[Quinn 01] - The Cleaner

Borko's brow creased for a moment, then he smiled. 'You mean at your house? You want to know the truth?' He leaned forward slightly, as if he were passing on a great secret. 'He was supposed to carve Dahl's name in your chest.'

Yeah. That would explain it, Quinn thought as he made sure the safety was off.

'Your plan isn't going to work, you know,' Quinn said. He moved his thumb to the A/B switch. Had he already put it in the B position?

'I don't care what you think. It will work fine.' Borko pulled back on the slide release on his pistol, checking to make sure a bullet was in the chamber.

'I don't mean the fact that your scientists screwed up and your attempt at ethnic genocide would have a wider audience.' Right side A, left side B. Right? Right side A . . . No. Left side A, right side B.

'Not genocide,' Borko said, raising his gun. 'Pest removal.'

The switch was on the right side. 'Whatever,' Quinn said. He risked a quick glance past Borko at the van, wondering if he was far enough away.

They were almost thirty yards away, and he was lying on the ground. Hopefully it would do some damage to Borko. At the very least it would be enough to knock the Serb to the ground, Quinn thought, give himself a chance to get away. 'That's not why it's not going to work.'

'Really?' Borko said. 'Why isn't it going to work?' 'Unfortunately, you'll probably never know.' Quinn pressed his thumb against the pad, but

nothing happened. 'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' Quinn pressed again, still nothing. The switch

was broken. 'You know what?' Borko asked. 'It doesn't matter. What does matter is –' Whatever he thought mattered was lost in the explosion that ripped him apart.

Chapter 40

Quinn didn't remember the explosion at first. He did remember hands on his body, pulling things off him, then helping him to stand. He remembered looking for the van, but not finding it. It wasn't anywhere. But he had trouble remembering why any of it should matter.

Then someone slipped an arm under his shoulder.

'Come on,' a voice said, urging him forward.

Why was he having such a hard time walking? His left leg acted like it didn't want to hold him up without the help of his new companion. He looked down and saw a scarf tied around his leg. It was checkered, black and red, and seemed familiar. Where did that come from?

Soon he was surrounded by trees, but his companion kept urging him on deeper into the woods. Quinn could barely keep his eyes open. The journey seemed to take days, weeks even. Finally there was the sound of automobiles, dozens of them. And from somewhere beyond the direction they'd just come from, dozens of sirens screaming out of sync. His companion stopped then, helping Quinn to lean against a tree. Pain began to creep into Quinn's consciousness, and with it returned the awareness of his situation and the realization of what still needed to be done.

Quinn looked over at his companion, at Orlando. All five-feet-nothing of her. She'd been the one to get him to his feet. She'd tied her scarf around his leg. She was the one who led him away from the chaotic debris that had once been the van.

'How long?' he asked.

'Since the explosion?'

Quinn nodded.

She looked at her watch. 'Nine minutes.'

'My switch wasn't working,' Quinn said.

'Mine was.' Orlando pulled a phone out of her pocket. It wasn't the same model she or Quinn had been carrying. She saw him eyeing it. 'Got it off one of the guys who followed me into the woods.'

'Did you take care of them?'

'I wouldn't be here if I didn't.'

He tried to smile, but failed.

Orlando punched a number into the phone, then held it up to her ear. 'Where are you?' she said, then paused. 'You're almost here. A quarter mile at most. Hold on.'

She walked to the edge of the woods and stepped out. She was too far away for Quinn to hear her conversation, but only a few seconds later a car pulled to the side of the road. It was a maroon BMW sedan. Nate.

They helped Quinn into the back seat, then climbed into the front – Nate in the driver's seat, Orlando on the passenger side. Quinn's apprentice pulled the car back onto the road, heading south into the city.

'Just lie down,' Orlando said, looking back. 'We'll get you to a doctor.'

'No,' Quinn said.

Orlando looked back. 'You've probably got a concussion. You need help.' 'No time for a doctor,' Quinn said. 'The St. Martin Hotel. That's where we need to go.'

'Why?' Orlando asked.

'I promised you we'd get Garrett,' Quinn said.

Outside, two police cars rushed past them heading the other way, their emergency lights flashing.

'He's at the St. Martin?' she asked quickly.

'No,' he said. 'That's not what I mean. We have to follow the trail.'When he realized they didn't understand what he meant, he added, 'We didn't get it all.'