'Fa,
Herr Reimers,' she said.
'Einen Moment, bitte.'
The woman disappeared back into the room, leaving the door ajar. Quinn moved silently into the hall. As he neared Duke, he pretended to reach into his pocket as if searching for something, tilting his head down to help conceal his identity. Duke glanced at him, then returned his attention to the old woman's apartment.
As Quinn was about to pass the fat man, he stopped. It took Duke a moment to realize that something was up. As he turned, Quinn smiled.
'Guten tag,
Herr Reimers,' Quinn said.
Chapter 23
Quinn shoved Duke through the door and into the apartment. Once they were both inside, Quinn kicked the door closed. The old woman appeared in a doorway to the right.
'
Was ist los?
'
she asked.
Duke stumbled against an old cloth-covered chair. He turned and looked back at Quinn, then started to push himself up.
'Don't move,' Quinn said to Duke. He shot a glance at the woman.
'Was ist hinter dieser Tür?'
he asked her, nodding toward a door on the other side of the room.
'Wer sind Sie
?'
she demanded.
Quinn glared at Duke. 'What's behind that door?' he asked in English. 'It's a bathroom,' Duke said. Quinn looked at the woman and told her in
German to go into the bathroom. She didn't move. To Duke, Quinn said, 'Maybe she'll listen to you. Tell her if she doesn't, I'll shoot her.'
'What's the problem here?' Duke asked.
'Tell her.'
Duke turned to the old woman. 'Frau Russ.
Bitte gehen Sie in's Bad, während wir uns unterhalten.'
This time the woman did as ordered. Quinn watched as she entered the bathroom and shut the door, then he turned and looked down at Duke.
'Get up,' Quinn said.
Duke pushed himself against the chair and found his footing. 'What's going on, Quinn? What's wrong?'
Quinn scoffed, but said nothing.
'I'm confused. Please, you're scaring me.'
'Good,' Quinn said. 'Let's cut through all the you-don't-know-what-I'm-here-for bullshit. All right?'
Duke's hand suddenly shot under his jacket, but Quinn was already in motion, slipping his knife out of his pocket and into his right hand. He grabbed Duke by the hair with his left hand as he pressed the blade against the fat man's neck. 'Not a good idea.'
Duke stiffened.
'Now. Slowly,' Quinn continued. 'Hands to the side.' Duke started to speak, but Quinn said, 'Quiet.' Duke moved his hands away from his jacket. Quinn let go of Duke's hair, then moved his free
hand to the spot Duke had been reaching for. From under the jacket, he pulled out a pistol. A Glock.
Quinn transferred the gun into the pocket of his coat. 'Anything else?'
'No,' Duke said.
Quinn increased the pressure on the knife. 'No,' Duke repeated. 'Nothing.'
'In the chair,' Quinn ordered.
He pulled the knife back and let Duke sit back down in the old chair. Sweat beaded on the fat man's brow. In front of the chair was a coffee table. Quinn pushed a stack of magazines off it and onto the floor, then he took a seat on the edge. 'Who are you working for?'
'None of your business.'
Quinn brandished the knife. 'You see, that's just stupid. I'm a little pissed off right now. My self-control isn't exactly running at full strength.'
'Borko,' Duke said quickly.
'Only Borko?'
Duke eyed the blade nervously. 'He's been my only contact.' 'Not Dahl?' 'The name doesn't mean anything to me.' 'God, I hate it when you lie.' 'I'm not,' Duke said. Quinn inched the knife
closer. 'Okay, okay. I've heard the name, all right? He called Borko once when I was meeting with him. That's all.'
Quinn stared without saying anything.
'I swear, that's it.'
'Then let's talk about the water plant. What's it being used for?' 'You think they would tell me?' Duke asked. 'Borko wouldn't even let me in the building.'
'I have a hard time believing that. Borko isn't based here. He needs a local guy. Someone who knows the city and can make things happen.' Quinn pointed the knife at Duke. 'That's you. So don't fucking tell me it isn't.'
'I'm a nobody, Quinn. A hired hand. Like you. That's all,' he said, his accent all but gone. 'Borko doesn't tell me anything. Sure, I got the property for them, but that's it. What they're doing, I haven't a clue.'
'Think really hard. Maybe you're forgetting something. Something Borko might not have told you directly. Maybe something you overheard or even figured out on your own.'
Duke didn't say anything, but the look in his
eyes told Quinn he knew more. 'What is it?' Quinn asked. Duke hesitated, then said, 'It's just a guess.' 'Then guess.' 'They needed the Office out of the way. I don't
know why. Borko handled that. I think he worked
with someone on the inside.' 'Who?' Quinn asked. 'Was it Peter?' Duke said nothing. 'Fine,' Quinn said. 'But why take me out? I don't
even work for the Office.' Duke hesitated. 'What?' Quinn asked. 'You were a special request.' 'Special request? You mean I was singled out?' 'That's all I heard, okay? It's all I know.' Quinn let the meaning of Duke's words sink in.
A special request? Could that be true? Even if it
was, it did little to explain what was going on. 'What are they up to?' Quinn asked. 'I already answered that,' Duke said. In one quick, fluid motion, Quinn flicked the
blade against Duke's ear. Blood began running down the fat man's neck. 'What the fuck?' he said as he put a hand over the wound to staunch the flow.
'What's the job?' Quinn asked again.
'I told you, I –'
The knife started to move again.
Duke raised his hands, palms outward. 'Wait. All right. I overheard something. But it didn't make sense to me.'
'What?'
'Just some initials,' Duke said. He closed his eyes, as if straining to remember. 'What initials?' 'Give me a second!' Duke's voice rose in frus
tration. 'It was "I" something. ICME . . . ICUT
No, not IC. IO . . . IOMP. That's it. IOMR'
'What's that mean?' Quinn asked.
'How should I know?'
'You're lying,' Quinn said, knowing Duke was holding something back. 'What does it mean?'
'I don't know.'
'Then what do you know?'
The fat man looked down but didn't answer.
'What?' Quinn demanded.
'Just a name. I've never heard it before.'
'What was it?'
'Campobello.'
Quinn's eyes narrowed, the connection immediately made in his own mind. 'There has to be more,' he said.
'No,' Duke said. 'Nothing.' Quinn moved the knife a fraction of an inch. 'I swear,' Duke said. 'It's all I heard.'
'You're a lot of help, aren't you?'
'I'm telling you everything I know.'
'I doubt that,' Quinn said. 'Where can I find Borko?'
'I've never met him in the same place twice,' Duke said. 'He calls. We meet. A restaurant. A bar. Whatever. I don't have a clue where he might be staying. Your best bet is the water plant. He must go there sometime.'
Quinn had already thought of that. He stared at Duke until the fat man looked away. 'Just one more thing. How much did they pay you to set us up?'
Duke stammered. 'I . . . I didn't. . . they . . .'
'How much? Ten thousand a head? Twenty? I hope you were getting at least twenty-five K for me. That's what they offered Gibson.'
Duke's lips were pressed tightly together.
'Where's my team?'
Duke shook his head. 'I don't know.'
'You're lying.'
'I'm
not,'
Duke pleaded.
'I don't believe you,' Quinn said. He pulled Duke's pistol out of his pocket. 'What are you going to do with that?' Duke asked.
'The same thing you tried to do to us.'
Quinn aimed the gun at Duke's forehead and pulled the trigger.
Chapter 24
Quinn made several stops that afternoon, purchasing tools he needed for the task ahead. He also checked the handrail in Ku'damm, but it was still devoid of any sign of Nate or Orlando. He knew he should assume the worst, but he wasn't ready to do it yet. Eventually he found a cafe just south of Tiergarten where he ate an early dinner and waited for the sun to go down.
As he sat nursing a cup of coffee, Quinn thought about his conversation with Duke. IOMP. Maybe it was nothing. Duke might have made it up on the spot to keep Quinn from killing him. If so, it was just another example of Duke's bad judgment. But if it meant something, Quinn couldn't afford to ignore it. He searched his memories for any kind of connection, but couldn't come up with one.
It was the other tidbit Duke had dropped that had clicked for him.
Campobello.
It had been the city listed on Robert Taggert's driver's license. Campobello, Nevada. Still, its ultimate meaning eluded him.
Then again, maybe none of it mattered, he thought. Did he really care what Borko was up to? Was there any reason he needed to know?
Only if it helped him find Orlando and Nate, he decided. Otherwise he didn't care.
Once night had fallen, Quinn caught a taxi and returned to Neukölln. He told his driver he couldn't remember the exact address of the building he needed to go to, but that he knew it was on Wildenbruchstrasse somewhere east of Sonnenalle.
As they drove through the city, Quinn closed his eyes to focus on the job ahead. He tried to go over his plan step-by-step, but instead his mind filled with images of Orlando and Nate dead, their bodies dumped in some dark corner of the city. When he opened his eyes again, they were in Neukölln. He leaned forward and instructed the cabby to drive slowly so that they wouldn't miss his destination.
As the taxi passed the south end of Schandauer Strasse, Quinn checked the street for surveillance. He easily picked out the spotters at each end of the block. One was sitting in the back of an Audi at the curb. The other one was hiding in the shadows of the entrance to an apartment building.
Quinn assumed there were more. Borko wouldn't take chances, especially not with Quinn still loose. There had to be at least one camera, maybe two. And probably one more guy on the street near the entrance to the water plant. Approaching the building unnoticed from the front would be all but impossible.
Quinn kept up the charade for two more blocks. Just beyond the canal, he picked out a random building and had the taxi driver drop him off.
The mission for tonight was simple: reenter the water plant, look for signs of Orlando and Nate, set up surveillance so he could keep tabs on what was going on inside, and get out.
Prior to leaving for the plant, Quinn had checked the signals from the original cameras he had put in place the previous night, the night of the trap. All he got was static. Borko's men had undoubtedly removed the equipment not long after Quinn had made his escape. But the locations those cameras had been in were no longer as critical to Quinn. Where he wanted to put the cameras now was in the two locations he hadn't been able to that first night. In the basement, and in the sphere. These were the focal points of Borko's operation, the most likely spots from which Quinn could learn anything useful.
The storm from the night before had moved on and had been replaced by a mass of frigid air. Quinn pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the cold.
He made his way back across the bridge spanning the canal, then turned right on Weigandufer. On one side of the street was the man-made river, and on the other side a row of apartment buildings, each between six and eight stories high. Quinn walked down the sidewalk, casually scanning the buildings. Near the middle of the block, he found what he was looking for.
The entrance to the mustard yellow building was up a short flight of steps. It was a way in, but a bit more public than he wanted. All he really needed to do was get to the other side.
The better option was to the left of the entrance, at street level. It was a tunnel through the structure, an opening built to allow cars to drive through to a parking lot in the back. There were two large wooden doors attached to either side of the opening. Since it was still early in the evening, the doors were open, allowing residents easier access in and out.
Quinn walked through the opening as if he belonged. He stopped at the back end of the tunnel and surveyed the parking lot. It was not large, just room enough for ten cars and a few motorcycles. There were two floodlights mounted at either end of the lot. The bulb in the one at the far back corner was flickering, and would need to be replaced soon. At the rear of the property, behind the lot, was a row of trees. Beyond the trees was an open field. And at the other end of the field, the water plant.
Quinn stepped out from the shadows of the tunnel, intent on crossing the lot and reaching the cover of the trees. But he only got a few feet when he heard the groan of rusted hinges. A door was opening to his right. He glanced over and saw a man stepping out of the building into the parking lot.
Quinn ducked down behind one of the cars. Carefully, he peeked through the car's windows. The guy looked to be in his late fifties, tired and overweight. Quinn watched as the man held the door open, and a medium-sized dog, a mutt, ran outside.
The man shut the door, then lit a cigarette.
While he smoked, the dog sniffed around the lot, stopping once to pee. As the mutt neared Quinn's position it stopped suddenly, nose in the air. Quinn cursed silently, bracing himself to make a quick escape back through the tunnel to the street. Only instead of barking, the dog came over and began to lick Quinn's hand.
The man with the cigarette took a few steps into the lot. 'Charlie?' he called.
But Charlie seemed to have taken a liking to his new friend. Quinn gently tried to push the dog away, but Charlie wouldn't move. Quinn glanced over the side of the car again. The dog's owner had taken a few more steps away from the door. He took a final puff on his cigarette, then flicked it to the ground and stamped it out.