Brett Battles won rave reviews for his debut novel, The Cleaner, which introduced hero Jonathan Quinn. A freelance operative and professional "cleaner," Quinn knows better than to get emotionally involved in any of his jobs. But in this superb powerhouse of suspense, Quinn's latest job is different. A friend and old colleague has been murdered. A woman has gone missing. And for Jonathan Quinn, this time it's personal.
Anonymity. Trust. Professionalism. In his world, Jonathan Quinn has a few rules. He'll get rid of bodies that have to disappear; nothing ever gets traced back to him. But when Quinn is called to a busy Los Angeles port where a shipping container has just come in from the sea, it's clear his rules have been violated. Inside the crate is a dead man--a man who once saved Quinn's life. And while no one knows how CIA agent Steven Markoff died, Quinn has to do more than clean. He has to find Markoff's girlfriend, Jenny. To tell her that Markoff is dead. To find out why--and why someone sent Markoff's body to him.
Until a week ago, Jenny Fuentes was an assistant to an ambitious congressman. Now Jenny is missing, too, and a lot of man power is making sure she isn't found. But Quinn has his own man power. He has tools that can pry into secrets held anywhere in the world. He has the skill to trade blows with killers and spies. And he has covert weapons: his eager and smart apprentice, Nate, and brilliant Orlando, his closest friend, who's saved his life more than once.
Racing from the corridors of power in Washington to the bustling streets of Singapore, Quinn won't stop until he uncovers the truth behind his friend's violent death, the astounding reason Jenny has vanished--and what she knows about the most explosive deception of all.
The stench of rotting food and diesel fuel hung over the dock like it had been there forever. Even inside the small warehouse, the foulness overpowered everything. That was until the man in the light gray coveralls opened the door of the shipping container. Suddenly death was all Jonathan Quinn could smell.
Unflinching, he scanned the interior of the container. With the exception of a bloated body crumpled against the wall to the right, it was empty.
"Shut the door," Quinn said.
"But Mr. Albina wanted you to see what was--"
"I've seen it. Shut the door." The man--he'd said his name was Stafford--swung the door shut, locking the handle into place.
"Why is this still here?" Quinn asked.
Stafford took a few steps toward Quinn, then stopped. "Look, I got a dock to run, okay? I got a ship out there that's only half unloaded." He sucked in a tense, nervous breath. "I got customs people all over the place, you know? It's like they knew something like this was coming in today." Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Did you know it was coming in today?"
"Hell, no," Stafford said, voice rising. "Do you think I'd be here if I did? I'd've called in sick. Mr. Albina's got people who should take care of this kind of crap."
Quinn glanced at the man, then turned his attention back to the container. He began walking around it, scanning it up and down, taking it all in. After a slight hesitation, Stafford followed a few paces behind.
Quinn had seen thousands of shipping containers over the years: on boats, on trains, being pulled behind big rigs. They were large, bulky rectangular boxes that moved goods between countries and continents. They came in black and red and green and gray.
This one, with the exception of where the paint had chipped away and rust had started to take hold, was a faded dark blue. On each of the long sides, tall white letters spelled out baron & baron ltd. Quinn didn't recognize the name, but that wasn't surprising. At times it seemed as if there were nearly as many shipping companies scattered around the globe as there were containers.
When Quinn reached the point where he had begun his inspection, he stopped, his eyes still on the box.
"You're going to get rid of this, right?" Stafford asked. "I mean . . . that's what Mr. Albina told me. He said he was sending someone to get rid of it. That's you, right?"
"Manifest?" Quinn asked.
The man took a second to react, then nodded and picked up the clipboard he'd put on the ground when he'd opened the container's doors.
"What's supposed to be inside?" Quinn asked. With the trade imbalance the way it was, nothing came into the States empty anymore. Any container that did would be suspicious.
Stafford flipped through several pages, then stopped. "Tennis shoes," he said, looking up. Quinn glanced over at the man. "One pair?"
"That's really funny," the man said, not laughing.
"Who found it?" Quinn asked.
Stafford seemed unsure what to say. When he did speak, his words didn't match the evasiveness in his eyes. "One of the dockhands. Said he smelled something when the crane set it down on the pier."
"From that ship out there?" Quinn asked, motioning toward the door that led outside. "The Riegle 3?"
Stafford nodded his head. "Yeah. It was one of the first ones off-loaded."
"So this dockhand, he just brought the container in here and called you?"
"Yes."
"You didn't call the police?"
"I run everything by Mr. Albina. He said to wait for you." When Quinn didn't reply right away, Stafford added, "That's the way it happened,...
Reviews
Publishers Weekly...
"Breakneck pacing, colorful locales and dizzying plot twists make the Quinn series a welcome addition to the political thriller genre."
Booklist...
"Plenty of globetrotting, nonstop action, plot twists, tight writing, whiz-bang high-tech devices, tradecraft, and a surfeit of dangerous women."
