[Quinn 01] - The Cleaner

He took a deep breath. MacDonald had been the name he'd used to check into the Four Seasons. Even if Orlando had ditched the room as a precaution, she wouldn't have checked out. It only confirmed what he'd already expected. Borko had somehow traced their encrypted communications signal back to the hotel while Quinn was in the water plant. Quinn had to assume they'd taken Orlando in the process.

A call to the Dorint Hotel yielded the same results.

There was a tap on the door behind him. Quinn glanced over his shoulder. An impatient-looking teenage girl stared at him through the glass.

Quinn nodded, then opened the door and stepped out.

Finding Orlando and Nate was now his top priority. And as he walked away, he knew exactly where to start.

Duke had been operating out of Berlin for a long time. Too long, actually. And that was good because he'd done things. Stupid things. Things smart people in the business didn't do no matter how long they lived somewhere. Duke wasn't that smart. Just lucky.

Quinn sat in the driver's seat of a Volvo station wagon he'd stolen a half hour earlier in Ku'damm. He was parked across the street from a nightclub on Kaiser Friedrich Strasse. It was early yet, and the club didn't open for several hours. But there was already plenty of activity: cases of alcohol being delivered, windows being cleaned, sidewalks being swept.

It was Duke's place. He probably thought of it as a cover, but to Quinn it was a liability. 'Always keep a low profile,' Durrie had said. 'Don't be flashy. Flashy gets you killed. You can make enough money in this business that you don't have to throw it around. Are you listening to me?'

Quinn had listened. But apparently no one had taken the time to make Duke understand. Because, as he did every morning, Duke pulled up in front of the club in the same Mercedes sedan he'd driven Quinn around in the day before.

Duke was alone. His arrogance his downfall. A 'Berlin is my town, nobody can get to me here' kind of attitude. Stupid, Quinn thought.

His purpose for coming to the club this early was to check the receipts from the night before. Quinn knew this from the last time he'd worked with the man. Back then Duke had bragged about his businesses, how he liked to start each day knowing exactly what was going on. And how, specifically, he would begin with an 11 a.m. stop at La Maison du Chat – the not so subtle name for his club.

Patterns. Idiotic, thoughtless patterns.

Quinn watched the big man get out of his car and waddle into the club. Twenty minutes later, Duke reappeared at the door, smiling. He turned and said something to someone inside before lumbering back to his car.

As Duke started his Mercedes and pulled away from the curb, Quinn started the Volvo. He waited until the Mercedes was half a block away, then made a U-turn to follow.

They drove across town, stopping finally in front of a jewelry store. Again Quinn waited while Duke went inside. This errand didn't take nearly as long. Apparently, the receipts here were less than desired. There was no smile on Duke's face as he returned to his car.

They spent two hours going from business to business. Duke may not have been very smart when it came to the intelligence game, but he obviously knew how to diversify his interests. He seemed to have his hand in a little bit of everything: a nightclub, several jewelry stores, some restaurants, an accounting office, a promotions company, over a dozen magazine kiosks. Still, even if all were moneymakers, none would have paid him as much as brokering a single good undercover job. Of course, from Duke's point of view, at least none of these other ventures could get him killed.

Just after 2:00 p.m., the Mercedes turned down a residential street and stopped near the end of the block in front of an apartment building. This was a new twist. Quinn had no idea if it was where Duke lived or just another source of cash, but he was getting tired of simply following the man around. And unlike any of the other stops, this one might provide an opportunity for a private conversation.

Quinn removed his gun, suppressor, knife, and set of lock picks from his backpack. He put all but the gun into the pockets of his jacket. After Duke exited his car, Quinn got out of the Volvo and slipped the gun under his waistband at the small of his back.

The building Duke had parked in front of was an old five-story structure that needed a new coat of paint. The other buildings on the street weren't in much better shape. There was a short staircase that led up from the sidewalk to a faded blue door.

Quinn closed the gap as Duke labored up the stairs. When Duke entered the building, Quinn jogged up the steps and grabbed the door just before it closed.

He froze in position and listened carefully to make sure Duke hadn't heard him. There were footsteps, slow and natural. Not the rushing footsteps of someone who thought he was in danger. Quinn waited until they faded, then opened the door and slipped inside.