The Buried Read online

  Being pregnant again wasn’t all annoying, though. She was having a baby with Quinn. Thinking about that always brought a smile to her face. Okay, perhaps they hadn’t planned it this way, but damn if it wasn’t cool. She could already tell Quinn was going to be one of those overly involved, pain-in-the-ass dads, and she loved him even more for that.

  As the baby nudged against her belly, Orlando sucked in a breath, the movement catching her off guard. She rubbed the spot and said, “Sweetheart, come on out anytime you’re ready.”

  “Excuse me?” the driver said.

  She looked up. “Sorry. I was—hey! There!” She leaned forward and pointed down the street to where a small crowd had gathered next to several food trucks. “Pull over.”

  “But this isn’t where—”

  “Just pull over.”

  “Okay, okay. No problem.”

  She opened the door as soon as he stopped. “Wait for me. I won’t be long.” She started to get out but then asked, “You want anything?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “You sure? My treat.”

  “A Coke, I guess,” he said. “And a taco. I mean, if that’s okay.”

  Orlando climbed awkwardly out of the car and waddled over to the end of the line in front of the Mexican food truck.

  Barely half a minute later, her phone rang, the caller ID reading HELEN CHO.

  CHAPTER 6

  COLUMBIA CITY

  QUINN REMAINED IN the garage, expecting Helen to get right back to him. When several minutes passed without his phone ringing, he began to pace.

  What was taking her so long?

  He and Nate should have already finished the job and been on their way home. Remaining in the house with the body lying in the kitchen was taxing his patience.

  “Quinn?” Nate called from the bottom of the stairway.

  Quinn walked over to the trapdoor.

  “Our friends are getting a little anxious,” his partner said.

  Join the club, Quinn thought. “Tell everyone to relax. I’ll be there soon.”

  He started pacing again, wishing he could step outside for some fresh air, but the way things were going this night, some idiot would see him and call 911. A full twenty minutes passed before his phone finally rang.

  “I’ve got Helen,” Orlando said.

  “Sorry for the delay,” Helen told them. “This is a…delicate situation.”

  “I don’t care what kind of situation it is,” Quinn said, not hiding his frustration. “You can’t leave us hanging like this. This is a crime scene. We need to get out of here.”

  “And that’s exactly what you’re going to do,” Helen told him. “Just with a slightly revised mission.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Two tacos pollo and two carnitas,” Orlando said. “Extra hot sauce, please. Oh, and two Cokes.”

  “Excuse me?” Helen said.

  In the background someone repeated what Orlando had said.

  Quinn said, “I thought you were at the movies.”

  “Um, sorry. Picking up something to eat on my way home. Helen, go on. Don’t mind me.”

  Helen laid out the new plan.

  “I don’t think so,” Quinn said when she was through. “I deal with the dead, not the living.”

  “If there was someone close by to do this for me, I’d send them. But it would be hours before they could get there and I don’t think you want to wait that long.”

  “According to you, we’re going to be waiting anyway.”

  “Yes, but not there,” she said. “I need you to do this. Please.”

  He cursed to himself and then grunted, “Do I have a choice?”

  For several seconds no one said a word.

  “This will, of course, increase the fee,” Orlando informed Helen.

  “Naturally,” Helen replied.

  “Ananke will probably want some extra, too,” Quinn added.

  “Ananke?” Orlando and Helen said in unison.

  “She’s still here,” he told them. “Been helping us out.”

  “Well, I’m not negotiating for her,” Orlando said.

  “She can call me directly,” Helen said. “So, is that a yes?”

  “Like I said before, do I have a choice?”

  “Order seventeen,” a distant voice announced.

  “Oh, that’s me!” Orlando yelled.

  __________

  EVERYONE WAS IN the central room when Quinn returned to the basement, even the woman from cell one. She still looked as if she expected to be tied up at any moment, but at least she was dressed now. Unfortunately, what he was about to say would do nothing to dispel her suspicions.

  “Can we go now?” the woman from cell three asked.

  “Just a second,” Quinn said, and then motioned for Nate and Ananke to join him. Once they were huddled, he quickly explained Helen’s new plan.

  “Are you kidding me?” Nate whispered. “We can’t do that to them.”

  “It won’t be for long,” Quinn said. “The sooner we do this, the sooner we’re out of here.”

  Ananke shook her head. “This is your thing now. I think it’s time for me to leave.”

  “Helen knows you’re helping us, and said she’d be open to adjusting the terms of your employment.”

  “It’s not all about the cash, sweetie,” she said.

  “We could really use your help,” he said. “If you don’t want to do it for the money, do it because I’m asking you.”

  She looked uncomfortable but said nothing.

  “It won’t take that long,” he added. “I promise.”

  “Well, since you put it so nicely. But once we go up those stairs, I’m gone. And I’m not putting anyone anywhere.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “You can watch Danielle and make sure she doesn’t bolt. Nate and I will do the hard work.”

  “Lucky me,” she said.

  Quinn turned to Nate. “I’ll deal with the woman from cell one. You take cell three.”

  The woman from cell one backed against a cabinet as Quinn walked over.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I just need you to do something for me.”

  “What?”

  Before he could answer, the woman from cell three yelled behind them, “No!”

  Quinn looked over and saw that Nate had lifted her over his shoulder and was headed toward the cells. As Quinn turned back, the woman from cell one rushed him, her eyes wild.

  “I knew you were lying!” she screamed as she tried to claw his face.

  He batted her arms away and leaned forward so he could lift her like Nate had done, but she threw a punch and tried to slip around him.

  “No one is going to hurt you,” he said.

  He grabbed her wrists as gently as he could and jerked her to a stop.

  As she screamed, “You’re a liar!” he lowered his shoulder again and this time was able to lift her up at the waist.

  Her hands free again, she pounded his back, but her strikes were feeble at best, probably weakened by her time as Edmondson’s guest. He carried her back into cell one, where he set her down on the mattress.

  She immediately scrambled to her feet but he rushed out of the room and shut the door.

  “No! You can’t do this to me! You can’t put me back here!” She hit her fists against the door. “Let me out! Let me out!”

  “I promise it won’t be for long,” he said through the viewing hole. “The police will be here soon.”

  “Liar!”

  Down at cell three, Nate was receiving similar treatment.

  What they were doing felt so wrong, but it was needed to sell the story Helen had concocted.

  “I’ll tell everyone about you and how you left us here!” the woman yelled. “I’ll tell them. I’ll tell them everything.”

  Quinn waved for Nate to follow him back into the other room.

  “I will never do anything like that again,” Nate said, his voice low. “I don’t care how much I’
m being paid.”

  “Agreed,” Quinn said.

  Danielle Chad was standing in the middle of the room with Ananke between her and the exit.

  “Any problems?” Quinn asked the assassin.

  “Not a one.”

  Danielle looked at Quinn and asked calmly, “My turn?”

  “You’re not going back in,” Quinn told her.

  She laughed humorlessly. “Of course I’m not.” After a pause, she said, “Might as well not put off the inevitable. Shall we go?”

  Quinn nodded for Nate to take the lead, and then extended his arm toward the hallway. “After you,” he said to the woman.

  Quinn and Ananke walked up together last. “She’s kind of an odd one,” Ananke whispered. “Makes me almost want to hang around for a little longer to see what happens.”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “I said almost. I wasn’t really suggesting it.”

  From the garage, they proceeded into the kitchen, where Danielle’s controlled demeanor finally cracked at the sight of Edmondson’s plastic wrapped corpse.

  She looked at Quinn. “Is that…?”

  “I believe you all called him Mr. Black,” Quinn said.

  “Who are you?”

  “This is probably a good time for me to make my exit,” Ananke said. She extended a hand to Quinn. “Be safe.”

  He shook with her. “That’s always the plan.”

  She said good-bye to Nate and nodded to Danielle. “Don’t let their tough talk fool you. They’re really softies.” With that, she left.

  Quinn walked over to the duffel bags and pulled out his med kit. From inside he selected the appropriate, pre-filled syringe and held it out of sight as he rejoined Nate and Danielle.

  “Unfortunately, we still have a little bit of work to do and can’t waste manpower to watch you,” he told the woman.

  “I’ve been tied up before,” she said, some of her previous confidence returning. “Where would you like me?”

  Before she could react, he plunged the needle into her arm and injected her with the sedative.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” she said, trying to pull away.

  Nate had moved in, however, and held her in place until Quinn was done.

  “What was that?” she asked angrily.

  “Nothing that will hurt you,” Quinn replied.

  She blinked, and blinked again, more slowly. After a third blink, it was difficult for her to keep her lids open.

  “Son of a bitch,” she slurred.

  They helped her to the living room couch.

  “You assholes,” she said as they laid her down.

  “Don’t blame me,” Nate said, nodding at Quinn. “He’s the one who did it.”

  “You…” She passed out.

  Their previous plan of making it look like Edmondson died in a car accident had been scrubbed. The nice part of the new narrative was that it removed the risk of transporting the body.

  “Where do you want to do this?” Nate asked as they returned to the kitchen.

  “No need to get fancy. Right here will be fine.”

  While Quinn grabbed one of the dining room chairs, Nate cut open the plastic they had wrapped Edmondson in and folded it so they could take it with them.

  “Pajamas or dress him?” Nate asked.

  “Just leave him as is and take the clothes back upstairs.”

  As Nate was pulling a hank of rope out of his duffel, Quinn said, “No. I saw some in the garage. Use his.”

  After Nate retrieved the rope, they propped Edmondson in the chair and tied him in place. Quinn had briefly considered making it look like a suicide, but no matter how realistic he and Nate staged it, they wouldn’t be able to remove Ananke’s drug from the man’s system. He had made no accommodations with the local police lab, which would see right through their ruse. So they made it look exactly like it was. A murder.

  Once the scene was set and the unneeded clothes were back upstairs, Nate make a quick trip to pick up their car and parked it in the driveway. Instead of using the front door to get Danielle out, they exited through the back and circled the garage to the car. Within seconds of laying the woman in the backseat, they headed out, Nate behind the wheel.

  Quinn waited until they were safely out of the neighborhood before he called 911.

  “Someone’s been killed,” he said, and gave Edmondson’s address. “You’ll find him in the kitchen, but you’ll be even more interested in what you discover in the garage. They’re still alive there.”

  “Sir, can I get your—”

  “Hurry,” he said, and hung up.

  __________

  HELEN HAD ARRANGED for them to use a safe house across the lake in Bellevue, but Quinn was always more comfortable when Orlando took care of logistics. She found them a quiet house in Tacoma, at the edge of town.

  Nate pulled in as close as he could to the front door and they hustled Danielle inside. There were several bedrooms upstairs, including one that could be locked from the outside. Quinn didn’t like the idea of putting her in what amounted to another cell but he couldn’t risk her running off.

  “You can take the room at the end of the hall,” Quinn told Nate. “I’ll take the one across from her. Let’s try to get a little sleep.” He looked at his watch. It was nearly two a.m. “No more than four hours.”

  Nate said, “The way you say it sounds so luxurious.”

  CHAPTER 7

  SAN FRANCISCO

  HELEN CHO LEFT her Pacific Heights home at ten minutes after one a.m., and headed for her office in the financial district so she could report to the mysterious contact that Danielle Chad had been found.

  Tonight’s mission outside Seattle wasn’t even close to being the first job Helen had supervised that had gone off the rails, but there was no denying it had taken one of the strangest turns. She periodically checked her mirrors for anything unusual, but the cars behind her were an ever-changing mix and nothing stood out. Soon she was turning down the street where her office was located.

  During the day, the street-level entrance was usually open, allowing people to drive down a ramp before reaching the main gate, but at this time of night, a metal curtain cut it off. She pulled up close to the control box and pushed the button to lower her window so she could flash her pass in front of the reader.

  As the glass moved down, she heard the roar of an engine and started to turn toward it. Before she could see anything, she was rocked sideways, the air filling with the groan of twisting metal and the screech of rubber.

  She swayed in her seat, momentarily dazed, before her training kicked in. Fumbling open the central console, she grabbed for the pistol she thought she’d never have to use, but the muzzle hadn’t even cleared the container when she heard the muffled thup and felt something hit her neck.

  Her hand shot up to the wound. She expected to find blood and a bullet hole, but instead her fingers touched a small metal tube.

  The world suddenly pulled away, everything growing distant and muted and unreal. The metal tube fell from her neck into her hand, its sharp tip pricking her palm. It was like she knew what it was, but didn’t at the same time.

  Within seconds, dark clouds began to move in, narrowing her vision to a point of light, and then nothing.

  __________

  IT WAS THE job of the security officer on duty in the monitoring room to alert his supervisor and the overnight director of anything unusual.

  Which is exactly what that evening’s officer would have done if he’d been in the room to witness the takedown of Director Cho via the cameras mounted outside the garage. But the drops that had been put in his coffee fifteen minutes earlier by one of the very men he reported to had resulted in an emergency trip to the toilet, leaving the monitoring room temporarily unattended.

  By the time he returned and saw Cho’s smashed sedan abandoned in the street, the director was already crossing the Golden Gate Bridge toward Mill Valley.

  BELLEVUE, WASHINGTON
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br />   THE SQUAD ASSEMBLED at 4:20 a.m. in the parking lot behind St. Luke’s Lutheran Church in the Clyde Hill section of Bellevue, a few blocks away from the target house.

  They were eight in number—four each from offices in Los Angeles and San Francisco. The Bay Area team had arrived first, their jet touching down at 3:42. From there, they transferred to a helicopter that flew them to the eighteenth fairway of the Glendale Country Club, where a black Suburban waited for them by the clubhouse.

  The L.A. crew landed ten minutes later and followed the same route.

  Though the two groups did not share a home base, they had worked together many times and were familiar with each other’s strengths. Stevens, as senior officer, was squad leader.

  He held up the tablet computer that displayed the diagram of the safe house each man had memorized on the trip north. He pointed at the sliding glass back door. “Red one and red two, here.” Red was their team designation, with Stevens as red seven and the man assigned to remain at the vehicles as red eight. Stevens pointed at the garage. “Red three and red four.” And then moved his finger to the front door. “Red five and red six. Questions?”

  No one spoke up.

  Stevens looked at his watch. “Transit time to site is three minutes. Once everyone’s in position, wait for my mark and then we go. I want this done and us out of there by 4:35 latest.” He paused, then said, “Mic check.”

  Comm gear was switched on, and in team order, each man said, “Check, check.” They then piled into the Suburban and headed to the safe house.

  According to the info packet Stevens had read on the flight up, the house had been seized years ago in a criminal investigation by some forgotten government agency. Control of the building had eventually shifted to the NSA, who loaned it out to other US intelligence divisions on an as-needed basis. It seemed odd to be raiding one of their own locations—it certainly was a first for him and his team—but orders were orders.

  They approached via the backyard of the house directly behind the target.

  Upon reaching the rear fence, Stevens raised his night scope and examined the other side. He picked up no heat signatures in the backyard, and also none near the windows, all of which had their shades drawn.