While Fischer crept off, Morgan shined his flashlight into the trunk of the sedan, hoping the chip had fallen loose during transport and was lying in there somewhere. But he was not that lucky.
All right, then. If the cleaners had taken it off her, maybe they’d stashed it inside the car so that they didn’t lose it while they were working.
He moved around to the nearest door and lifted the handle. Surprisingly, it was open. The others must have left it that way when they brought the body down, he guessed.
A single duffel bag sat in the middle of the backseat. Morgan pulled it over and quietly zipped it open. Inside he found ropes, two rolls of duct tape, and several identical hard-plastic cases. He opened each case, but discovered only tools of varying types. Nice sets, not off-the-shelf stuff. Precision made. If he weren’t catching a flight to Rome later that night, he’d take them for himself.
He felt through the bag to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, then climbed in and leaned between the front seats to check the glove box and the storage area in the central console. A few seconds later, he rejoined Fischer.
“Well?” Fischer whispered.
“Not there.”
The answer brought a smile to the assassin’s face.
Since he’d already turned the alarm off when he’d opened the basement entrance, Quinn was able to safely pick the lock of the mortuary’s main door and slip inside. Quickly, he moved across the lobby to the rear hall, and then down to the casket showroom.
There, he positioned himself in the doorway to keep an eye down the hall back toward the lobby, and settled in to wait.
Fischer was the one who spotted the tracks on damp grass in front of the mortuary.
The residual dew on the person’s shoes left more footprints on the walkway that faded out once they reached the portico.
“Only one set,” Morgan whispered.
“Maybe the other guy was already inside,” Fischer suggested.
Maybe, Morgan thought, but he felt uneasy not knowing for sure.
“We know at least the one’s in here,” Fischer said. “Knock him off, then we can worry about his buddy.”
Reluctantly Morgan nodded, and a moment later they were inside.
At the back of the two-story lobby was a partially opened door and what looked like a hallway running off left and right. It would have been nice to find more footprints showing them which direction the person had gone, but the floor was unmarked.
They sneaked over to the half-open door and looked in. The room was a chapel, with a simple altar at one end and chairs stacked against the far wall. Fischer made a rapid circuit of the space, but shook his head when he came back out.
Morgan looked both ways down the hall, wondering where the man had gone.
A noise to the left — a faint ding, like something glancing off metal.
Morgan twisted toward the sound, but all he could see down the dim hall were four closed doors. As soon as he pointed at the first, Fischer tried to take the lead, but Morgan grabbed him and moved in front. Fischer was liable to shoot at anything at this point.
When they reached the door, Morgan placed his ear against it and listened. Nothing. The same was true at the next door. As he placed his ear against the third door, however, it moved. He jerked back around the jamb, expecting someone to race out, but the door didn’t budge beyond the half inch it already had.
He glanced at Fischer to make sure he was ready, then gave the door a nudge and let it swing open.
Dead quiet.
He raised his gun and leaned around the doorway.
The room was about half the size of the chapel, but the floor was not empty like that other space. Here, every several feet stood a pedestal with a casket on top, providing plenty of places to hide.
Keeping low, he moved inside to the left, watching for any movement among the pedestals. As Fischer followed him in, Morgan motioned for him to go in the other direction.
For the next thirty seconds, Morgan studied the room, and then glanced at his partner to see if he had spotted anything.
With a grin, Fischer pointed ahead and held up a single finger.
One person. So where in God’s name was the other guy?
Apparently not sharing Morgan’s concern, Fischer raised his gun and started moving forward.
Quinn was tempted to head back inside the casket room the moment he saw the two men approach the chapel door. But he had to make sure they headed in the right direction, so he waited until after the chapel was searched. Once both men were in the hall again, he closed the door just shy of engaging the latch, and then hurried to a nearby metal coffin and lightly tapped it with his gun.
Knowing it would be enough to get their attention, he headed farther back and crouched behind one of the pedestals.
Though he didn’t hear them enter the room, there was a definite change in the air, a sense of other he’d come to recognize from years of experience. He peered around the edge of the pedestal and marked their positions.
He let Fischer spot him and ducked back behind the column, then yelled in a suitably panicked voice, “I’m armed!”
Morgan motioned for his partner to stop. Fischer clearly wasn’t pleased with the order but he held his position.
“Don’t come any closer,” the male voice added.
“Where’s your friend?” Morgan asked.
No response.
“We know there are two of you,” Morgan said. “Where is he?”
“I…I don’t know,” the voice said. “He split as soon as we got out of the basement.”
Sure he did, Morgan thought.
Using hand signals, he ordered Fischer to go back into the hall and keep an eye out for the partner. The look Fischer returned was one that said, You go out there. I’m staying here. But Morgan had rank, so after a few seconds of staring, Fischer got moving.
When the assassin was gone, Morgan said, “What’s your name?”
“None of your business,” the voice shot back.
“Just trying to keep things cool, is all. How about I call you Charlie?”
“I don’t care what you call me.”
“Let me tell you what’s going on here, Charlie. I know you and your buddy were hired to get rid of the body.”
Nothing.
“I’ll take your silence to mean I’m right. You’re cleaners, aren’t you? Not ops men. Come in after the action, when things are quieter. Not a lot of distractions. I can respect that. Me and my partner, well, we’re on the ops side. That means when something’s in our way, we won’t hesitate to take it out. In case I’m being too cryptic, I’m talking about you.”
“We’re just doing our job. No reason to take us out.”
“We’re just doing our job, too. That messenger you were about to feed into the fire — we did that.”
Morgan read fear in the silence.
“The thing is, I’m pretty sure you have something I want.”
“You want the body? Fine. Take it. It’s yours.”
“Not the body. Something that was on the body.”
The man hesitated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally said. The dread in his voice told Morgan the asshole was lying.
“She was carrying something. A computer chip.”
“A…a chip?”
More confirmation.
“Yeah. You have it, don’t you, Charlie?”
Another pause, then, “Look, I didn’t realize it was that important. I—”
“Let me stop you right there,” Morgan said. “I don’t care what you realized. Here’s the deal I’m offering you. Give me the chip and we’ll make things as quick and painless as possible.”