for you?"
"When?"
"I'll email you," Quinn said, then paused for a moment. "If your contact in Atlanta doesn't show up on time, I'm not waiting around."
He hung up.
The wind was beginning to pick up. It was brisk, bone chilling. As Quinn watched Nate and Howard toss the last of the bodies into the sea, he slipped his hands into his jacket pockets. The fingers of his right hand brushed up against the all-important manila envelope.
Whatever was inside had resulted in the deaths of four men. Quinn would be happy when it was no longer in his possession. But there was something that tickled at the back of his mind, that little internal warning signal he'd had since birth. This time it was telling him that getting rid of the package might not be the end of things.
He hated that feeling.
CHAPTER
5
ONE WEEK LATER
ROOM 531 OF THE GEIST HOTEL IN WASHINGTON, D.C. The only light was the blue-white glow emanating from ten wide-screen monitors. But for the three men standing together in front of the displays, that was more than enough. Peter, head of the Office, was more or less the host. It was his assistant who had arranged for the room, his techs who'd set up the equipment, and his agent standing guard near the suite's exit. But it was really the other two men who were running the show. They were his clients, after all.
His two guests stood together, separating themselves from Peter as much as possible in the small space available. Except for their age difference, and the fact that the younger one appeared to be of
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