[Quinn 01] - The Cleaner

Borko nodded once. Two of his men quickly shouldered their rifles and grabbed the mechanic by the arms. Once he was secure, Borko kneeled down next to the toolbox and opened it.

'What do you carry in here?' Borko asked. Before the man could reply, Borko reached into the box and pulled something out. 'This will be fine.'

As he stood up, Quinn could see a long, thin screwdriver in the Serb's hand. Borko looked back at the woman.

'Don't worry. I am not actually expecting you to make any kind of speech. There are many ways to deliver a message. Perhaps you'd like to get a preview of what your message will look like.'

Borko turned to the mechanic, the screwdriver held tightly in his hand.

'What the fuck?' the man said. 'Come on. I ain't done nothing. Please.'

The Serb put his free hand on the man's shoulder, smiled, then jabbed the screwdriver deep into the man's abdomen.

The mechanic cried out in agony and started to double over. But the gunmen held him up so Borko could pull the tool out. Borko waited a moment, then shoved it in again, this time on the other side.

The mechanic vomited, his breakfast barely missing Borko's shoes. Borko once again removed the screwdriver. This time he held the bloody weapon in front of the asset's face.

'You see, one more time and he'll probably pass out,' he said. 'He won't be dead yet, but he will miss all the fun. This method is effective, but most of the damage is on the inside. Outside? Only a couple of small holes. Not very dramatic. To be an effective message, there has to be a more dramatic presentation.'

Without warning, he lashed out with the screwdriver, slashing its blade across the mechanic's face, detaching part of the man's cheek. He did it again and again and again. Face, neck, shoulders, chest.

Finally he plunged the weapon upward under the man's rib cage, undoubtedly aiming for the heart.

Within seconds, the mechanic was dead.

As the gunmen let the body slump to the floor, Borko pulled his makeshift weapon out and turned back to the asset, smiling.

'So, Miss Sanchez, are you ready?'

He raised the bloody screwdriver again.

After Borko and his team cleared out, Quinn told Skyler to get behind the wheel, but not to start the engine yet. Quinn glanced at his watch, then fixed his eyes on the monitor displaying the wide shot of the carnage. Each minute that passed was agony to Quinn. The chance that another civilian – perhaps a security guard, or another city worker arriving early – would enter the room and find the massacre increased with each moment Quinn continued to hold their position. But he'd been well trained, and understood that caution was one of the most important parts of the job.

The wait paid off. After nearly fifteen minutes someone stepped out from the shadows of one of the trucks. It was Borko himself, armed now with one of the G36K rifles. He appeared to be alone. Does the son of a bitch think he could take on an entire rescue team by himself? Quinn thought, then paused. He probably does, and probably could.

The Serb walked around for a moment, gave each body a shove, then exited the building.

Another fifteen minutes passed. Quinn wanted to wait longer, but knew they couldn't chance it. Finally, he said, 'Now.'

Skyler started the engine and pulled out. 'Don't rush,' Quinn reminded him. 'Nice and easy. Like a routine you do every day.'

Per their plan, Skyler didn't drive directly to the entrance of the garage. Instead he drove a route that took him around several buildings in the immediate vicinity, checking for Borko and his men.

They found no sign of them.

'What about SCG?' Glaze asked. 'We were transferring her to them. Their guys have to be here somewhere.'

Quinn shook his head. 'Their guys never made it.'

As Skyler drove toward the garage, Quinn handed Glaze two pairs of gloves. One pair was the lightweight rubber kind doctors used. The other was also rubber, only heavy duty – janitor gloves, extra tough. He and Skyler had similar sets.

'What are these for?' Glaze said.

'You're going to have to help us,' Quinn said. 'Gloves on at all times. Surgical first, then the others over the top. Only take the thick ones off if you need to do detailed work. But be careful. No prints. You get a tear, you let me know. I'll get you another pair.'

Quinn could still see the fear in the other man's eyes. But to Glaze's credit, he didn't protest.

'One more thing. When we're inside, I do the talking. No comments. No unnecessary noise. If you have a question, okay. But think it through first and keep it brief. Understand?'

'I understand.' Glaze's voice was a dry whisper. At the garage, Quinn entered first, slipping in through the back door and making a quick search

of the facility. Except for the bodies, they were alone.