Brute Force

Chapter 64

Quinn killed the Honda’s engine a block away from the three-story redbrick building that housed the glass shop and gallery. Considering all the ornate handblown glass at Big Uncle’s charity event, he should have realized this was the place the moment he’d ridden by.

Quinn planted his feet and let Song slip off behind him. The evening hour and a fresh drizzle had chased any pedestrians away and they had the street to themselves. He padded up to the edge of the building with Song right behind him. The inside of her leg was smeared in blood — a consequence of her burns rubbing against his belt as she took the many turns and bumps on the back of the bike. She seemed to do better back on the ground and moved quickly, assuring him she was in fighting shape as he did a quick peek into the alley that ran alongside the shop.

It was clear, so he moved up next to the front window, Kimber in hand.

“Watch my back,” he said as he inched his way up on the window to have a look without alerting anyone inside.

“I count three Asian males,” he whispered, as much for Jacques and Emiko’s benefit as Song’s. “Three furnaces up and running.”

Had this been an earlier time, when he’d had more control and moles hadn’t infiltrated the government, Win Palmer would not have hesitated to call in an airstrike on the shop, obliterating the building and the threat. As it was, Quinn had no high-tech equipment or sophisticated drones to rely on. If Jiàn Zŏu was to be stopped, it was up to him and a pretty Chinese spy who could barely walk.

One of the three men removed a long metal tube from the nearest furnace, spinning an orange glob of molten glass the size of a cantaloupe on one end. He extended the tube out in front of him, blowing on one end as he spun it expertly in his hands. A second man followed suit, retrieving a similar glowing orb from the neighboring furnace. This one worked with a partner assisting him as he blew into the pipe and spun the liquid glass into a squirming orange ball. Pumpkin-sized spheres and huge blossoms of flowering glass hung like an inverted garden from the shop ceiling and lined row after row of shelves. A wooden counter, meant to provide a safe place from which patrons could watch the artisans at their work, divided the furnace floor from the main showroom.

Formulating a plan of attack, Quinn caught a glimpse of movement beyond the counter at the base of what looked like a set of stairs. He motioned Song forward, nodding to the back of the shop. “Is that him?”

The sudden tension in Song’s body answered his question. Jiàn Zŏu walked out into the shop, talking on the phone as he watched the three men work their glass. He was a slight man, well-muscled and, as Quinn suspected he would, moved with the military bearing of a man who knew what he was doing. He pressed a cell phone to his ear, nodding, listening intently to whoever was on the other end. A moment later, he snapped to attention, the way someone ingrained with military protocol would act if he was just given a direct order from a superior officer, even over the phone. He’d surely just been given the green light to shoot.

Instead of walking toward the stairs as Quinn suspected he would, Jiàn Zŏu stepped to the wooden counter, checking out the window as if he expected someone might be following him. Quinn tried to take a step back and get out of his line of sight, but with Song tucked in tightly behind him, there was nowhere for him to go.