Read Online The Enraged (A Jonathan Quinn Novel) by Brett Battles - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brett Battles
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again.
“I have an address for you,” Howard said.
__________
“I TAKE IT you read the e-mail,” Griffin said.
“I would have rather not,” Morten replied. From the sound of his voice, Griffin knew his boss was using his speakerphone. “This is bullshit.”
Griffin had sent Morten the message five minutes earlier. Attached to it was a preliminary report from O & O concerning a break-in that afternoon at Peter’s apartment. Most disturbing was that the trio who’d been there had escaped.
“How did this get screwed up?” Morten went on. “It should have been simple. Or am I not reading this right?”
“You’re reading this right,” Griffin said. It should have been simple. If he had been there with Darvot’s team, the intruders would either be in a detention cell or dead.
“So they’ve just disappeared?” Morten said. “That’s it? That is unacceptable.”
“I haven’t lost faith that they’ll be found.”
Morten snorted. “You think O & O is going to find them?”
“I’m also putting some other feelers out.”
“Not our people,” Morten said quickly. “The less this can be tied to us, the better.”
“No, not our people,” Griffin said, though if the results of the search continued to be unsatisfactory, that would have to change.
The line went quiet for a moment.
“Okay. Good,” Morten said. “Find out who these intruders are.”
“We will.”
“Keep me updated,” his boss said, then clicked off.
__________
T HE HOUSE HOWARD arranged for Quinn and the others to use wason the Virginia side of the Potomac, in an area known as Arlington Ridge. It was one of over a hundred single-family, brick homes in the area. Being an old neighborhood, the trees and bushes were tall and wide, all but obscuring the house.
The home’s interior could be best described as spartan. The large living room was furnished with four folding chairs, a table, a single couch, and an undersized TV. The kitchen was stocked with enough dishes, glasses, and silverware for four people to eat one meal, and just enough pots and pans to make it. Food-wise, there were some dry stores in the pantry, but that was about it.
The second-floor bedrooms were equally underwhelming, each of the three smaller bedrooms boasting dual sets of adult-sized bunk beds, while the master was outfitted with a fourth pair. Sheets and blankets were in the bedroom closets, while towels were stacked on the bathroom counter.
The place was a way station, a safe house. Who owned it? Quinn didn’t know, nor did he want to. Howard had vouched for the place. That’s all that mattered.
Quinn arrived twenty minutes before Daeng and Misty. From an upstairs window, he saw their taxi drop them off half a block away and across the street. He headed back to the first floor, and waited until they reached the front steps before he opened the door.
Misty looked shell-shocked and exhausted, her nervous eyes rimmed with red, while Daeng looked like he always did, relaxed and slightly amused.
They let Misty have a few minutes to freshen up as best she could, and then gathered around the living-room table. It was story time first—Quinn recounting his escape and subsequent attempt to question one of the watchers, followed by Daeng describing his and Misty’s efforts to avoid detection.
“So if the townhouse is out, what now?” Daeng asked.
“Maybe we’ve been looking at this wrong,” Quinn said. “Perhaps Peter’s message isn’t a password at all.”
“Then what?” Misty asked. “If it’s some kind of secret message, how do we decode it?”
“Do you have it with you?”
“It’s in the bag with the files.” She looked around, apparently not remembering where she left it.
“I’ll get it,” Daeng said, standing.
He made a quick trip to the couch, and returned with a cloth shopping bag that he and Misty must have picked up somewhere.
“Thanks,” she said as he handed it to her.
She rooted around inside, then
“I have an address for you,” Howard said.
__________
“I TAKE IT you read the e-mail,” Griffin said.
“I would have rather not,” Morten replied. From the sound of his voice, Griffin knew his boss was using his speakerphone. “This is bullshit.”
Griffin had sent Morten the message five minutes earlier. Attached to it was a preliminary report from O & O concerning a break-in that afternoon at Peter’s apartment. Most disturbing was that the trio who’d been there had escaped.
“How did this get screwed up?” Morten went on. “It should have been simple. Or am I not reading this right?”
“You’re reading this right,” Griffin said. It should have been simple. If he had been there with Darvot’s team, the intruders would either be in a detention cell or dead.
“So they’ve just disappeared?” Morten said. “That’s it? That is unacceptable.”
“I haven’t lost faith that they’ll be found.”
Morten snorted. “You think O & O is going to find them?”
“I’m also putting some other feelers out.”
“Not our people,” Morten said quickly. “The less this can be tied to us, the better.”
“No, not our people,” Griffin said, though if the results of the search continued to be unsatisfactory, that would have to change.
The line went quiet for a moment.
“Okay. Good,” Morten said. “Find out who these intruders are.”
“We will.”
“Keep me updated,” his boss said, then clicked off.
__________
T HE HOUSE HOWARD arranged for Quinn and the others to use wason the Virginia side of the Potomac, in an area known as Arlington Ridge. It was one of over a hundred single-family, brick homes in the area. Being an old neighborhood, the trees and bushes were tall and wide, all but obscuring the house.
The home’s interior could be best described as spartan. The large living room was furnished with four folding chairs, a table, a single couch, and an undersized TV. The kitchen was stocked with enough dishes, glasses, and silverware for four people to eat one meal, and just enough pots and pans to make it. Food-wise, there were some dry stores in the pantry, but that was about it.
The second-floor bedrooms were equally underwhelming, each of the three smaller bedrooms boasting dual sets of adult-sized bunk beds, while the master was outfitted with a fourth pair. Sheets and blankets were in the bedroom closets, while towels were stacked on the bathroom counter.
The place was a way station, a safe house. Who owned it? Quinn didn’t know, nor did he want to. Howard had vouched for the place. That’s all that mattered.
Quinn arrived twenty minutes before Daeng and Misty. From an upstairs window, he saw their taxi drop them off half a block away and across the street. He headed back to the first floor, and waited until they reached the front steps before he opened the door.
Misty looked shell-shocked and exhausted, her nervous eyes rimmed with red, while Daeng looked like he always did, relaxed and slightly amused.
They let Misty have a few minutes to freshen up as best she could, and then gathered around the living-room table. It was story time first—Quinn recounting his escape and subsequent attempt to question one of the watchers, followed by Daeng describing his and Misty’s efforts to avoid detection.
“So if the townhouse is out, what now?” Daeng asked.
“Maybe we’ve been looking at this wrong,” Quinn said. “Perhaps Peter’s message isn’t a password at all.”
“Then what?” Misty asked. “If it’s some kind of secret message, how do we decode it?”
“Do you have it with you?”
“It’s in the bag with the files.” She looked around, apparently not remembering where she left it.
“I’ll get it,” Daeng said, standing.
He made a quick trip to the couch, and returned with a cloth shopping bag that he and Misty must have picked up somewhere.
“Thanks,” she said as he handed it to her.
She rooted around inside, then
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