The Deceived

CHAPTER

JENNY BROUGHT HER PISTOL UP TO FIRE AT QUINN.

Without even thinking, he aimed his SIG in her direction, and pulled the trigger as he dove to the right.

He hit the ground hard. Mud and water splashed up onto his face and clothes. He fired again, but Jenny was gone.

In an instant, he was on his feet and running. Staying in the clearing only meant death. When he reached Tasha, he knelt down. It didn’t look like she’d been shot, but there was a large gash on the side of her head.

“Can you hear me?” he said.

“Yes.” Her voice was infused with pain. “I’ll be fine. Just go find her.”

Quinn looked back to the clearing and saw Lian heading in their direction. The man pointed at Tasha, then at himself. The message was clear: he’d take care of her, Quinn could go.

Instead of heading for the aisle he’d last seen Jenny in, Quinn veered to the right, taking the next path over.

He was soaked, but he barely noticed as he raced between the containers. He tried to listen for her steps, but he was again defeated by the storm.

He came to a small opening between the containers. It was not quite a path, but was wide enough for him to squeeze through. As he worked his way between the metal boxes, he realized there were thousands of places she could be hiding. He might never find her before she found him. This was the advantage the hunted had over the hunter, especially when the hunted was armed and deadly.

When he reached the next aisle, he paused for a second. There was no sound but the rain from beyond. Slow and deliberate, he moved out into the aisle just enough so that he could get a look in either direction.

To the left was the way back to the clearing. It was empty. And to the right, more metal containers. And rain.

And movement.

Jenny.

The rain had cut down visibility so he had almost missed her. But there she was, about seventy-five feet away, and headed deeper into the compound, toward the back fence.

Quinn moved into the aisle and began running after her. He stayed to the left, hugging the containers and using what little camouflage they could provide him.

She was moving fast, and he had to sprint to gain even a few feet on her. He was in serious danger of losing her again.

Without stopping, he brought his gun up and aimed in her direction. He knew as he pulled the trigger there was very little chance he would hit her. And he was right. There was no sign she had even noticed the bullet.

He took aim again and fired.

Another miss, but this time she reacted, jumping to her right as if she was getting out of the way. She glanced over her shoulder, then cut to her left and disappeared around the end of a stack.

The rain was still continuing its relentless assault as if it were trying to erase all signs of man from the island. Quinn almost felt like he needed a machete to hack through it as he took the first opening to the left, down a parallel path to the one Tasha was on. The aisle at the next intersection was empty.

He continued on.

Another empty aisle.

But when he reached intersection number four, he caught a glimpse of her on the parallel path at the far end of the stack. Then she disappeared again.

He turned to his right, intending to move in behind her, but his movement had been too abrupt, and he slipped on the mud and slammed into the side of a box marked evergreen.

His gun was knocked loose from his hand and landed in a dirty puddle a few feet away.

Quinn wiped the excess water from his forehead, then pushed himself onto his feet. His left shoulder pulsed with searing pain, and the arm below it felt like someone was randomly applying electroshock through his elbow.

He pushed the pain as far back in his mind as he could, then stumbled over and retrieved his gun. It was wet and covered in mud. He checked the end of the suppressor and wasn’t surprised to find it full of crud. He detached it and threw it to the ground. There was no time to clean it, but at least the actual barrel of the gun was clean.

He forced himself back into a run. Pain shot out from his shoulder with every step, but it was just one more thing to ignore. Ahead was the path Jenny had been on, but he knew there was little chance she’d still be in sight.

He took the corner fast, hoping he was wrong. It turned out he was.

He barely made it halfway through the turn when a fist smashed into his cheek, sending him to the ground. Before he could even move, a foot landed on the gun in his hand.

“You’re an annoying son of a bitch, aren’t you?” Jenny said. Her gun was aimed at his head. “Now you’re going to be a dead one.”

Quinn let go of his own gun, then thrust his hand forward, grabbing the back of her calf and pulling her leg out from under her. She stumbled but caught herself, using her gun hand against the container.

Quinn lunged at her, his good shoulder leading him, and knocked her hard against the container.

He twisted her body as she started to bring the gun around, knocking the barrel against the metal box. Her grip slipped, but not enough for the gun to fall out of her hand.

He rammed her against the container again, but still she held on.

As he attempted to do it once more, she swung her leg up and back, pressing her foot against the container so that her knee was jutting out toward him. When he slammed into her again, her knee caught him square in the stomach and nearly knocked the air out of him.

She began to turn her gun on him as he staggered back a few feet. He had only one option. He whipped his SIG upward, knocking it into her pistol a second before she pulled the trigger. His gun raked against her thumb and cut a groove across her knuckle.

“Fuck!” she said.

Quinn hit her hand again. This time she reflexively opened it and let her gun tumble to the ground.

Her eyes grew wide with anger as she realized she had no chance to pick it up before Quinn would shoot her. So she kicked Quinn hard in the stomach, then took off running as he stumbled backward.

Quinn fell against the container, then pushed himself off and continued the pursuit.

Jenny was weaving in and out of the containers, making it impossible for him to get off a clean shot. Less than a hundred feet ahead, the stacks of containers came to a sudden end against a chain-link fence. Beyond the fence were bushes.

As they neared the end of the aisle, the rain began to lessen.

Jenny turned right, moving out of sight again. Quinn accelerated, taking the corner only seconds later. Only she wasn’t there.

He raced ahead to the next aisle. No one.

As he glanced back the way he had come, he saw her. Not in one of the aisles, but on top of one of the container stacks. They were only two boxes high along the back of the compound. Quinn realized from there someone could easily jump over the fence.

He found a stack he thought he could climb, then made his way up as quick as he could with one good arm. When he reached the top, he could see Jenny at the far end, getting ready to jump.

“Don’t!” Quinn said.

He pointed his SIG at her, but she looked at him, laughed, then jumped over the fence.

Quinn cursed under his breath as he ran across the top of the stack to where she’d been. The rain was finally stopping, but there was still a distant rhythmic rumble. Quinn barely noticed, his concentration completely on Jenny.

He took three seconds to examine the other side of the fence, found a landing spot as good as any, then launched himself into the air.

The dirt was soft, loose, and wet. But it wasn’t enough to keep his shoulder from yelling at him again. He clenched his teeth together to fight the pain as he quickly regained his feet.

Jenny was nowhere in sight, but the rain had turned the soft sand into a more than passable tracking system. Her footprints led south through the vegetation.

Quinn followed them, cautious and alert. The rumble he had heard from the top of the containers grew louder the further he got into the brush.

The tracks kept moving him forward. Then suddenly the bushes receded, and the source of the noise became evident. Across a small strip of sand was the Singapore Strait, its waves ending in mellow crashes onto the beach.

Out on the water, dozens of vessels, mostly container ships, moved through the strait. And beyond, he could see Indonesia. No rain there. Only blue sky.

Quinn looked left and right down the beach. If there had been anyone out enjoying an afternoon in the sun, the rain had chased them way.

But the beach wasn’t completely empty. Jenny was standing near the water. She was looking at him, her back to the sea. Her hands hung at her sides, empty.

Quinn walked slowly toward her. He held his gun in front of him and kept it trained on her torso.

When only ten feet separated them, he stopped.

They stared at each other for nearly a minute, neither blinking nor moving.

Finally Quinn asked, “Did you ever love him?”

“That’s a stupid question,” she said. “You’re a professional, or at least you pretend to be. What do you think?”

“I think you used him right from the beginning. I think you talked him into helping you get a job with the congressman. I think it was all part of the plan your friends at LP came up with.”

She smiled, but didn’t answer.

Behind him, he could hear footsteps on the wet sand, but kept looking at Jenny.

“So are you just a role player? Or are you on the permanent roster?”

“We don’t use role players like you.” There was a hint of superiority in her tone. “But if you’re interested in joining, I can put in a good word for you.”

“I think I have enough work for the moment.”

The steps behind Quinn suddenly stopped a few feet away.

“Who’s your contact?” It was Tasha.

Quinn sensed her stop next to him, but there was no way he was going to take his eyes off of Jenny.

“Sorry. I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Jenny said.

“At LP, who do you report to?” Tasha asked.

That only garnered a laugh.

“Are there others like you planted out there?” Tasha said.

Still no response.

Tasha took a step forward. From the corner of Quinn’s eye, he could see blood on her face. “The only thing that’s going to help you now is if you talk to us.”

“Hmm, really? I guess I’m not going to get any help, then, am I?”

“Don’t think any of your friends are going to be able to get you out of this. You’ll talk to us eventually.”

But the smile on Jenny’s face led Quinn to believe Tasha was mistaken.

He asked, “If you wanted to kill Guerrero, why did you leave D.C. early instead of traveling with him to Singapore?”

She took a step toward him.

“No,” he said, taking a step back. “You’re fine where you are.”

She laughed to herself, then looked at Tasha. “Ask her.”

“We were getting too close,” Tasha said. “You knew we’d get you before you had a chance. So running was your best option.”

“Something like that,” Jenny said.

“And Markoff?” Quinn asked.

“My wonderful boyfriend was beginning to suspect me. Not at first. At first he believed my story. The same one I told you, remember? You believed it, too.” She smiled. “He never said anything to me. Tried to act all calm and cool. But I knew. I always know. That’s why I’m good at what I do. No one ever deceives me. My only mistake was waiting too long before I disposed of him. I should have taken care of him before I left Washington.”

“You think that’s the only mistake you’ve made?” Quinn said. He could feel every micrometer of the trigger’s surface. A simple twitch would move it. Just a twitch.

Jenny didn’t answer.

“Who is your contact?” Tasha asked for the third time. “Give us names and we can work a deal.”

“You mean because you think you’ve caught me?” she asked. “So I do a little jail time, that was always a risk. But I bet you’ll be surprised how little time I actually end up spending there.”

“Not really. I know exactly how much time you’ll spend in jail,” Quinn said. There was only one way this could play out, but he had to wait until Tasha realized it, too.

“What? You’re going to kill me, Quinn? I don’t believe that.”

Tasha took a step forward. “Who. Is. Your. Contact?”

For over a minute, no one spoke, then Quinn slowly shook his head. “Whatever information she has, you will never get it.”

Tasha’s shoulders rose and then fell again as she took a deep breath.

“You already must realize it,” he went on. “The minute it gets reported that you have her in custody, her friends in the LP will know.”

She hesitated a moment, then nodded.

“And I’m guessing they’ll have the power to get her out.”

No nod this time, but she didn’t argue the point.

“She killed Markoff,” he said. “He was one of yours once.”

Finally she looked at Quinn. “Eye for an eye?”

“I owe him.”

Tasha looked back at Jenny, saying nothing.

“So?” he asked.

“Give us a name,” Tasha said to Jenny. “Something to go on.”

Jenny looked at Quinn, then back at Tasha. “Did you guys work this routine out ahead of time? Think it might scare something out of me? Take me in, and let’s get this over with. I’m getting hungry.”

“Give us a name,” Tasha repeated.

“Mother Teresa,” Jenny replied, smiling.

“Okay,” Tasha said. She looked at Quinn. “I’m done.”

Without another word, she turned and started walking back toward the compound.

Quinn raised the gun another inch. His mind flashed on a memory of a fishing trip out of Cabo San Lucas. He and Markoff downing Coronas and paying very little attention to their lines. Jenny kissing her boyfriend before stretching out on the cabin roof to get a little sun.

Jenny laughed. “You’re not going to kill me, so just arrest me and take me in.”

Athens, where separate jobs had brought Markoff and Quinn to the city at the same time. A bottle of nasty ouzo, a night that went later than either had planned, and a conversation about dreams and desires that could only happen under the combination of the liquor and the hour.

“You’re just a cleaner. A janitor,” Jenny said. “You know how to remove the bodies. You don’t know how to kill them. Quit playing around.”

San Diego, on the sailboat later in the day. Quinn watching Markoff as Markoff watched Jenny. The care and growing love in the older man’s eyes genuine. But for what?

“I’m not playing,” Quinn said.

Jenny was still smiling when the bullet hit her in her chest.

It hadn’t been a perfect shot, but it was more than adequate.

Quinn walked over to where she had fallen backward on the sand. He could hear her sucking in the last bits of air her lungs would ever absorb. The look on her face was one of surprise and shock.

“Your last mistake was underestimating me.”