The hardest part was not pushing Jergins to talk faster and wrap things up. Quinn had a schedule to keep if his plan was going to work.
When Jergins traced the presumed route Mila would be taking to the room on a map of the hotel, Quinn stole a glance at his watch.
Five minutes. He had to be out of there in five minutes or he was screwed.
No, he corrected himself. Mila will be screwed, permanently.
“…and Kovacs, as soon as you’re done, you’ll give Quinn the signal,” Jergins was saying. He glanced at Quinn. “Then it’s all yours.”
Quinn nodded his understanding.
“Any questions?” Jergins looked around the room, but no one said anything. Of course, why would they? They’d been over this a dozen times too many already. “Okay, good. Setup team, you’re dismissed. Get the hell out of town. In three days call the contact number for debrief. After that you’ll receive your final payment.”
Those involved in getting everything organized said their goodbyes, and within moments Jergins, Kovacs, and Quinn were the only ones left.
“You two are clear, right?” Jergins said.
“Of course,” Kovacs replied.
“Completely,” Quinn said.
“I’ll be monitoring everything from a van just off the Strip, but if things go south you’re on your own.”
“Not going to be a problem,” Kovacs said.
“You’re sure you’re all set?”
Kovacs sneered. “I’ve done this once or twice before, so what do you think?”
Assassins, as a group, tended to be a bit more prima donna than some other operatives in the espionage world. And why not? They were the takers of lives, the ones who could swing the balance of power with a single bullet. But up until then, Kovacs had kept his sense of superiority in check.
Jergins seemed to realize that Kovacs’s stoic veneer was starting to crack. He leaned back and stretched. “OK. Unless you guys have anything else, I think we’re done.”
Kovacs stood and glanced at Quinn. “The signal will come on time.”
“I’m sure it will,” Quinn said, also rising.
“Oh, Quinn,” Jergins said. “Could you wait just a second?”
On the inside, Quinn groaned, but he said, “No problem.”
Kovacs shook Quinn’s hand, and, after a slight hesitation, Jergins’s. He crossed to the door and left.
“Don’t worry about him. He’ll be fine,” Jergins said.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t have been hired otherwise.” Quinn wasn’t worried about Kovacs.
Jergins nodded. “Been on a couple assignments with him in the past. Never been a problem.”
“So,” Quinn said, “what was it you wanted me to hang back for?”
“Right. You mentioned you were going to hire someone to help you, but you haven’t given me the person’s name yet. I need that for my report.”
“Totally forgot.” He hadn’t. He’d just been hoping Jergins would overlook it. Fortunately, he was prepared. The morning before, he’d received an email from a guy he occasionally used who was looking for a gig. “Jered Myers,” he said.
“I’ve heard that name before.”
“He’s a good guy. Quiet, does the work.”
Jergins pulled a pad of paper out of his pocket and wrote the name down. When he was done, he said, “Great. Thanks. That’s it.”
Quinn took a step toward the door, then stopped. “Oh, a quick question for you. Do you know how many people Kovacs has working with him? I wasn’t quite clear if it was two or three or…?”
“One, actually. A spotter who’ll be trailing the target.”
“Oh. Okay, thanks.”
Quinn had assumed there’d be a spotter, but had worried that the man had other assistants.
He shook hands with Jergins and made his way out of the hotel. The first thing he did when he reached his car was to pull out his phone.
“Hello?” a male voice answered.
“Jered?”
“Could be. Who’s this?”
“It’s Quinn.”
“Hey, Quinn. How are you?”
“Good, thanks. Got your email. Are you still free?”
“I am. Don’t have anything booked for another two weeks.”
“I can give you three days of work starting yesterday.”
“Yesterday? Um, all right. Where do you need me?”
“I need you to stay right where you are.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I want you to stay home and lie low. If anyone asks, you were in Vegas working with me.”
“Cover,” Myers said.
“Yeah.”
A pause. “Is this going to cause me any problems later?”
“None,” Quinn said, hoping he was right.
Myers took another moment, then said, “Sure, why not? I could always use a few days playing my bass.”
“Thanks, Jered.”
“Hey, you’re the one paying me to do nothing. Thank you.”
As Quinn pulled his car out of the parking garage, he called Julien. “Are you in position?”
“ Oui.”
“Have you ID’d the spotter?”
“Of course. Don’t know his name, but I have seen him before.” Julien rattled off a quick description: five foot eight, average build, brown hair cut just above the ears, wearing jeans and a Green Day T-shirt.
“And the package?”
“It’s waiting for you.”
“Good. I guess we’re on.”
“Quinn.”
“Yes?”
“ Merci, from me and from Mila. Merci beaucoup. ”
The van was waiting in the self-parking garage behind the Manhattan Hotel. As they’d discussed, Julien had attached the key to the inside of the front bumper using sticky tape.
Quinn entered through the driver’s door, and climbed into the back cargo area to check on the package. It was lying against the left side, a long black bag with a zipper on top. He unzipped it and found, as expected, a second zipped-up bag inside. The space between them was stuffed with several dozen broken chunks of dry ice-a necessity due to the heat of the desert, even in May.
He donned one of the gloves Julien had left on the floor, pushed a few of the chunks to the side, and unzipped the inner bag just enough so he could take a quick look inside.
The dead woman was not a perfect match for Mila. She was at least twenty years older. Nor did she have the distinctive Eastern European facial features Mila had inherited from her immigrant parents. The woman’s cheeks showed signs of busted capillaries that spoke of the love of alcohol that had probably been responsible for her death.
She was a Jane Doe, obtained from a financially strapped morgue employee in San Bernardino, California. Julien had met the man halfway at a rest area along I-15, east of Barstow. For a thousand dollars, the body and all the associated paperwork were theirs. No one would ever ask about her.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t matter what she looked like. If all went according to plan, Quinn and Julien would be the only ones to have seen her.
He zipped up the inner bag, rearranged the dry ice, and zipped up the outer.
According to his watch, it was 6:32 p.m. In less than forty-five minutes, the flight carrying Mila was scheduled to land. At that point, if she followed directions, she would proceed to the Planet Hollywood Hotel, perhaps hang out in the casino for a few minutes, then, at precisely 8:00 p.m., would knock on the door of room 739.
And if she walked into that room, she would never walk out again.
Quinn’s plan was to have her die before she even made it to the hotel, at least as far as anyone else was concerned.
He climbed out of the van and back into his car, made his way over to Planet Hollywood. That’s where he was supposed to be stationed, so that’s where he needed to make an appearance. When he arrived at his assigned room, he checked in with Jergins using the room phone, then turned on the TV so that it would sound like someone was there.
Seconds later he was out the door again. Instead of using the elevator, he took the stairs, exited the building, and made his way quickly to where a black town car with tinted windows was parked. On its rear bumper was a white number that indicated it was a car for hire.