Brett Battles - Shadow of Betrayal

“All clear?” he asked.

“As far as I can tell,” she said.

“Nate. Anything?” Quinn asked.

There was a pause, then the rattle of paper before his apprentice’s hushed voice came over his receiver. “Quiet over here. The museum doesn’t open until noon. Most of the people I’ve seen probably work here.”

“No one paying attention to you?”

“I know how to do the job,” Nate snapped.

“So that’s a no?”

“That’s a no.”

“Orlando and I are going to walk around the grounds, then I’ll come over there and we’ll switch.”

“Copy that,” Nate said. Then, after a slight pause, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Quinn said, conceding without actually saying it that he might have pushed too much. He looked at Orlando. “Let’s go into the park, but switch. You take the east, and I’ll go west.”

She was giving him her patented you’re-an-idiot look, no doubt about the exchange with Nate, but she only said, “Okay.”

After wandering through the park that surrounded the museums for another thirty minutes, noticing nothing unusual, Quinn decided it was time to get into position.

He’d almost reached the central court when Orlando said, “I got something.”

Quinn stopped, instinctively turning east toward the part of the park she’d been in.

“Is it him?” he asked.

“Might be. I’m down near the east end of the lake, along that small walkway between the tar and the fence near Wilshire Boulevard. I have a good view here of the Curson gate.”

Quinn pictured the spot in his mind. “All right.”

“Two men just entered. Not tourists. Casual suits. Looking very serious.”

Quinn thought about all the office buildings that were within a few blocks of the park. “Could be a couple of businessmen trying to get some air.”

“Could be,” she said, “but they have the look.”

He knew what she meant. Tough, focused, not letting anything escape their gaze. Quinn looked at his watch: 11:15, still forty-five minutes until the meeting was to occur. Advance men, maybe? Doing the same thing Quinn and his team were doing? Or another assassination team, like the one in Ireland, getting into place?

“This is L.A.,” Nate said. “Maybe they’re agents. You know, of the talent kind.”

Quinn was about to tell Nate to knock it off, but he stopped himself.

“Keep an eye on them,” Quinn said. “Could be nothing.”

“Copy that,” Orlando said.

Instead of continuing toward the central court, Quinn headed down the path that ran along the back side of the Hammer Building, toward the tar lake.

“What are they doing?” he said.

“Hold on,” Orlando whispered.

Quinn picked up his pace as much as he could without drawing attention.

Five seconds passed. Then ten.

“What’s going on?”

Nothing.

Screw drawing attention. He began to run, leaving the path when it veered to the left, and instead keeping to the grass that grew behind the Pavilion for Japanese Art. When he reached the end, he slowed again, then stopped behind some foliage that grew next to the building.

“Orlando?”

There was a single cough over the receiver. The message was clear. She was there, but she couldn’t talk.

“I’m moving in to help,” Nate’s voice broke in.

“No,” Quinn said. “Hold your position.”

“But she might need—”

“Just hold your position.”

Quinn peeked through the bushes, trying to see what was happening. But Orlando was too far away, and the black wire mesh fence that surrounded the lake was between them.

He pulled out his phone, accessed the camera function, then activated maximum zoom and pointed the lens toward the lake. The image on the display screen jumped wildly as he moved the lens from right to left. There was a couple walking down the path, holding hands. Beyond them, a couple of kids were trying to throw rocks over the fence into the tar. Nothing for a while, then near the east end of the lake, a man in a suit leaning against the railing and looking through the wire mesh at the mammoth caught in its daily struggle for freedom. A hard man. A man with the look. And five feet farther on, also looking through the fence, Orlando.

Quinn continued scanning past her for a moment. She had said two men. But there was only the one. Where had his friend gone?

“Nate,” Quinn said. “Up and moving. Head toward the café, then take the ramp down into the park. One of the suits is next to Orlando’s position. Don’t worry about him, I’m on that. But I don’t know where his partner is. Locate him. Do not intercept. Recon only at this point.”

“Copy that,” Nate said.

As he watched, Orlando pulled her camera phone out of her pocket and held it up to her eye, acting the part of tourist. She could pass, probably. But if the guy in the suit was a legitimate concern, something must have caused him to be interested in her.

“I think he’s made you,” Quinn said. “But you’re too public there. Let’s get him someplace we can deal with him. You think you can get him to follow you?”

A low, grunted “Uh-huh.”

“Good.”

Quinn thought for a second. The problem with a public place was that there was too much public around. But he knew one place that might work.

“Head west, behind the museum. There’s an observation pit of an old excavation area. It’s covered by a cinderblock building, but there’s an opening on the north side. When I was there a few minutes ago, no one was around. I’ll wait inside.”

Another grunt of understanding.

Quinn watched through his camera as Orlando straightened up and began walking around the east end of the lake, then turned and headed west through the park. The man in the suit didn’t move at first.

“Come on, you son of a bitch,” Quinn said.

After fifteen seconds, the man began to follow. Quinn waited to make sure it wasn’t just a coincidence, then said, “You’ve hooked him.”

“Great,” Orlando whispered, not sounding thrilled by the prospect.

Quinn slipped his phone back into his pocket and made his way to the observation pit.

The building was round, built with tan-colored cinder blocks, and encircled a small pit of tar that had long ago given up all its discoveries to the archaeologists who had worked it. Across the opening on the north side was an iron fence set several feet from the surrounding wall. It was painted burnt orange, and for as long as Quinn could remember, the gate had been closed and locked. This time was no exception. Beyond the gate a concrete pathway hugged the wall and spiraled down one level to a pit of tar. A short iron railing that matched the color of the gate lined the pathway to keep anyone from falling in.

Quinn retrieved his lock picks and set to work on the decades-old dead bolt that secured the gate in place. Once it was unlocked, he left it closed, then tucked himself into the small recess where the cinderblock wall met the fence.

“I’m just inside the opening,” he said. “I don’t think he’ll follow you in, so just get him close to the entrance so I can get behind him.”

“Copy,” Orlando said. “Should be there in one minute.”

Quinn counted off the seconds in his head. At forty-nine, Orlando spoke again.

“Okay, I’m almost to you,” she whispered. “I’m going to give him a look to let him know I’m onto him.”

Quinn could hear her footsteps on the path outside. They passed by the entrance to the observation area, then stopped. A second later there was a second set of steps, quicker, heavier.

“Why are you following me?” Orlando said.

The other steps stopped, but the follower hadn’t gone far enough. If Quinn popped out now, the man would see him for sure.

“Who are you?” she said.

“That’s funny,” a male voice said. “That was my question for you.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Not a big deal. I was only mildly curious anyway.”

There was a pause, then the all too familiar thup of a bullet passing through a suppressor.

CHAPTER

19

BEFORE QUINN COULD RUSH OUT OF THE STRUCTURE, there was a second thup. Once out of his hiding place, the first thing he saw was Orlando.

She was on one knee, her back resting against the observation pit wall. Lying on the ground in front of her was the man, a bright red spot growing in the center of his chest.

“Are you okay?” Quinn asked Orlando.

She looked up. There was blood on her neck and left shoulder. She’d been hit at the point where her neck curved into her shoulder, but it looked like the bullet had passed through cleanly. Orlando had one of her hands over it, applying pressure.

“Check him,” she said.

“Don’t have to,” Quinn said.

“Good.”

Quinn looked around. For the moment, no one seemed to have noticed them.

“We’ve got to get you out of here,” he said. “Nate, where are you?”

“I was tailing the other guy like you wanted,” Nate said. “He’s heading over toward BCAM.” The Broad Contemporary Art Museum.

“I need you here now.”

“Copy.”

Quinn glanced at Orlando. “Will you be okay for a minute? I need to move him.”

“Sure,” she said, her voice weak.

Quinn patted the man down, looking for anything that might ID him, but the man’s pockets were all empty. Quinn then slipped his arms under the dead man’s shoulders and pulled the corpse over to the observation pit and through the gate. The body left a nice trail of blood. Quinn went back and kicked as much dirt over it as he could. Before he finished, Nate arrived.

“Cover this up somehow,” Quinn said. “Leaves, dirt, whatever.”

While Nate did that, Quinn checked on Orlando. He moved her hand to get a better look. Though the top of her shirt was soaked, the bleeding seemed to have slowed.

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

“I know you will,” he told her. “Hang on for just a few more minutes, okay?”

She nodded.

Quinn motioned for Nate to follow him into the observation area.

“You shoot him, or Orlando?” Nate asked.

“She did,” Quinn said. “Grab his legs.”

“What’s the plan?”

Quinn made a motion with his hand, mimicking moving the body over the top of the railing at the edge of the pathway and into the pit. They each grabbed an end of the corpse.

“This guy weighs a ton,” Nate said.

Quinn couldn’t argue with that.

Once they got him on top of the railing, a simple push forward sent the body tumbling over the side. Their aim turned out pretty good. The body landed in the tar near the end closest to the pathway, and therefore out of sight from anyone who might take a peek through the fence. If they were lucky, it might be several days or even weeks before the body was found.

Once the gate was relocked, and Orlando had donned Nate’s jacket to hide her wound, they headed back to the car. As Quinn helped Orlando into the front seat, Nate headed for the driver’s door.

“You’re in back,” Quinn said. “I’ll drive.”

But before Nate even moved, Orlando said, “It’s almost time for the meet.”

“It’s canceled,” Quinn said.

“It’s not, and you know it. Besides, that other guy I saw might be getting into position to kill Primus. You can’t let that happen.”

“It’s Peter’s problem.”

“And we’re working for Peter, so it’s our problem. You’re just concerned about me. If I was anyone else, the op would still go on.”