Brett Battles - Shadow of Betrayal

As if in confirmation, Hardwick said, “We’ve met before, you know.”

Quinn didn’t respond, but he knew. It wasn’t recently. Hell, not even in the last ten years. It was back when Quinn was still an apprentice for his mentor, Durrie.

A stuffy room … in Jordan … Amman.

The target had been an arms dealer who had crossed the wrong people. Durrie and Quinn weren’t there to remove the body. Their client wanted the body found. They were there to remove any evidence that might have been left by those who had done the killing.

Hardwick had been in that room. He’d sat in the corner as others did the briefing. Only once did he speak. He’d been asked to elaborate on something one of his colleagues had said. He spoke for maybe thirty seconds, then went silent again. Quinn had the clear impression at the time that the man was a desk jockey, not an operative, brought along as an information source only.

Until that afternoon, those thirty seconds in Jordan were the last words Quinn had heard the man speak. Hardwick had been thinner then, with a lot more hair. He had also been CIA. So how long had he been splitting his loyalty between the Agency and the LP?

“You remember, don’t you?” Hardwick said.

Quinn pulled into the center turn lane, then made a left onto the small road that ran along the east side of the old Helms Bakery Building. He only stayed on it for a moment before turning left into a small parking lot next to an art gallery. There were half a dozen open spots along the Venice Boulevard side. He chose one in the middle of the group, pulling in as close to the car on the right side as he could so it would be impossible for Hardwick to open his door and flee.

As he turned to Hardwick, he switched the gun from his left to his right hand, the barrel never moving from its target. With his free hand, he reached over to the digital recorder. He pulled it out of its resting place, then took a quick glance at the display screen to make sure it was still running. Satisfied, he shoved it back into the ashtray.

“Okay. What is it?” Quinn asked.

Hardwick’s brow creased, a question on his face.

“The information you have for us. What is it?”

Hardwick nodded, then leaned back against the passenger door like he was trying to put as much room between himself and the gun as possible. “All right.” He paused. “At first we weren’t sure what was happening.”

“We?” Quinn asked. “The CIA?”

“I’m not CIA anymore. I haven’t been with the Agency for over six years. NSA now.”

“Sorry. I haven’t been keeping up with your career.”

“You’ll check me out anyway and find out soon enough. I work directly with the National Security Advisor.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. I don’t think ‘we’ was in reference to the NSA, or am I wrong?”

Hardwick stared at Quinn for a moment. “You know you’re not wrong.”

“Then say it.”

“What? That the information I have has been developed by … an outside organization?”

Quinn stared at Hardwick.

“Do you want what I have to tell you or not?”

Quinn said nothing.

“Then I can continue?”

A single nod.

“At first we didn’t know what was happening. In fact, we still don’t know everything. But something bad is about to go down. That is, unless your people do something to stop it.”

“Why haven’t you tried to stop whatever it is?” Quinn said.

“We are not… equipped in that way.”

“You could have used your NSA resources. Gotten word to the right people.”

“Better to keep this separate,” Hardwick said.

Quinn snorted, but motioned for Hardwick to continue.

“I chose Los Angeles to meet for a reason,” Hardwick said. “Enough time has been wasted, but this is the last time I do any of the work for you.”

“I’m sure we can arrange a medal for you later,” Quinn said.

A perfunctory smile from Hardwick. “Northeast of here there is a facility. It used to be military, but that was decades ago. Though the facility was transferred to civilian use, it has remained very hush-hush. Even the locals don’t know about it. Not that there are really that many locals around. The government called it Yellowhammer.”

“Where exactly is it?”

“You can figure that out yourself,” Hardwick said. “Shall I go on?”

Quinn held his tongue and nodded.

“The lease has recently been transferred to a corporation out of Portland, Oregon, called Cameron-Kadash Industries. I give you the name only because you will undoubtedly want to check what I’m going to tell you. There is no such organization in Portland, or anywhere else for that matter. It does not exist. Not as an actual company, that is. The facility has been occupied. And there is something going on there. I don’t know what specifically, but its purpose seems pretty clear.”

When Hardwick didn’t go on, Quinn said, “What purpose?”

Hardwick seemed to think for a moment, then said, “I should back up a step. Last fall we were approached by a group who thought we might be interested in helping them with a project they had. As you might expect, we get these kind of offers from time to time.”

“I’m sure.”

Another smile. “This particular idea would affect multiple nations.”

“In what way?”

“Fear, panic, maybe a little chaos, too.”

“All things you at the LP love.”

“Don’t think for one minute you understand us,” Hardwick snapped. “What you know is so little that it’s the same as knowing nothing. You are in no position to make judgments about us. You have no idea what we are really about.”

“Then tell me what you’re really about. I’d be more than happy to listen.”

“That’s not what this meeting’s about.”

“Of course not,” Quinn said, not hiding his contempt.

Hardwick ignored the response, and picked up where he left off. “We strung them along for a little while, enough to learn a little more about what they were planning. But when they realized we weren’t serious, they broke off contact. I felt it was necessary to keep tabs on them. If they were really going to move forward, it would serve my group well to have advance warning.”

“The LP ready to take advantage of the situation. That’s nice,” Quinn said.

“Despite what you think, we have the best interests of the country at the front of every decision we make. I am the one bringing this to your attention. Don’t forget that.”

“And do your friends know you’re doing this?” Quinn asked.

Hardwick paused, then shook his head. “No.”

Quinn could see that Hardwick wanted to tell him more, but he remained silent.

“All right,” Quinn said. “So you’re acting on your own. We can go with that for the moment. But you still haven’t told me anything useful.”

Hardwick glanced at the gun. “Do you mind? I keep thinking your finger might slip.”

“If this goes off, it won’t be because my finger slipped.” But Quinn moved the end of the barrel a few inches to the left so that it was aimed at the door instead of Hardwick’s midsection.

“I don’t find that ver—”

He was cut off by a low hum.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Double-buzz-pause-double-buzz.

It was Quinn’s phone, the pattern indicating Nate was on the other end. Quinn knew he should ignore it, but it would be about Orlando, and he had to know she was okay.

“Don’t move or say anything,” Quinn said.

Hardwick shrugged, then nodded.

Quinn retrieved his phone and touched the Accept button.

“Yes?” he said.

“Is everything all right?” Nate asked.

“As best as can be expected.”

“The news is broadcasting a report that police have the museum area cordoned off and are looking for at least one man with a gun. Are you still there?”

“No.”

“What about the meet?” Its … ongoing.

“He’s there with you?”

“Yes,” Quinn said. “What about…?”

“Orlando?” Nate said, guessing what Quinn meant. “She’s pissed and has a raging headache, but the doctor gave her something that should deal with the pain. Told us it should kick in soon. He also said the wound was more of a graze than anything too serious. She’s not going to be able to turn her head for a little while, but other than that, he thinks she’ll be okay.”

Some of the tension left Quinn’s face. “Excellent.”

“The doctor wants her to stay overnight.”

“She must love that.”

“It wasn’t quite what she wanted to hear,” Nate said. “Where are you?”

“Not too far away,” Quinn said.

“I’m not sure where I’d find that on a map.”

Once again, Nate was acting in the exact way Quinn had trained him. Covering his partner whether he wanted him to or not. It was more proof that Nate was going to make it hard for Quinn not to keep him on. If Orlando had been around, she wouldn’t have said “I told you so” out loud, but the look on her face would have conveyed it just the same.

“Look, I’ll call you soon,” Quinn said. His words told Nate to call him every ten minutes until Quinn gave him the all-clear code.

“Problems?” Hardwick asked.

“I believe you were about to give me some hard information.”

Hardwick smiled. “Who were you talking to? That kid who helps you? Or was it your woman friend?”

Quinn’s anger spiked. In less than two seconds his right hand was wrapped around Hardwick’s neck, squeezing tightly.

“Please,” Hardwick said, his voice a low croak. “I can’t breathe.”

“That’s a lie, Mr. Hardwick. If you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t talk.”

“Please,” Hardwick repeated.

Quinn held on until he was sure Hardwick couldn’t get any air into his lungs, then he let go.

Hardwick gasped, then coughed as he rubbed a hand over his throat. “Jesus Christ.” His voice was raspy and strained. “I’m doing you a fucking favor! You know what? Forget it. We’re done here. Done.”

He started to open the door, but stopped when he realized he could only open it a few inches.

“We’re done after you finish telling me what you need to tell me,” Quinn said.

“Fuck you,” Hardwick said.

The skin on his brow turned red in anger, and his eyes looked like they were on fire. But when he didn’t make any move, Quinn knew he wasn’t going to do anything stupid. At least, not too stupid.

“Talk,” Quinn said.

Hardwick breathed deeply, his shoulders moving up and down each time air passed over his lips. After several seconds the rhythm slowed, and the color of his skin mellowed.

“Fine. I’ll tell you,” he said. “Then you’ll let me out of this car, and you and your boss will never hear from me again.”

“You forget, I know where you work.”

“That’s what you think,” Hardwick said.

“What does that mean?”

But Hardwick only stared back at Quinn.

“All right, then talk,” Quinn said. “You can start with who this group is that approached you.”

“As far as I know, they don’t have a name, just a plan of action.”

“What kind of plan?”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that, either. Until we signed on in full, they weren’t going to tell us everything. And since we didn’t sign on …”

“Convenient.”

“I do have a name for you.”

Quinn looked at him, waiting.

“I passed an itinerary of one of their agents on to the DDNI. His travel schedule is very intense, and his destinations … unusual. Again, what he was doing we were unable to discover. I was hoping the DDNI, or I guess your friend at the Office now, would have been able to figure something out from it already.”