– Ennio Morricone's soundtrack to
The Mission,
if Quinn wasn't mistaken.
As they neared the house the front door opened. A large, muscular man stood in the threshold. Like Tucker, he was Caucasian, although not quite as pasty as the Australian. Maybe a little Latin blood, Quinn decided. Or maybe just more time in the sun.
'This is Perry,' Tucker said to Quinn. 'Perry's in charge of making sure nothing gets broken around here.'
'Does that include me?' Quinn asked.
Tucker laughed.
Perry, unsmiling, moved out of the way so they could enter. Once inside, Quinn felt like he had stepped out ofVietnam and directly into an English country manor. Beyond the entryway was a large living room filled with dark antique furniture. On closer inspection it actually seemed more French than English. It was the paintings on the walls that gave it the English feel - paintings of hunting dogs, game birds, and horses, but none of people.
'Your place?' Quinn asked Tucker. 'It's a little nineteenth century, isn't it?'
'That way.' Tucker pointed to a hallway at the far end of the living room.
Quinn shrugged. As he walked in the direction Tucker had indicated, he carefully noted everything he could use to aid him if needed. There were several objects in the living room that would make for good blunt instruments: a vase, a fist-sized brass sculpture of a sleeping dog, a glass ashtray. But none were in his direct path.
Once in the hallway, Tucker directed Quinn to open the first door on the left. Inside was a bookcase-lined den. A large desk faced the door, dominating the space. Behind the desk sat a man, another Caucasian. He wore a dark blue dress shirt and looked to be in his early sixties – mainly due to his silver, close-cropped hair. He stood as Quinn and Tucker came in.
'Please,' the man said, gesturing to two chairs in front of the desk. 'Have a seat.'
Quinn took the chair to the right, and Tucker took the one to the left. The man behind the desk waited until they were settled before he sat back down.
'Can I get you something?' the man asked Quinn. His accent had a Mid-Atlantic cast to it. 'Water, perhaps? Or a soft drink? I'm afraid we've no alcohol here.'
'I'm fine,' Quinn said.
There was a pitcher of water and four glasses on one side of the desk. The man reached over and filled three of the glasses. He set one in front of Quinn and one in front of Tucker, taking the third for himself. 'Just in case you get thirsty.'
'Thanks,' Quinn said, leaving the glass untouched.
'Well then. I guess we should get started.' The man paused for a moment. 'Leo,' he said to Tucker. 'Where's Art? Wasn't he with you?'
'Seeking medical attention, I'd guess.' Tucker looked over at Quinn. 'Our boy here did a number on him outside Apocalypse Now.'
The older man frowned. 'Dreadful place. Too loud, too many undesirables. I suppose I should find out if he'll be all right.'
'He'll be fine,'Tucker said. 'Looked like a broken arm.'
'Wrist,' Quinn corrected.
'That'll take a while to heal,' the older man said.
'Who are you?' Quinn asked.
The man laughed. 'I should have introduced myself sooner. I apologize. My name's Piper.' 'As in Pied?' Quinn asked. 'As in Mister,' Piper responded. The name tickled something in the back of
Quinn's mind. He was sure Piper wasn't someone he'd worked with before – Quinn would have remembered him instantly if that were the case. But the name was familiar.
'Now why don't you tell us who
you
are,' Piper said.
Quinn shrugged. 'Sure. The name's Tony Johnson.'
Piper laughed again. 'You don't look like a Johnson to me. Do you think he looks like a Johnson, Leo?'
'Not to me, he doesn't.'
'Leo was the one who spotted you,' Piper said, returning his attention to Quinn. 'He's pretty good at faces. He was at the airport checking the new arrivals yesterday. Something he does for me most mornings. And there you were.'
'There he was,' Tucker agreed.
'The famous Jonathan Quinn,' Piper said.
Quinn didn't flinch. 'And you just decided to have me over for . . . a glass of water?'
'Just a chat,' Piper said. 'Consider the water a gift.'
'What do you want?'
'That depends.'
'On what?'
Piper smiled. 'Did you know there's a price on your head?' 'That doesn't surprise me,' Quinn said calmly. 'How much am I going for these days?'
'Not enough to make me shoot you on the spot, but enough to make me curious. Leo, what was the amount?'
'Twenty-five thousand U.S.,' Leo said. Piper looked back at Quinn. 'You see. Curiosity money, really. Not worth my trouble.' Quinn leaned back in his chair, then said, 'So who wants me dead?'
'Good question,' Piper said. 'There was no name attached to the . . . request. I was hoping you might know.'
Quinn shrugged. 'I guess we're all in the dark.'
'Curious how only you are mentioned,' Piper said. 'I guess your friend isn't as important.' 'Friend?' Quinn asked, suddenly tense. 'You weren't alone when you arrived,' Piper said.
'A young man? Tucker tells me he had some trouble with one of the local kids.' If they had noted Quinn's arrival, of course they would have made Nate, too.
'A colleague, perhaps?' Piper asked.
'Could be I just met him on the plane,' Quinn said. Tucker snorted. 'Right,' he said, laughing.
Piper pulled something out of a drawer in the desk and set it on the blotter in front of him. It was a photo of Quinn and Nate standing outside the Rex Hotel. Piper turned it so that Quinn was looking at it right-side-up, then tapped the picture several times.
'I haven't been able to ID him yet, but my instinct tells me he works for you.'
Quinn smiled.
'What are the two of you doing here?' Piper asked.
Quinn glanced down at his left hand as he ran his thumb over the pads of his fingers. 'What's the play here?' he said, looking up. 'Are we waiting for someone? When he shows up, maybe he takes me on a ride into the countryside? He comes back. I don't.'
Tucker laughed again. 'Pal, you really must be having a bad week.'
Piper leaned back, his eyes studying Quinn. 'As you can probably guess, my business here is very sensitive. What I don't want is for the two months I've had to spend in this hellhole to be blown by someone like you. So you see why I'm curious about your intentions. That is the only
play
I care about.'
'Then we don't have a problem,' Quinn said. 'Until Romeo here picked me up at the bar, I didn't even know you were in town.'
'And why should I believe you?' Piper asked.
'I don't care if you believe me or not.'
'You should,' Tucker said.
'No,' Quinn said. 'I shouldn't. You think I'm here to foul up your gig and want to take care of me now or someone out there wants the money and shoots me in the back of the head tomorrow, what's the difference? Believe me or don't. Just choose one and let's move on.'
When no one said anything, Quinn pushed himself off his chair. 'Thanks for the talk, but I've got things to do.'
Tucker jumped up a moment after Quinn, but Piper remained seated. 'Which one of you is going to call me a cab?' Quinn asked. Finally, Piper stood up, a smile growing on his
face. 'It would be best if you left Vietnam.'
'Is tomorrow too soon?' Quinn asked.
'It'll do.' Piper laughed quietly. 'A piece of advice.'
Quinn said nothing.
'Get yourself a new partner. He's very sloppy. Leo followed him most of the day without ever being spotted. Clothing shops, a couple of cosmetic stalls, some T-shirt stands.'
Leo shrugged. 'When I left him, he was eating dinner at a restaurant off Hai Ba Trung.'
'If you're really leaving tomorrow, I think we can live with that,' Piper said. 'But don't push it. Twenty-five thousand dollars isn't enough for me to get involved. But I can't speak for Leo here. Or even Art. He may feel the money should be his in exchange for the pain you've caused him. If you're still here the day after tomorrow, I can't guarantee your safety.'
'No hard feelings, I hope?'Tucker asked. He held out his hand. Reluctantly, Quinn shook it. 'Can I get my money back now?' he asked.
'What? Oh, right.' Tucker pulled the cash and map out of his pocket and handed everything to Quinn, who then slipped it all into his pocket. 'I'll walk you out,' Tucker said. 'Make sure you get that cab.'
They turned for the door.
'Mr. Quinn,' Piper said. Quinn looked back. 'I don't know for a fact who's put up the reward, but that doesn't mean I don't hear rumors.'
'What's the rumor?' Quinn asked.
A pause. Then Piper said, 'Borko.'
'Borko?'
Piper nodded. 'He's no friend of mine, and by your reaction, he's not one of yours either. I'd be careful if I were you.' Quinn stood motionless for a moment, absorbing this new information, then nodded and left.
Chapter 15
It was during the cab ride back to the hotel that Piper's identity finally clicked in Quinn's mind. Reuben Piper. He could be no one else. Durrie's first partner, long before Quinn had joined the business. Durrie had seldom spoken of Piper, but occasionally a story would come out. Quinn could recall few details. The pairing had ended badly, though. That much he did remember.
The cab dropped Quinn off in front of the Rex at 11:30 p.m. Technically, it was after the citywide
11:00 p.m. curfew, but the streets were still busy, and Quinn had noticed several restaurants and clubs still open during the drive back. His mind spinning, the last thing he wanted to do was to go up to his room, yet the idea of returning to a club did not appeal to him. He considered for a moment walking over to Mai 99, but opted in the end for the rooftop bar at the Rex.
As he took a sip from a glass of Tiger beer, he couldn't help but consider the ramifications of his encounter with Piper. Quinn had thought he was coming to a safe haven in Vietnam. Instead he and Nate had been spotted the moment they'd stepped off the plane. And as if that little bit of news needed an extra kicker, Piper's revelation that Borko might be involved in the disruption was disturbing to say the least.
About the only positive that came out of the impromptu meeting was what Piper had not said. There'd been no mention of Orlando at all. If Piper had known she was also here, he wouldn't have let Quinn go so easily. It was bad enough having Quinn in town, but two top-level agents in Saigon at the same time? Two agents who not only knew each other, but had worked extensively together in the past? It would have been too much. But apparently their paths had not crossed in the couple of months Piper had been there.
Quinn's thoughts returned to Borko. He was a problem, and not just a small one. It was like going to the dentist for a cleaning and being told you had to have multiple root canals right away, Quinn thought, then quickly changed his mind.
More like going to the dentist and being told all your teeth have to be pulled out.
Still, Quinn had to admit, Borko's involvement made a certain amount of sense. Undertaking a disruption was a huge task, one that usually wasn't worth the risk. But Borko's organization was the Sex Pistols of the intelligence world, willing to do things that few of their competitors would touch. The strategy both helped and hurt Borko. Most clients wouldn't deal with him. But occasionally an unconventional need would arise, and that's when he'd get a call.
While Quinn's path had crossed that of the Serbian's organization only once, it was enough. No matter how hard he tried, the memory of that job was something he could never forget.
It had been six years earlier in Toronto.
It started off like a lot of his jobs did, with Quinn crammed in the back of a van, staring at a rack of monitors mounted temporarily against the wall. This time the images on the screens were different angles of a work area in a City of Toronto vehicle maintenance facility. He wasn't the only one watching. Two other guys were shoehorned in there with him.
'What's that? Eight shots?'
'Nine,' Quinn said.
Dan Skyler, the one who asked the question, was sitting to Quinn's right. He was a local guy Quinn had hired for the gig, a disposal specialist among other things, though Quinn wasn't planning on tapping into that part of Skyler's talents.
When the job had been offered to him, it had been characterized as being straightforward. Keep an eye on things as the exchange went down, then go in after everyone was gone and sanitize the scene
– remove any trace of their presences: tire tracks, fingerprints, footprints, things moved out of place, any physical evidence at all that might lead someone to pick up the trail of the asset. If someone had later been able to trace the asset to the exchange location, it needed to be a dead end. Quinn liked to think of it as a water job. Like in a movie, where someone would run into a creek and use the water to cover his tracks and wash away any scent he might leave behind. Quinn's job was to be the creek.
Only based on the scene in front of them, it was going to take more than just a creek to clean things up. Skyler's specialty was going to be needed after all.
To Quinn's left was Joseph Glaze. He was with the client, a group called V12, there to monitor Quinn's work and communicate back to his superiors when everything was done. Not a situation Quinn was particularly fond of, but it sometimes came with the job.
'Jesus Christ,' Glaze said, his eyes wide. 'We need to do something.' He started to push himself up out of his chair, but Quinn reached over and grabbed Glaze's shoulder.
'Hold on,' Quinn said.
'But –'
'It's not our job.'
Reluctantly, Glaze sat back down.
For nearly a minute, all was quiet on the display screens. No noise, no movement. Quinn took a slow, deep breath as he scanned the monitors. What was supposed to have been a simple asset transfer had turned into a massacre. The floor of the garage was becoming stained by something more than motor fluids.
'I count three down,' Quinn said.
'That's the whole transfer team,' Glaze said. He leaned forward for a closer look. 'Where's the asset?' They scanned the monitors for several seconds. 'There she is,' Skyler said, pointing at one of the