Shadow of Betrayal

CHAPTER 21

How he kept from pulling the trigger of his Sig, Quinn never knew. He wanted to. He wanted to so much that his index finger ached from desire. He wanted to see the expression on Primus’s face as one of Quinn’s bullets shredded the man’s insides.

If he was who he said he was … if he was in charge of the assassin who had killed Quinn’s friend Steven Markoff the year before in a quest to do the same to a U.S. congressman, then he was right. The only thing keeping him alive was the information in his head.

And if he was who he said he was, it meant one other thing, too.

He was a member of the LP.

Only why would the LP be trying to work with the DDNI and Peter?

A year before, Quinn hadn’t even heard of the group, and now here they were again. While his knowledge of the organization had grown in the last year, it was still limited. That first time he’d crossed them, Peter had told him all he knew: that the LP was a shadow organization working from both within and without the U.S. government, that they had their own agenda, a desire to use the government for their own gains, taking an active hand in ensuring that their investments would flourish. Conveniently, those investments seemed to be wrapped up in the defense and security industries. So the LP’s main tools for keeping those industries flourishing was destabilization and the occasional bout of chaos.

After his encounter with the LP in Singapore, Quinn had wanted to learn more. So with Orlando’s help, he began subtly nosing around. It wasn’t long before they both suspected the LP’s financial angle was a means, not the end, and that the desire for power, real political power, was the main objective. And to achieve this, they’d inject a bit of chaos and instability throughout the world whenever they felt it necessary.

Though Orlando couldn’t prove it with facts, she’d uncovered enough to know the LP played a large role in the Asian market crisis of the late 1990s. And that was only the beginning. It had only been a test for what both she and Quinn now suspected was a grander scheme, one that began the previous year. Soaring gas prices, an American mortgage crisis, then the collapse of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac — the publicly traded, federal mortgage organizations that had a hand in trillions of dollars of American home loans, both bought out mid-crisis by the U.S. government. And it didn’t end there. Financial institutions, near self-implosion, sold to other institutions for bargain-basement prices. Countrywide, Lehman Brothers, Merrill Lynch. A consolidation of power, and chaos for the everyday man.

The only question was, what was their endgame? Because it certainly seemed like they were moving toward something. But neither Quinn nor Orlando could come up with an answer. So Quinn had turned over what they’d learned to Peter, then moved on.

According to Peter, he’d been unable to connect any more dots. He needed someone who had knowledge of the details. Someone who knew the LP, was maybe even a part of it. But no one had ever officially been identified as a member of the organization, so there had been no one to interrogate. Worse yet, most high-level government members didn’t even believe the LP existed.

DDNI Jackson had been one of the few believers. And the revelation of Primus’s connection to the LP at least cleared up in Quinn’s mind why the DDNI had been so actively involved. The DDNI would have had to proceed with caution, but here was a potential source within the organization itself, someone who could shed light on the true mission of the LP.

Quinn glanced at the man, his eyes hard and angry. “Name,” he said.

“I told you, you don’t need my name.”

Quinn adjusted the gun in his hand, making sure his movement was broad enough to draw the attention of his passenger. Since he was keeping his eyes on the road, he didn’t see the man look at the weapon, but he did feel Primus shift in his seat, his sense of superiority come down a notch.

“I will kill you,” Quinn said. “I don’t give a shit about whatever information you have. If you don’t answer my questions, I will kill you. Is that clear?”

A hesitation, then, “Your boss at the Office won’t be too happy if you did.”

“I don’t care. I will kill you. Right where you’re sitting. Do. You. Understand. Me?”

“Yes.”

“Then answer the question.”

He could hear the man take a deep breath, then let it out.

“Hardwick,” the man said. “My … my name is James Hardwick.”

A tickle in the back of Quinn’s mind. He had heard the name before.

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.”

“Couldn’t you have done that with your own resources?”

“Perhaps. But this isn’t our number one priority.”

“Care to tell me what priority number one is for the LP right now?”

“Maybe some other time.”

“You said you had a name,” Quinn said.

“Yes. A freelancer. He’s been around a few years. Our guess is he’s handling security for the group. We suspect he’s only doing this for money.”

“So not the name of one of the principals, then.”

“No,” Hardwick said. “That I don’t have. But this person might be a way in.”

“The name?”

“Tucker.”

Quinn could feel the hair on his forearms begin to rise. “Do you have a first name?”

“Leonard. Goes by Leo.”

Son of a goddamn bitch, Quinn thought.

Tucker was someone he knew. Someone who had no right to be walking around. By all rights, Quinn should have killed him in Berlin a year and a half earlier. He’d had a hand in the kidnapping of Orlando’s son. But they had made a deal, the boy’s location for his life.

“You know him?” Hardwick asked.

Quinn ignored the question. “Yellowhammer? Leo Tucker? And, what? That’s it? Just hearsay from a member of the LP about some nameless group and an operation you have no details on? That’s all you can give me? Is this what got your men killed in Ireland? And DDNI Jackson. He’s dead because of this, too.”

“Jackson’s death didn’t have anything to do with what we uncovered. I’m sure he had a lot of people who wanted him dead. Somebody got to him and stuffed him into the trunk of their car.”

“Jackson died in the tunnel below one of the apartment buildings on your list in New York.”

“What are you talking about?” If Hardwick was red before, he was all white now. Quinn’s revelation was apparently news to him, bad news.

“I found him myself in an old equipment room off a tunnel that ran below the building. The rats got to him first.”

Hardwick’s right hand began to shake. “Jesus.”

“What’s wrong? Hitting a little too close to home? I think you need to tell me everything. Might be your only chance to stop them from coming after you.”

“I’ve … I’ve told you everything. I swear. If there was more, I would give it to you.”

“Is Yellowhammer where this supposed attack is going to take place? Or just a staging location?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are they planning?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s the target?”

“I…” There was something in Hardwick’s eyes.

“You know what it is.” As Quinn spoke, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. This time he ignored it.

“No … I don’t. I don’t know.”

Quinn raised his gun a few inches. “Tell me.”

“I… I…” Hardwick shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “This is only a guess. No one has told me anything.”

“Then tell me your guess.”

“Can I show you?”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

Hardwick reached into his front pants pocket and pulled out a folded piece of white paper. He hesitated for a second, then handed it to Quinn.

“The timing and proximity seem … advantageous.”

Quinn unfolded the paper. It was a news article printed from the Internet. And at the top, the headline: