[Quinn 01] - The Cleaner

The other room was a home office complete with desk, computer, printer, and scanner. Murray's private lair and, apparently, a room he never shared with anyone. Neatness here was no longer necessary. Stacks of papers, files, and books everywhere.

Quinn thought about switching on the computer and getting onto the net so he could make another attempt at the FTP site, but there was a good chance someone somewhere monitored Murray's surfing activities. Murray wasn't the most important man at NATO, but he was important enough to draw interest from several different directions.

Quinn returned to the kitchen, poured himself a glass of wine, then carried it into the living room. He found the remote and switched on the TV.

No sense being bored all afternoon, he thought as he settled down in one of Murray's chairs.

Kenneth Murray returned home at ten minutes past eight that evening. His hairline had receded a bit since Quinn had seen him last, but otherwise he was the same old Murray, blessed with one of those faces that blended easily into crowds. Not too tall, not too short. He was the perfect go-between man.

Half an hour earlier, Quinn had turned off the TV. He was sitting in the darkened living room, finishing off a second glass of wine, when the door opened. At first, Murray didn't notice Quinn as he entered the flat and turned on the light. Humming softly to himself, he placed his keys in a ceramic bowl on a stand next to the door, then turned toward his living room.

'Working late?' Quinn asked.

Murray slammed back against the door in surprise. He sucked in air, trying to catch his breath. 'Who the hell are you?'

'It hasn't been that long, has it, Ken?'

Murray's eyes grew wide. 'Quinn.'

'How are you doing?'

On two prior jobs, Murray had served as a secondary contact for Quinn. On each occasion they had met only once: the first time during a soccer game in Ostend, the second time over dinner in a cafe near Murray's previous apartment. Murray had struck Quinn as the nervous type. All talk when it came to impressing the women, but little substance when it came to any real action.

Somehow he had gotten it into his mind that Quinn killed people for a living. Quinn had decided not to set him straight. Both times they met, Murray had seemed to want to get it over with as quickly as possible.

'What are you doing here?' Murray asked.

'I thought maybe we could have a chat.'

Murray's eyes darted toward the kitchen, then toward the back hall. 'Are you alone?' 'For the moment.' The reply did little to ease the tension in Murray's

face. 'What do you want to talk about?'

Quinn casually stood up. As he did so, Murray backed away a few feet along the wall. 'Please, Ken. What do you think's going on here?' Quinn asked. 'Do you think I want to hurt you?'

'I don't know what you want to do,' Murray said. 'But I'm pretty familiar with what you can do.'

'We're on the same side, buddy. I just came to talk.' Quinn nodded toward the couch. 'Have a seat. I'll get you a glass of wine. Okay?'

'I'm fine.'

'It'll help you relax.'

Quinn waited until Murray broke away from the wall and sat down. 'See?' said Quinn. 'That wasn't so hard.'

He walked into the kitchen and pulled the bottle of wine out of the refrigerator. From an overhead cupboard he removed a wineglass and carried it and the bottle into the living room. He sat back down in the chair he'd been in when Murray arrived and poured a generous amount of wine into the glass.

'Here.' He held it out to Murray. 'It's good. I've had some myself.'

Murray took the glass. With only the slightest hesitation, he raised it to his lips and took a big gulp.

'Better?' Quinn asked, as he sat back down.

Murray nodded slightly. 'Are you going to tell

me what you want now?' 'Just talk.' 'That's it?' 'That depends on the talk.' Murray took another drink. 'Are you here to

kill me?'

'I don't kill people. Not unless I really need to.' Quinn cocked his head. 'Is there a reason I should need to?'

Murray shook his head vigorously. 'No.' 'Okay, then. You've got nothing to worry about.' Murray relaxed a little more. 'You know,' he said,

still with an undertone of nervousness, 'you really

scared the shit out of me.' Quinn remained silent. 'I mean, I thought maybe you were a burglar or

something.' Quinn still said nothing. 'I'm glad you're not.' 'I'm glad I'm not, too.' 'So.' Murray gave him a weak smile. 'What do

you need?' 'I'm looking for someone.' 'Who?' 'Somebody who works at NATO. He probably

came on recently.' 'What's his name?' 'Burroughs.' 'Mark Burroughs?' Murray asked, eyes widening. 'I take it you know him.' 'I can't help you,' Murray said quickly. 'That's disappointing.'

'Burroughs is into a lot of heavy stuff here. He's untouchable. I've been able to steer clear of him, and I really don't want to change that.'