The Destroyed
Table of Contents
PRAISE FOR THE JONATHAN QUINN SERIES
This one's for charter Team Quinn members Bill Cameron and Robert Browne.
THE
DESTROYED
Book Description
Mila Voss is dead.
That’s what the team hired to terminate her had reported, and that’s how her file had been marked.
Dead. Six years now.
So why did she suddenly show up on a hotel’s security camera in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania? Those who’d paid for her elimination are more than a little curious.
One person should know what happened—Jonathan Quinn, one of the best cleaners in the business, the man who’d been tasked with the disposal of her body.
Only Quinn isn’t exactly easy to get ahold of these days, and he may not be willing to share the answer.
PRAISE FOR THE JONATHAN QUINN SERIES
“Brilliant and heart pounding”—
Jeffery Deaver
,
New York Times
bestselling author
“Addictive.”—
James Rollins
,
New York Times
bestselling author
“Unputdownable.”—
Tess Gerritsen
,
New York Times
bestselling author
“The best elements of Lee Child, John le Carré, and Robert Ludlum.”—
Sheldon Siegel
,
New York Times
bestselling author
“Quinn is one part James Bond, one part Jason Bourne.”—
Nashville Book Worm
“Welcome addition to the political thriller game.”—
Publishers Weekly
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SHADOW OF BETRAYAL (U.S.)
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THE UNWANTED (U.K.)
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Off the Clock”—A Jonathan Quinn Story
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The Assignment”—An Orlando Story
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For Younger Readers
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ROUBLE
F
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C
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YOU’RE IN BIG, MR. TROUBLE (Late 2012)
THE
DESTROYED
Brett Battles
A Jonathan Quinn Novel
This one's for charter Team Quinn members Bill Cameron and Robert Browne.
CHAPTER 1
DAR ES SALAAM, TANZANIA
I
SHOULDN’T HAVE
come,
Lawrence Rosen thought as he stared out the window of the cab.
I should have stayed home and pretended I’d never received it.
But he had received the email. And opened it.
And read it.
Mr. Rosen—
April 12th, 2006. A flight to Portugal. You were one of the prisoner’s escorts. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten about the trip. I’m willing to make sure your name isn’t included when the story is leaked, but only if you speak with me first.
One chance. Saturday. 8:30 p.m. Kilimanjaro Restaurant in the Majestic Hotel, Dar es Salaam.
There was no signature, and when he tried to send a reply, he received a message telling him the address didn’t exist.
For twenty-four hours he had done nothing, hoping he could just forget about the whole thing. But the sender had been right. He did remember the flight, and he certainly remembered the prisoner. It was a taint he could never wash off.
When Saturday came, he boarded an early morning flight headed southwest from his current home in Dubai to Tanzania.
“How much longer?” he asked his taxi driver.
“Soon, soon. Fifteen minutes, no more.”
Rosen looked at his watch. It was after eight already. Fifteen minutes would probably be more like twenty or thirty, meaning he’d barely arrive on time.
This is a mistake. I should’ve ignored the email.
Easy to say, but how could he have done that, really? If his name came out in association with what had happened, he had no doubt he’d be the one receiving a prisoner escort.
__________
“W
ELCOME TO THE
Majestic,” the doorman said as Rosen approached the hotel entrance at exactly 8:28 p.m.
“Kilimanjaro’s?” Rosen asked.
“Twenty-third floor, sir. The elevator is past the reception desk.”
As hotel lobbies went, the Majestic’s was impressive—white marble floors adorned here and there with purple rugs, ultra-modern furniture upholstered in fabrics of green and pink and beige, and columns that rose to the ceiling two floors above, covered with purple and gold tiles. The reception desk was halfway back along the left wall, a black granite countertop manned by half a dozen smiling women.
Rosen walked quickly to the four elevator doors along the back wall. Only a few seconds passed before the one on the far right opened. He entered and pushed the button for the twenty-third floor. Just as the door started to close, a man and a woman rushed in.
“Ah, twenty-three. Perfect,” the man said.
Rosen smiled weakly as he moved into the back corner to give the others some space.
“Honey, do you mind if we stop at the room first?” the woman asked.
The man shrugged, and hit the button for the nineteenth floor. “Okay by me.”
Up they went, the new elevator barely making a sound as it shot past floor after floor. The car slowed on eighteen then stopped on the nineteenth floor. The doors slid open, and the woman stepped off. Rosen was too lost in thought to notice that the man with her did not leave also.
“Clear,” the woman said from the nineteenth-floor lobby.
The unexpected word jolted Rosen back into reality, but by then it was too late. The “husband” was already pointing a gun at Rosen, his other hand pressing the button that kept the elevator doors open.
He motioned with the gun out the door. “This is where you get off, Mr. Rosen.”
__________
M
ILA VOSS KNEW
it would be dangerous before she even sent the email to Lawrence Rosen. She knew very little about his life now, how connected he might still be, how he might react to her not-so-subtle threat. As it was, finding an active email address for him had been pushing things. She had to be very careful to minimize her exposure in his world, a world that had at one time been hers, too.
But it was a chance she had to take, because he could either confirm or dispel what she already believed.
After that?
Get through this first
, she told herself.
Figure out the after later
.
Her first concern had been whether he would come at all. But twenty-two hours earlier, a flight had been booked from where he currently lived in Dubai to Tanzania, using an alias he’d traveled under previously. When she checked that morning, the airline listed a “Mark Walker” as having boarded.
Still, she wanted to be positive, so she took another big risk by hacking into the Dubai International Airport video security system. She located the footage of the gate servicing the flight to Tanzania, and scanned through the faces as passengers handed over their tickets until she spotted the one she was looking for.
Lawrence Rosen was definitely on his way to her.
Her next concern was that he wouldn’t come to the hotel alone. To ensure her own safety, she had taken a room on the fifth floor two days earlier, then planted micro cameras outside the hotel, in the lobby, and outside the Kilimanjaro Restaurant. Her plan was to wait in her room until Rosen was seated in the restaurant. If everything seemed fine, she’d go up and join him. If not, she’d take the emergency stairwell down to the ground floor and get the hell out of there.
She began monitoring the feeds in earnest four hours before the appointed meeting time. If he’d arranged for anyone to act as backup, she was confident they would arrive sometime in that window.
At just after six p.m., she spotted two men and a woman in the main lobby who concerned her. They seemed a little too interested in their surroundings, too aware of what was going on. She labeled them as potential threats and continued looking for others.