The Buried Read online

  Curious, Ananke wrapped her hands around the clean spots on the handles and rolled the bike back. Once it was clear, she lifted the cardboard off the floor and propped it against the Volvo.

  Huh, she thought. The cardboard had been clean but the concrete underneath it was covered with dark oil stains. Stains that seemed a little too perfect.

  Getting on her knees, she carefully scanned the floor.

  There, she thought a few seconds later.

  A crack, one too straight to have been caused naturally.

  She followed the line until it met another. That one led to a third that connected with a fourth that ran all the way back to number one. All together, they created a nice and tidy rectangle.

  “Sorry, Mr. Edmondson,” she whispered. “But I think I just found your ‘down there.’”

  The handle for the rectangle was hidden in the blackest patch of oil, under an oval chip of concrete that popped out when she pushed it. She slipped her fingers inside, found a lever, and flipped it.

  The door was heavy enough to take both hands to pull it open. Once it was out of the way, she retrieved her pocket flashlight and shined it into the hole beneath the door. The beam revealed a steep staircase going down about fifteen feet.

  Before she could decide what she would do next, the alarm on her phone went off. She cursed under her breath. As much as she wanted to see what was below, she had a job to do.

  She thought for a moment. Perhaps there was still a way to get a peek.

  Leaving the trapdoor open, she headed back upstairs to the master bedroom, where she found Edmondson staring dead-eyed at the ceiling. She checked his pulse, then pulled out her phone and made the call.

  When the line was answered, she said, “All yours.”

  CHAPTER 3

  JONATHAN QUINN ENTERED the house through the back door, his partner Nate following a few steps behind. The quiet Seattle suburb was not exactly Quinn’s favorite type of job site. Places like this were too friendly, neighbors knowing neighbors, neighbors watching neighbors, neighbors sticking their noses in neighbors’ business—all raising the risk of him and his team being noticed.

  The late hour—about thirty minutes before midnight—helped, but didn’t guarantee anything. Every street had its night owls, many of whom would sit in darkened rooms and stare out their windows at the street.

  Quinn and Nate headed up the stairs, the tools of their trade packed in the duffel bags each carried. They were cleaners of the highest order, the people you called when you had a body that needed to disappear.

  On rare occasions, however, a client would request that things be arranged so that the body would be found and the death attributed to something other than what had actually happened. Such was the case with the Edmondson assignment.

  Per the pre-mission brief, Ananke—the assassin—was to have performed the deed in the target’s bedroom, located on the second floor. She had assured Quinn it would be a bloodless takedown. Having worked with her a few times in the past, he trusted she would deliver as promised, making the body removal and the cleanup of the termination scene the easy part of his and Nate’s night. The part Quinn wasn’t looking forward to would come after that. It too was a special request.

  The target, Samuel Edmondson, posed as a small-time financial services broker in his civilian job, but made his real money as an information broker for less than reputable individuals and organizations. Among his clients were several terrorist cells and other groups that were considered enemies of the United States, hence the reason Helen Cho’s group was involved. She was the client who had hired Quinn, Nate, and Ananke.

  After Quinn and his partner finished prepping the body for travel, they were supposed to do a quick but thorough check of the house for anything that might provide information on Edmondson’s clients before heading out to set up the target’s alternate death scenario. Quinn could count on one hand the number of times he’d been asked to do the same kind of search. Though he didn’t like it, he knew it wouldn’t be a big deal. Grab whatever computers and files the guy had and move on.

  While the upper hallway was dark, light leaked out the partially opened door at the far end. From the blueprints, Quinn knew it led to the master bedroom where the body should be. He pushed the door open but only took a single step inside before stopping.

  “What are you still doing here?” he asked.

  Ananke was sitting on a chair near the bed. Her part of the assignment complete, she should have left as soon as she’d notified Quinn.

  “I had a little free time. Thought I’d watch you guys work. It’s been a while.” She smiled. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  He moved over to the bed. The target was lying on his back, under the covers. Quinn scanned the rest of the space. Nothing seemed out of order.

  When he looked back at Ananke, he said, “You’re in the way.”

  With an ease few people could match, she rose out of her chair and slinked by them. A stray finger traced the muscles on Nate’s arm as she passed.

  “You’ve been working out,” she said.

  He grinned. “A little.”

  “Nate,” Quinn snapped.

  Looking the innocent, Quinn’s former apprentice said, “What?”

  Though Ananke was a highly respected assassin, she could also be a distraction. She was as tall as Quinn, nearly six feet, with smooth dark brown skin and matching eyes that could be piercing or alluring or both at the same time. Her hair, black as the stocking cap it was currently tucked under, fell several inches below her shoulders when she wore it down. She was, Quinn knew, a lethal combination of danger and intelligence.

  He had hoped she would leave, but instead she stopped in the doorway and leaned against the jamb. Doing his best to ignore her, he examined the bedcover to make sure she hadn’t left any stray hairs behind. When he was sure it was clean, he folded the comforter onto the unused half of the bed and then went through the same routine with the sheets.

  Edmondson was dressed in a pair of maroon silk pajamas, his monogram stitched on the breast in yellow. If not for the fact that his chest wasn’t moving, he looked as if he were asleep. Quinn turned the body on its side, checking for any injuries that might have bloodied the bed, but, as promised, there was none.

  “Ready,” he said to Nate.

  His partner unfurled a pre-cut roll of plastic sheeting onto the floor between the bed and the wall, and then they laid the body on it. Quinn grabbed a set of clothes out of the closet to dress Edmondson in later, and tossed it on top of the body. They then wrapped everything up and secured the bundle with duct tape.

  Quinn examined the empty bed and found a single dark hair. He plucked it up and held it in the air toward Ananke. “Sloppy.”

  “Wrong color,” she said.

  She was right. Now that he was holding it in the light, he could see it had an auburn hint to it.

  “No one else was here tonight?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “Only me and Sammy.”

  The hair might have been there for days. Quinn used a small piece of duct tape to secure it to the bundle, thinking he might as well get rid of it.

  While Nate remade the bed to make it look as if Edmondson hadn’t used it, Quinn began looking through drawers for the evidence their client was seeking.

  “You’re not going to find anything up here,” Ananke said.

  Quinn searched the closet before moving to the nightstand on the far side of the bed.

  “I’m telling you, you’re wasting time,” she said.

  “Hey, instead of the running critique, why don’t you make yourself useful and help me carry Mr. Edmondson downstairs,” Nate suggested.

  “Sorry,” she said. “My union frowns on crossing lines.”

  “Of course it does,” Nate said.

  Since Edmondson wasn’t a large man, Nate was able to hoist him over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold and carry him out of the room on his own.

  “That assistant of yours
is coming along nicely,” Ananke told Quinn.

  “I heard that,” Nate said from the hallway. “I’m not his assistant anymore. We’re partners.”

  “Oh, right. I’d forgotten,” she called to him, then whispered to Quinn, “You’re just stringing him along, aren’t you? He’s far too young to be on his own.”

  Quinn finished checking under the bed and rose back to his feet. “He’s older than he looks.”

  Ananke glanced back at the hallway with new appreciation. “Is that right? Is he attached?”

  “He is,” Quinn said. Nate was dating Quinn’s sister, though Quinn would have answered the question the same way whether or not Nate had been attached. As skilled and savvy as Nate had become over the last few years, Ananke would eat him alive.

  “Too bad. But maybe I could change his mind.”

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  “So demanding,” she said. “Maybe I should set my sights on you.”

  “I’m sure Orlando would like to see you try.”

  There was no love lost between Ananke and Orlando, Quinn’s partner and girlfriend. He didn’t know why, other than it had to do with something in their past that Orlando never talked about.

  “Tempting,” Ananke said. “But I wouldn’t want to intrude on another girl’s territory.”

  “Why do I have a hard time believing that?”

  “Well, Orlando’s territory, anyway.”

  “Now you’re getting smart.”

  “Been there, done that.”

  He looked at her for a moment, not understanding what she meant. After deciding to ignore the comment, he packed up the duffels and did a visual check of the room to make sure everything was in order. Satisfied, he joined Nate and the late Samuel Edmondson downstairs in the kitchen.

  The plan was to put the body in the trunk of the man’s Volvo. Quinn would then drive it out, with Nate hiding in the backseat until Quinn transferred to their vehicle parked a few blocks away. Before sunrise, the Volvo would be involved in a single-car accident along a stretch of road near the Canadian border patrolled by an understaffed sheriff’s department. The authorities would find only Edmondson’s torched remains and enough evidence to point toward a crash caused by driving under the influence. Quinn had already arranged for the results of any lab tests to support this conclusion.

  Everything nice and neat with no problematic questions asked.

  “Are you ready for your surprise?” Ananke asked as she strolled into the room.

  Quinn tensed, his hand hovering on the bag that held his SIG SAUER P226 pistol.

  “Loosen up,” she said. “Do you really think I would accept an order to terminate you? The last thing I want is your stupid girlfriend chasing me for the rest of my life.”

  Nate, who’d had his back to her when she entered, twisted around. “Wait. Who’s getting terminated?”

  “No one,” Ananke said, her flirty demeanor faltering. “I want to…ugh. Never mind. Just follow me.”

  She marched past them into the garage.

  Nate looked at Quinn. “What was that all about?”

  Quinn shrugged. “You’re asking me?”

  “So…do we follow her?”

  “If we don’t, she’ll never leave.”

  They crossed to the open door and looked into the garage.

  Ananke was on the other side of Edmondson’s Volvo.

  “What are you waiting for?” she asked. “You need to come over here.”

  Sensing no immediate threat, they entered the garage.

  As the two men came around the front end of the car, Ananke dramatically swept her arms forward, pointed at a hole in the middle of the garage floor, and said, “Ta-da.”

  “What in the name of…?” Nate said, moving in for a better look.

  Stepping in beside him, Quinn peered down the hole. The only thing visible was the top riser of a set of stairs. The rest was in darkness. He turned to Ananke. “What’s down there?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t still be here,” she said. “I’m hoping money. How about you?” When no one responded, she sighed and explained how she’d discovered the trapdoor.

  “And you didn’t go down why?” Nate asked.

  “Because it was time to call you jackasses in. Figured you’d need to take a look anyway, so why not join you?”

  Quinn lit up the hole with his penlight, but there wasn’t much more to see other than the floor at the bottom.

  “Stay here,” he said to Nate.

  “Seriously?” Nate said. “I want to see, too.”

  “And what happens if someone shows up and closes the door on top of us?”

  “We push it open?”

  “Not if they lock it and roll the bike back on top.”

  “What are the odds of that happening?”

  “What’s the number one rule?” Quinn asked.

  “Depends. You have, like, thirty of them.”

  “Safety first.”

  Nate narrowed his eyes. “That’s not even in your top ten number ones.”

  “It’s implied.”

  Nate growled his displeasure, but said, “Fine.”

  “Are you two done?” Ananke asked. “Because I’m starting to regret I wasn’t given orders to take you out.”

  “Hold on,” Quinn said.

  He jogged back into the kitchen and fetched his pistol and sound suppressor from his duffel bag.

  When he rejoined the others, he said to Ananke, “Down there, I’m in charge. Everything I say goes. Understand?”

  She bowed her head a few inches. “I hear and obey.”

  “See that you do,” he said. “I’m going first. Wait here until I give you the okay.”

  At the bottom, he found a switch where the stairwell met a dark hallway. When he flipped it, overhead fluorescents flickered on, bathing an underground passage in sickly blue-green light.

  The hall ran back under the main part of the house for about twenty feet before opening into a darkened space. Quinn moved cautiously forward a few steps, and then stopped and listened. All was graveyard quiet. Even the air seemed not to be moving.

  “Come on down,” he said.

  A few seconds later, Ananke appeared at the bottom, also carrying a SIG, though hers was a P232.

  As Quinn moved down the hall, he noted the faint but unmistakable smell of human waste. When he reached the end, he again motioned for Ananke to wait, and then swung his light through the dark room beyond. Linoleum tiled floor, a couple of metal tables in the middle, and floor-to-ceiling cabinets along the far wall.

  There was another light switch just inside. When he turned it on, more fluorescents began to buzz and flicker, each tube illuminating at its own speed.

  In addition to the cabinets along the back, more covered the walls on each side, breaking only for a door on the left. Along with the tables he’d already noted, there were two gurneys and a chair that seemed fixed to the floor.

  “So?” Ananke whispered from down the hall.

  Quinn continued scanning the room, not letting her question rush him. The only place anyone could be hiding would be in the cabinets or behind the other door, both safer to check with help.

  “All right,” he said, and moved into the room.

  Ananke paused as soon as she entered. “Creepy.”

  A hard plastic box was sitting on one of the tables. Quinn headed over and opened it. Photos, four-by-six inch, stacked like papers in a file and separated into plastic sleeves. He leafed through them. There were at least thirty packets, featuring different women.

  He called Ananke over and showed her.

  “None of them look too happy,” she said. “Trophy shots?”

  The possibility had occurred to Quinn but he wasn’t ready to speculate. “Let’s check the cabinets.”

  They started at opposite ends of the room. The cabinets Quinn checked each contained female clothing in different sizes and styles. All the items looked as if they’d never been worn, most still wit
h tags on them. Six cabinets were dedicated to shoes in boxes, a dozen different styles in a wide range of sizes.

  Every door he opened added to Quinn’s sense of unease. About the only good thing was that he hadn’t come across any children’s sizes. He knew he wouldn’t take that well at all, especially given the new direction his own life was going.

  “Check this out,” Ananke said.

  She was on the other side of the room, looking inside a cabinet. When he walked over, he saw that instead of clothes, the space contained three side-by-side lockers, the long kind you could hang a suit in. Each was locked with a padlock. He opened the next cabinet and found more lockers. There were ten of these cabinets, thirty lockers total. Seven of the lockers, those farthest from the first Ananke found, had no padlocks. When Quinn opened them, he found them empty.

  Ananke pulled a lock-pick kit from her jacket and grabbed one of the padlocks.

  Quinn said, “That can wait. Let’s finish clearing this place first.”

  He nodded toward the closed door.

  CHAPTER 4

  AS QUINN OPENED the door, lights on the other side blinked on automatically.

  Fluorescents again. Edmondson must have gotten a deal on them.

  The harsh glow lit up a ten-foot-wide hallway with three doorways on each side, offset so that none sat directly across from another. The doors were metal and had square plates at eye level that could be slid to the side. Where the handles should have been was only a keyhole.

  A private prison. Apparently passing secrets on to terrorists wasn’t the only illegal activity Edmondson was into.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Ananke said. “Maybe the rooms are empty.”

  Quinn stepped over to the nearest door and pulled the viewing plate open. The stink of human waste from inside was many times stronger than what he’d noticed earlier, forcing him to back away for a few seconds. As soon as he could bear it, he looked inside.