“Okay,” Nate said. “You’re there first. He’s stopped at the body outside the church. He’s checking the pockets … hold on … okay, he’s rolling him over and checking the back pockets … the dead guy doesn’t seem to have anything on him … okay, he’s getting up again … now he’s heading for the church.”
Quinn checked that the suppressor was securely fastened to the barrel of his SIG.
“He’s stopped just outside a doorway,” Nate continued. “It’s the one directly across from where you’re at.”
Quinn pictured the interior of the church in his mind. The window he stood beside, the door the assassin would walk through, the positions of the bodies on the sanctuary floor, the possible hiding places, the escape routes, everything. Then he took in a steady, silent breath, knowing what he would do. Peter was going to owe him big-time after this.
“He’s peeking around the doorway, looking inside … he’s stepping across the threshold and … inside … heading for the closest body first. Otero. Wait a minute. He stopped, seems to be listening.”
Quinn cocked his head, then he heard it, too. A car. It was coming fast from the north. No, not just one car, but two. Distant at the moment, but approaching rapidly.
“Car,” Nate said a second later. “Heading south.”
Quinn risked a glance through the corner of the window. The assassin was still standing rock still next to the body of David Otero. His head was turned away from Quinn toward the front corner of the church where the entrance once had been.
On the road, the cars continued to draw nearer. Quinn judged that they were less than two minutes away.
The assassin must have made the same calculation. He looked down at Otero, then glanced at the other two bodies. Quinn’s plan had been to make his move when the assassin was bent down searching one of his victims. It would have put him at an advantage, and he would have had little problem guarding the shooter until Peter’s backup arrived. If the assassin tried to run, Quinn would be able to take him out with a single shot.
But the cars changed everything. A second later, the assassin began rapidly retracing his steps out of the church and back to the tree that had served as his roost. Apparently he had decided to forgo searching the bodies in exchange for getting the hell out of there.
“He’s on the move,” Nate said. “Nearing the tree.”
Quinn rose and moved down the side of the church, staying tight to the wall. When he reached the corner, he turned and headed toward the far end. Beyond was an open area that ran parallel to the church and out seventy-five feet to where the brush and the trees took over in force.
The assassin’s tree was there. Quinn could see it another ten feet into the wild. He just couldn’t see the assassin.
“He’s picking up his rifle,” Nate said. “Now he’s slinging it over his shoulder and heading … northwest… he’s out of camera range now. I’ve lost him.”
That was it, then, Quinn thought. He wasn’t about to chase the man through the wilderness without the advantage of Nate being able to watch his back. He allowed his body to relax.
“Keep an eye on the monitors in case he’s just circling around,” Quinn said. “And watch the road cams, too. See if a car shows up that seemed to come out of nowhere. That’ll be him. He’s got to have a ride parked around here somewhere.”
“Quinn?” Nate asked.
“What?”
“Peter wants to talk to you.”
The muscles in Quinn’s face tightened. “Fine. Put him through.”
While Nate transferred the call to the comm gear, the two cars on the road reached the point closest to the church, but neither slowed. Immediately the whine of their engines began to recede as they continued down the back road to Cork.
Static in Quinn’s ear, then, “… inn. Are you there? Can you hear me?”
“Yeah. I hear you, Peter,” Quinn said. “The gunman’s gone. A couple cars on the road spooked him.”
“You’ve got to find him.”
“Ah … no. I don’t. I already took a chance trying to take him here at the church. He’s out in the woods now. I don’t have any eyes out there.”
Peter said nothing for several seconds. When he did speak, there was a tremor in his voice. He was either scared or angry as hell. “You have to find him, Quinn. You have to stop him. Jesus, at least find a way to delay him until my men get there.”
Peter’s insistence surprised Quinn. “It’s too late, Peter. He’s already got a good lead on me. Plus he’s a marksman, and has at least two weapons on him … it’s too much of a risk. Sorry.”
Peter took a second before he spoke. “Our deal was no questions. That means you do what I need, right?”
Quinn could feel his own anger rising. The deal — made the previous year — was three jobs, no questions. It had been made when Quinn had been at a disadvantage and needed Peter’s help. It had taken Peter six months to finally invoke the first of the promised “no question” assignments. If the next two were similar, they would be the last Quinn ever worked for Peter and the Office. About the only good thing was that none of them were freebies. Quinn’s standard rate of thirty thousand a week with a two-week minimum still applied.
“You’re losing time,” Peter said.
“Fine,” Quinn said. There was one thing he could try that was marginally safer. “Nate, get him off the line.”
A second later the signal cleared up.
“He’s gone,” Nate said.
“I need you out on the road. You think you can do that?”
“I can do whatever you need,” Nate said, immediately defensive. “We already went over this.”
They had. Dozens of times over the last several months. It was just that Quinn was not yet convinced. The truth was he still wasn’t sure Nate was ready to be back in the field. It had only been eight months since his apprentice had lost the lower portion of his right leg when it was crushed during a job in Singapore. A personal job, Quinn reminded himself. One he should have left Nate home on. But instead he’d brought Nate along, and in the end had been forced to give the go-ahead on the amputation while his apprentice was unconscious.
“Go south,” Quinn said. “Listen for a car door or an engine starting. The shooter’s got to have a vehicle out here somewhere. I’ll go north.”
“I’m on my way.”
As soon as Quinn reached the road, he turned north and began a quick jog along the left edge of the blacktop. He knew there was no way he would have been able to find the assassin once he took off into the woods. But the guy had to have a way out. A car, probably parked along a dirt road that led into one of the fields lining the narrow highway. Similar to the one Quinn had used for the van. None of the roads were longer than a couple hundred yards, and their only outlet was to the highway.
The assassin had headed west, but the nearest road in that direction was at least two miles away. Since he had had to follow either Otero or the other party to the meet, there would have been no way for him to drive over to the distant road, then trek back two miles on foot in time to get set up in the tree and pick off his targets. So he must have come on the same road as everyone else. That meant even though he had run west, he would soon be turning either north or south to circle back to where he’d left his ride.
There was a little-used dirt road just ahead on the right. Quinn remembered it from his earlier recon of the area, but passed by it with just a glance. It was too close. Quinn and Nate would have noticed any car that would have turned down it, even if someone had come in slow with his lights off.
“Anything?” Quinn said into his mic.
“No,” Nate said. His breath sounded a little labored. “I’m already about seventy-five yards south of the road the van’s on. How far do you want me to go?”