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neither slowed. Immediately the whine of their engines began to recede as they continued down the back road to Cork.
Static in Quinn's ear, then, ". . . inn. Are you there? Can you hear me?"
"Yeah. I hear you, Peter," Quinn said. "The gunman's gone. A couple cars on the road spooked him."
"You've got to find him."
"Ah . . . no. I don't. I already took a chance trying to take him here at the church. He's out in the woods now. I don't have any eyes out there."
Peter said nothing for several seconds. When he did speak, there was a tremor in his voice. He was either scared or angry as hell. "You have to find him, Quinn. You have to stop him. Jesus, at least find a way to delay him until my men get there."
Peter's insistence surprised Quinn. "It's too late, Peter. He's already got a good lead on me. Plus he's a marksman, and has at least two weapons on him . . . it's too much of a risk. Sorry."
Peter took a second before he spoke. "Our deal was no questions. That means you do what I need, right?"
Quinn could feel his own anger rising. The deal—made the previous year—was three jobs, no questions. It had been made when Quinn had been at a disadvantage and needed Peter's help. It had taken Peter six months to finally invoke the first of the promised "no question" assignments. If the next two were similar, they would be the last Quinn ever worked for Peter and the Office. About the only good thing was that none of them were freebies. Quinn's standard rate of thirty thousand a week with a two-week minimum still applied.
"You're losing time," Peter said.
"Fine," Quinn said. There was one thing he could try that was marginally safer. "Nate, get him off the line."
A second later the signal cleared up.
"He's gone," Nate said.
"I need you out on the road. You think you can do that?"
"I can do whatever you need," Nate said, immediately defensive. "We already went over this."
They had. Dozens of times over the last several months. It was just that Quinn was not yet convinced. The truth was he still wasn't sure Nate was ready to be back in the field. It had only been eight months since his apprentice had lost the lower portion of his right leg when it was crushed during a job in Singapore. A personal job, Quinn reminded himself. One he should have left Nate home on. But instead he'd brought Nate along, and in the end had been forced to give the go-ahead on the amputation while his apprentice was unconscious.
"Go south," Quinn said. "Listen for a car door or an engine starting. The shooter's got to have a vehicle out here somewhere. I'll go north."
"I'm on my way."
As soon as Quinn reached the road, he turned north and began a quick jog along the left edge of the blacktop. He knew there was no way he would have been able to find the assassin once he took off into the woods. But the guy had to have a way out. A car, probably parked along a dirt road that led into one of the fields lining the narrow highway. Similar to the one Quinn had used for the van. None of the roads were longer than a couple hundred yards, and their only outlet was to the highway.
The assassin had headed west, but the nearest road in that direction was at least two miles away. Since he had had to follow either Otero or the other party to the meet, there would have been no way for him to drive over to the distant road, then trek back two miles on foot in time to get set up in the tree and pick off his targets. So he must have come on the same road as everyone else. That meant even though he had run west, he would soon be turning either north or south to circle back to where he'd left his ride.
There was a little-used dirt road just ahead on the right. Quinn remembered it from his earlier recon of the area, but passed by it with just a glance. It was too close. Quinn and Nate would have noticed any car that would have turned down it, even if someone had come in slow with his lights off.
"Anything?" Quinn said into his mic.
"No," Nate said. His breath sounded a little