The Cleaner

CHAPTER 20

Quinn looked left, then right. But he already knew what he’d find. The only way out was the way he’d come in. It’s a goddamn trap, he thought. And I’m right where they want me.

“Son of a bitch,” he said under his breath.

Outside, the sound of steps moving up the stairs continued. Soon they’d reach the platform and the tunnel that led into the sphere. Had Quinn been anywhere else in the building, he would have had multiple opportunities for escape. But standing where he was, his options were severely limited.

He stopped himself. There was one possibility. There had been a door in the housing at the bottom of the sphere. He wasn’t sure if he could get there from where he was, but trying was better than just standing there and waiting for them to arrive.

Quinn hurried across the platform toward the door to the containment room, stopping and kneeling down just before he reached it. He looked over the edge of the narrow walkway into the space below.

The crisscrossing scaffolding structure he’d glanced at moments earlier led down into the darkness at the bottom of the sphere. It would be easy to climb down. He quickly pointed his flashlight at the very bottom, and though it was hard to tell for sure, there appeared to be some kind of hatch on the floor. His best guess was that it led down into the circular base structure where the other door was located.

Potential escape was there, but he’d never make it in time. He’d be spotted by whoever was coming up the stairs before he was even halfway down.

He looked under the platform again.

Okay. Escape might be impossible, he thought. But what if—

The clanging of the metal steps ceased.

There was no more time to think. Quinn stowed his flashlight and quickly lowered himself over the edge of the platform. Moving as silently as he could, he maneuvered his body underneath it.

He paused for a fraction of a second to get his bearings, then worked his way across the scaffolding, using it like a kid’s jungle gym. When he was directly under the center of the bio-containment room, he stopped.

He could feel the sweat beading on his brow, and his breaths were coming in short, silent bursts. But he knew just hanging from the center of the room wasn’t enough.

He pulled his feet up and secured them on top of one of the crossbars, tucking himself horizontally against the bottom of the room. He wasn’t invisible, but it was the closest he could get to it.

He heard the door to the sphere open. There was a rush of air, followed by the sound of two people stepping through the opening and onto the platform. A pause, followed by a low voice, then a flicker of brightness. The new arrivals were scanning the space with a flashlight. Quinn could see the reflection of the beam as it occasionally slipped below the level of the platform and glinted off the scaffolding.

After several moments, the footsteps continued across the platform, to the door of the lab. There was a sucking sound as the door was opened and air moved from one space to another. A moment later the door shut.

Quinn’s left calf had begun to cramp. He chanced moving his leg to relieve the pressure and had just found a more comfortable position when the door to the lab opened again. Then: “One, this is Matz. The sphere is empty.”

The voice spoke German, clear and distinct. Matz was apparently talking into a radio. It was also obvious by the unhampered sound of his voice that he was not wearing any protective gear over his face. To Quinn it meant the lab wasn’t hot yet. He would have felt a sense of relief if he hadn’t been hanging dozens of feet above the ground wondering how long it would be before a bullet pierced his skull.

The radio crackled with static, then a voice, also in German but not with a native accent, said, “You checked everywhere?”

“Yes,” Matz replied. “There is no one here but us.”

“Underneath?” the voice asked.

Another pause. Then Matz said, “We’re checking now.”

Quinn tensed. There was nothing he could do except remain perfectly still. He couldn’t even grab his gun without upsetting his balance.

Suddenly, the flashlight beam swung over the edge of the platform. There was a thump, and Quinn guessed that one of the men was kneeling down so he could get a better look below. The beam of light flashed across the scaffolding close to Quinn as it traveled down toward the bottom of the sphere. Once there, it moved slowly across the floor, taking in every inch.

“I don’t see anything,” a voice said. Not Matz this time, but his partner.

“Are you sure?” Matz asked.

“You want to look?”

“One, this is Matz. There’s no one below.”

“He has to be in the building somewhere,” the voice on the radio said, his irritation coming through clearly. “He hasn’t come outside yet.”

“Maybe his partner warned him,” Matz offered.

“Not a chance. Get out of there and go out back in case the others are able to flush him out.”

“Understood.”

Quinn listened as the two men walked across the platform above him and exited the sphere.

Quinn remained hanging under the platform, as still as possible, for what he guessed to be about thirty minutes. Eyes closed, his breathing even, he silently recited the lyrics to the songs on Changes One, David Bowie’s first greatest-hits album. Halfway through “John, I’m Only Dancing,” his leg cramped again. He flexed his foot back and forth, easing the pressure on his calf. But neither Bowie nor the pain in his leg could clear his mind.

The operation had really gone to shit.

It’s the disruption all over again, he thought. Only this time, it was obvious who had set them up.

Duke.

“Fuck conspiracy theories,” Durrie had said. “The obvious is right ninety-nine percent of the time.”

From the moment Duke had sent Quinn the e-mail, it had been a setup. The only reason he hadn’t been taken out the minute Duke had him in his car was that they wanted to get Quinn’s entire team.

Quinn’s eyes narrowed. Did that mean Peter was involved in the deception, too? After all, he was the one who had pushed Quinn to come to Berlin. Taking it a step further, could that then mean Peter was involved in the disruption of his own organization?

A chill passed through Quinn, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully believe it. Whatever the truth was, he wasn’t going to figure it out hanging here. He’d waited long enough. It was time to move.

The interior of the sphere was in complete darkness, but he couldn’t chance using his flashlight. He eased himself down the scaffolding by touch, careful to transfer his weight from one point to the next slowly, cutting down on any unnecessary noise. Finally, his feet touched bottom.

No longer able to minimize the risk, he pulled out his flashlight. Before turning it on, he put his hand over the lens to better control the beam. Once he flipped the switch, his palm glowed a reddish yellow.

He played the light across the floor. Black hard plastic, molded to fit the bottom of the sphere. He was standing on top of the pedestal he’d seen from the outside. That put him approximately seven feet above actual ground level.

Off to his right was something that looked like a submarine hatch. It was set into the floor and hinged to lift upward. The only thing missing was a handle to open it. Instead, there were two buttons set into the center of the door. One red, one green.

Quinn pushed the green button. For half a second, nothing happened. Then the seal on the door released and Quinn was able to pull it open. Again, air rushed past him into the sphere.

He leaned over the opening and shone his light inside. The space was tiny, just enough for one person to stand comfortably. Mounted to one wall was a ladder. On the wall opposite was a door, and set into the frame next to the door was a colored light, shining red.

Quinn lowered himself through the opening and onto the ladder, then climbed down. He tried the lower door, but as he expected, it didn’t open. He reached up and pulled the hatch closed. There were buttons on the inside that matched those on the outside. He pushed the red button and heard the hatch reseal. As he turned around, the red light beside the lower door turned green. If he was right, this time the door would open.

He was right.

Quinn stepped through the door and found himself in a circular room. Only two objects broke up the curved walls: the air-lock shaft he’d just exited, and a door about a quarter of the way around to his left. It had to be the same door he’d seen from the outside.

As he walked toward it he stumbled over something on the floor. He brought his flashlight around to see what had caused his misstep.

It was a concrete lip about four inches high. It surrounded a large rectangular pit in the floor. As he shone his light into the hole, he realized it was a stairway leading downward into blackness.

The basement. They had constructed the sphere over its entrance.

Screw the pedestal door, he thought. Here was a potentially better way out. There had to be some sort of exit down there. If he used the door in the pedestal, he’d be stepping into the main room of the water plant. Who knew who’d be standing there waiting for him?

He was about to start down the steps when he heard a now familiar clank. Someone was coming up the outside staircase again. Apparently they hadn’t been satisfied with their previous check.

Quinn scrambled quickly downward. There was a door at the bottom made of metal, but it was old, and locked.

Quinn removed the set of lock picks from his backpack. He found what he needed and made quick work of the door. Above him he could hear men climbing below the platform, heading for the air lock to the circular room.

Quinn turned off his flashlight. He didn’t know what was on the other side of this door, and he didn’t need his light making him an easy target. He eased the door open, then slipped into the basement.

Quinn paused, listening carefully to make sure he was alone. Once he was convinced, he relocked the door from the inside. He returned the picks to his backpack, then turned on the flashlight again.

He was in a large space, half the length of the building above, stretching from the midpoint of the water plant to the front end. There were several metal cabinets lining the far wall. Four sturdy white plastic tables sat in the middle of the room. Under each table were large bins, also plastic. There was another hum coming from somewhere nearby. Not like the hum of the air pumps upstairs. This was deeper in tone and not as loud.

Quinn’s instincts told him to check the bins and cabinets and find out what was inside. It might be information that could prove valuable. But he stopped himself. At the moment, staying alive and free was more important.

He continued his scan. At first, there didn’t appear to be any other exit. It took him a second pass before he picked out a door set in the wall to his left. The door was painted the same beige color as the rest of the room, and had a latch that lay flush with the surface, making it nearly invisible. He walked over to it. There was no locking mechanism, so he pulled it open and stepped through.

Another dark room, this one noticeably colder than the one he’d just come from. He closed the door behind him and looked around. In the far corner was the faintest trace of light.

Quinn smiled. It was a window.

As he began walking toward it, he moved the flashlight from left to right. Long worktables were scattered around. To his right was what appeared to be a large refrigerating unit. It was the source of the new humming sound. He stopped and took a longer look at it.

The refrigeration unit was of the walk-in variety. It would have looked more appropriate sitting in the basement of a butcher shop than a decommissioned water facility.

Quinn knew he had to get out of the building, but he couldn’t help wanting to take a look inside. This time his desire to investigate overrode his desire to flee.

He grabbed the handle on the unit’s door and gave it a pull. At first it wouldn’t open. Then he saw a steel pin was preventing the latch from releasing. He removed the pin, and the door opened easily.

Freezing air flowed over him. The unit hadn’t been set to just cold but damn cold. Freezer cold.

Quinn stood in the doorway and moved the beam of his flashlight around the inside of the refrigerator. He estimated that it was about eight feet deep by five feet across. Against the walls on either side were heavy-duty storage racks. Each had four wide metal shelves. All empty. Even so, it made for a cramped space.

He was beginning to close it back up when he heard a noise coming from the other part of the basement. He glanced at the door between the rooms, almost expecting it to burst open and let in a flood of armed men. But it remained shut.

He closed the refrigerator door and replaced the pin so nothing would look suspicious. From where he stood he could see the window in the far corner of the room. It was high up on the wall, just above the outside ground level.

The freedom of the German night beckoned him. He turned and looked back at the door that separated him from the people in the other room. He couldn’t chance it.

Dammit! he thought. This is really starting to piss me off.

Quinn jammed himself into the space between the ceiling and the top of the refrigerator, as far back against the wall as he could. In his right hand he held the SIG Sauer Orlando had picked up for him. Attached to the end of the barrel was a suppressor. The last thing he wanted to do was use the weapon, but if they found him, he wasn’t going to go easily.

Half a minute later, the door to the outer room opened. It was followed immediately by the sound of several people entering. Flashlight beams darted from wall to wall, covering every inch of the space. All, that is, except the place Quinn hid.

Quinn counted footsteps. Four men. The sounds of movements stopped after a few moments.

“See?” It was Matz, the one who’d first come into the sphere looking for Quinn. “I told you. He didn’t come down here.”

“Then where is he?” a second man asked. It was the voice from the radio, in person now. Matz had referred to him as “One.” But now that Quinn heard the voice without static, it sounded very familiar.

“Perhaps he got by the guards upstairs?” Matz suggested. “Made it outside without anyone seeing?”

“You think that’s possible?” One asked.

“I don’t know. But he’s obviously not down here. The basement door was still locked. If he didn’t get away, then he must still be upstairs somewhere. You did say he was good.”

“I asked for professionals and Duke gives me morons.”

Quinn’s lips pressed hard against each other. Duke, again.

Silence. “What about in there?” One asked.

“The cold storage?”

“Yes.”

Their footsteps approached the refrigeration unit and stopped near the door. “There’s a safety pin that acts as a lock. It’s still in place. If he was inside, he couldn’t have put it back in.”

One finally said, “Let’s go.”

Quinn listened as the men left the room. He heard the door close, but he didn’t move. Something wasn’t right.

Finally after several minutes, he heard the shuffling of feet. Then a door opened, and the man who had been waiting behind departed.

Quinn remained still for a moment longer, his mind racing.

It was the lingerer. The voice from the radio. The person Matz had called One. The man Piper had warned him about.

A man he’d last seen in Toronto.

Borko.