The Enraged (A Jonathan Quinn Novel) Read online

  Using the tracking program, he opened a blank e-mail with an embedded bot that would travel to Griffin’s phone and report back. Until the message was deleted, it would act as a tracking bug.

  In the body, he typed:

  Quick update. Making progress on woman. Looks like she’s former intelligence but will have more info when I contact you later.

  M

  He read it again, felt it would stand up to scrutiny, and hit SEND. He then switched to the tracking control screen and waited.

  With the exception of the blinking cursor in the upper left corner, the box was empty.

  “Let’s go, baby. Show me where he is.”

  The cursor continued to blink, unmoving.

  “Come on, you son of a bitch. Where are you?”

  Blink.

  Blink.

  Blink.

  There was at least one other time, with a different target, when the bot had not sent a message back, but the Mole was confident he’d taken care of that error. So why was this one not—

  Suddenly the cursor began to move, spitting out a set of GPS coordinates. Once the line was complete, the Mole copied it, pasted it into Google Maps, and was almost instantaneously provided with a location.

  For the first time since he’d been shooting aliens with his team, the Mole smiled.

  CHAPTER 30

  ISLA DE CERVANTES

  ORLANDO WAS ASLEEP when Quinn and Nate reentered her room. Liz was sitting in the chair, working on the laptop.

  “How is she?” Quinn asked.

  “She’s okay,” Liz said. “Just tired.”

  Quinn’s gaze lingered on Orlando for a moment longer before moving down to the laptop screen.

  “That’s a little better,” he said.

  The blurry picture of the man at the Turkish accident scene had become more defined.

  “I tried another pass,” she said, “but there was no visible change, so I think this is as good as it’s going to get.”

  Quinn took the computer from her so he could get a better look. While the man’s face was still hazy, it was clear enough to be recognizable, especially to someone who knew him. Unfortunately, Quinn didn’t.

  He showed Nate. “Ever seen him?”

  “No,” Nate said after he scanned the face.

  “Okay, let’s get this out to some people we trust. See if any of them can ID the guy. Can you two do that?”

  Nate and Liz looked uncomfortable, but Nate said, “Sure.”

  Quinn considered them for a moment. “Something going on here I need to know about?”

  “No,” Nate said.

  “Yes,” Liz countered.

  Quinn raised an eyebrow. “And that would be…?”

  Liz glanced at her boyfriend and then at her brother. “Nate’s not exactly fond of sharing information with me.”

  “It’s not that,” Nate said. “It’s—”

  “He thinks I can’t handle it. There’s also the whole keep-the-secrets-in-the-club thing you’ve all got going.” She pointed at her brother. “That’s your fault.” To Nate, she said, “I have news for you. I’m in the club now. Have been since the moment I arrived in Los Angeles and found you missing. You want this to work out between us? Don’t coddle me, and don’t keep things from me.”

  Only three weeks ago, Quinn would have argued in Nate’s favor, telling his sister she didn’t need to know certain things. But she was right. She’d played a valuable part in the search for Nate and Peter, and had handled herself exceptionally well. And then there was Orlando. He didn’t need her to almost die for him to know how important she was in his life, but it reinforced the point nonetheless. Being with her—their loving each other—made everything better, but their relationship would have never lasted if they’d kept secrets from each other. As much as he hated to admit it, Nate and Liz were good together. He loved both of them, and knew they deserved what he and Orlando had. If they could get past acting like idiots.

  He took a deep breath and said, “Dear God, are you kidding me? Nate, sometimes there’s an exception that trumps any of the rules I’ve taught you. Can you not see that Liz is that exception? Don’t screw it up. And Liz, there’s a club of secrets. And yes, you’re in it now, but sometimes both Nate and I will forget that and balk before telling you something. It doesn’t mean we don’t trust you. It just means we want to keep you safe. Point it out to us when it happens, then move on.” They both gaped at him. “Are we good? Great, then let’s get those e-mails sent.”

  While they got started, he walked over to Orlando and ran his hand lightly over the top of her head.

  “Nice speech,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.

  “Oh, you were listening, were you?”

  “Kind of hard to sleep with all the noise.”

  His playful manner disappeared. “Oh, sorry. We’ll move down to the cafeteria.”

  “Don’t you dare. I like having people here.”

  He swept his finger past her temple. “Are you sure?”

  When she didn’t answer, he realized she’d fallen back asleep. He was half tempted to go ahead and tell the others to take it out of the room, but he knew that wasn’t what Orlando wanted.

  A few minutes later, his phone vibrated. He pulled it out and saw the call was from UKNOWN. He moved over near the door and answered.

  “Where are your friends hiding?” the Mole asked. The machine-like monotone was still there, but his halting speech pattern was gone.

  “I don’t think I need to tell you that.”

  “Then let me tell you. Western Virginia, or perhaps West Virginia.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because my client is heading in that direction as we speak.”

  Quinn tensed. “Where exactly is he?”

  “At the moment, on I-66 ten miles west of Marshall, Virginia.”

  Quinn didn’t have a map in front of him, but if the Mole’s client was still on I-66, he had to be at least forty-five minutes to an hour away from Daeng and the others. “Are you going to tell me his name now?”

  “That depends. Can you promise me he won’t be a problem for me anymore?”

  “If he’s involved in what I think he is, then yes.”

  “That’s not a guarantee.”

  “It’s the best I can do at the moment.”

  A pause, then, “Griffin. His name is Griffin.”

  __________

  SAN FRANCISCO

  HELEN CHO STOOD at her office window. She could see all the way to the Bay Bridge and Treasure Island. But she wasn’t looking at the sights. She wasn’t looking at anything at all.

  On the desk behind her, her computer screen still displayed the crime scene photos from the car wreck in Turkey. It was definitely a crime scene, not an accident, as she and almost everyone else believed for so long.

  She had met Miranda Keyes once, at some sort of DC function, its purpose unremembered. She could tell from that one encounter that Miranda was destined for great things. That’s what made what Helen had thought was an accident so much more tragic. A strong, charismatic, intelligent woman struck down long before her full potential was realized. That was the extent of what she’d known of the woman then, but that wasn’t the case now.

  Her intercom buzzed. Reluctantly, she tore herself from the window and answered. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Quinn is on the line again,” David said.

  Of course he is. “Put him through.”

  She sagged into her chair and stared at the display screen of her office phone before touching the blinking line. “I believe I said I’d be in touch with you.”

  “You’ve had plenty of time to read what I sent you, and check what you needed to check,” he said. “But let me help you. Your client’s name is Griffin.”

  “Where did you learn that?”

  “Not important. I just need you to confirm.”

  She clicked through the pictures until she found the one she was looking for. “Griffin is not the
client,” she said, looking at the photo.

  “You’re lying to me.”

  “Griffin is not the client, but he does work for the client.”

  A pause. “Then who is his boss?”

  “You have a picture of him. It’s the enhanced close-up of the man at the crime scene.”

  “You know him?”

  “I do.”

  “Who is he?”

  “A story first,” she said.

  “I don’t have time for stories.”

  “It’ll be quick, I promise. It’s an age-old tale of ambition, jealousy, and greed.” The story she told was one she’d read in an archived FBI report she’d dug up after reading what Quinn had sent her.

  When she finished, he said, “How reliable is this story?”

  “I’ll need to check sources, but given what you…well, I guess it’s more what Peter unearthed, I would say very.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “The enforcer. Griffin, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the second man—he’s the one in the picture?”

  “Correct.”

  “You want to tell me his name now?”

  “Kyle Morten,” she said.

  “And the third person? Morten’s client?”

  “That, Mr. Quinn, is a bit trickier.”

  CHAPTER 31

  TREVOR HOLLOW

  THE RAIN HAD started an hour earlier. For the first few minutes, it had been an on-again, off-again sprinkle, but then the storm began to assert itself, and the smattering of rain became a downpour. The water beat against the roof in an endless series of crescendos, while the accompanying wind howled past the windows.

  Daeng was used to hearing storms like this. In Bangkok, the clouds would roll in most afternoons and soak the city in minutes. But those storms were gone as fast as they came, and Daeng had the sense this one would last for a while.

  “Did you touch anything over here?” Misty asked.

  She was in the kitchen near the counter where the dishwasher was located, in one hand a bottle of bleach, in the other a wad of paper towels.

  “I didn’t, but wipe it down anyway.”

  While she splashed bleach onto the counter, Daeng finished removing any fingerprints from the chairs around the dining table.

  Their cleaning frenzy was initiated by a call from Quinn ten minutes earlier.

  “He’s definitely on his way to you,” the cleaner had said.

  “How did he find us?” Daeng asked.

  “The only way is if he figured out what kind of car you left in and traced it somehow.”

  “How long do we have?”

  “Assume no more than thirty minutes.”

  “Okay,” Daeng had said. “We can be out of here and in a new car well before then.”

  “Actually, I have something different in mind.”

  Quinn’s plan started with their current task of destroying anything that might be used to identify them.

  “I got it all, I think,” Misty said a few minutes later.

  Daeng looked around, and nodded. They’d wiped down everything they’d touched and more.

  “Let’s do the bedroom,” he said.

  Daeng entered, hurried over to the bed where Howard still slept, and gave him a gentle shake. “Steve, sorry to do this, but we’ve got to go.”

  Howard’s eyes cracked open.

  “Come on, buddy. Time to leave.”

  It seemed to take a moment for Daeng’s words to register. Then Howard tried to push himself up, but only made it partway before he paused, wincing in pain.

  “You okay?” Daeng asked.

  “Give me a second.”

  Daeng looked back and saw that Misty had already started wiping down the dresser. That left the chair, the bed, and the nightstand. After that, the cabin would be clean.

  “Okay,” Howard said. “I think I’m all right.”

  “Let me help you.” Daeng slipped an arm around Howard’s back and helped him stand up. “Do you want to hang on to me, or do you want to walk on your own?”

  “I can make it on my own. Just stay close. We’re going to the car?”

  “Yeah.”

  As they neared the bedroom door, Daeng said to Misty, “If you finish before I get back, grab the sheets and blankets, and come on out.”

  Daeng escorted Howard through the cabin and outside.

  “So what happened?” Howard asked.

  “We’re going to have unwanted company soon if we stay here.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  Daeng opened the back door of the Volvo. “Enough.”

  __________

  GRIFFIN TRANSITIONED ONTO I-81 and drove for another nine minutes before taking the Trevor Hollow exit.

  Unfortunately, Dima could only point him in the direction the Volvo had taken, but after that, there were no more cameras to track the car’s movements. If it weren’t for the stupid storm, they could have used satellite links to follow the car all the way to its destination. Now Griffin would have to hunt and peck.

  At least Trevor Hollow was considerably less populated than Arlington or DC.

  __________

  “YOU THINK YOU guys can walk from here?” Daeng asked.

  He’d pulled the Volvo to the side of the road, about a quarter mile west of the collection of buildings that officially represented the town of Trevor Hollow.

  “Should be okay,” Howard said.

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” Misty said. “You’re hurt, Steve. You can’t—”

  “Not the first time I’ve had to work injured.” Howard opened his door, and used the frame to leverage himself out of the backseat into the rain.

  Misty hurried out her door, popped open the umbrella they’d appropriated from the cabin, and raised it above Howard.

  Daeng lowered the passenger window a few inches and leaned across the seat. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to be picked up. Until then, stay out of sight. If you don’t hear from me in ninety minutes, get someplace safe and call Quinn.”

  While Misty looked scared and uncertain, Howard nodded and said, “Good luck.”

  Daeng swung the Volvo in a U-turn and headed back toward the cabin. The rain was coming down so hard now that the wipers, even at full speed, were barely effective. But as much as his instincts told him to slow down, he knew he couldn’t. Every second could be crucial, so he powered past where the main road turned to dirt, and slogged through the mud to the cabin turnoff.

  He had a fleeting thought that this Griffin person might somehow already be waiting for him, but the parking area in front of the cabin was empty. He parked the Volvo at an angle so that someone driving up the access road would not only see it, but know what kind of car it was. He then wiped down the interior.

  Before getting out, he padded his pocket to make sure Howard’s now data-wiped cell phone was still there. The coat he was wearing had also come from the cabin—a black jacket complete with hood. A bit warmer than he needed this time of year, but at least it would keep some of the rain out.

  Pulling the hood on, he climbed out and jogged down the road away from the cabin. When he was about a hundred feet away, he stopped and looked back, examining the tableau he’d created.

  Satisfied that nothing seemed amiss, he turned to his left and disappeared into the woods.

  __________

  GRIFFIN CRUISED THROUGH the tiny village of Trevor Hollow, looking for a blue Volvo S60. He knew it was possible Howard and his friends had already ditched the vehicle, but it was the only lead he had at the moment. Even if they had switched cars, finding the Volvo meant he could have Dima tap into local law enforcement records and see what vehicle might be missing in the vicinity. So far, however, no Volvo.

  He headed west into the mountains on the only road leading out of town. Dima had dug up an older satellite image of the area, taken on a clear day, that showed where homes were located. He’d even overlaid a map onto it, no doubt hoping to earn some bonus p
oints from Griffin. Too bad for him. Griffin didn’t hand out bonus points.

  The first two houses he checked were empty. Before he reached the third, the asphalt covering the road gave way to what was fast becoming a muddy sluice. Houses three and four were both occupied by families—neither, apparently, owning a Volvo.

  According to the satellite image, the fifth house was a small place tucked down a private road. Griffin reduced his speed so he wouldn’t miss the turnoff. That turned out to be a mistake. One of the back tires plunged into a particularly muddy dip, and the car lurched to a stop.

  Griffin immediately punched the gas. The car rocked up, but then fell back again.

  “Shit!”

  He shoved the accelerator all the way to the floor. The engine roared, temporarily drowning out the sound of the rain. This time, when car reached the top of the dip, it slowed but didn’t fall back.

  Griffin eased back on the pedal, and glared out at the clouds. A little foul weather was always good for cover, but this storm was a bit more enthusiastic than he needed.

  The road he was looking for appeared on the right a few minutes later. He slowed to make the turn, and was happy to see that though the access road was also dirt, it was narrower, the trees creating a canopy over the top. So while the ground was wet, few puddles had developed.

  Reaching what he judged to be the halfway point to the small house, he let his car roll to a stop on a firm part of the road, and killed the engine. Ideally, he would have liked to turn the car around in the event he had to get out in a hurry, but there was no room.

  He extracted his gun from his shoulder holster, attached the suppressor, and donned his knee-long raincoat over his suit. When the coat was buttoned, he quietly opened his door and moved outside.

  The trees might have been blocking a lot of the rain, but there was still enough getting through to soak him before he’d gone a dozen yards. The mud was a problem, too. Though it was probably only a half-inch deep, the muck pulled at his shoes every time he took a step. Even when he moved into the trees along the left side of the road, it wasn’t much better.