Free Just Another Job by Brett Battles Page A

Quinn said.
    “Who are you?”
    Quinn remained silent.
    “Are you working with that guy who shot me?”
    Quinn shook his head. “No.”
    “Then why are you here?”
    Once again, Quinn didn’t answer. How do you tell someone you were there to clean up and dispose of his body once he was dead? That was Quinn’s job, after all. It’s what Durrie had trained him to do. When an operation needed to be covered up, that’s when Quinn and Durrie came in.
    Quinn, of course, had known Eric’s name for days. He knew Eric wasn’t the guy’s first name, but his middle. Phillip Eric Maleeny. According to the report Quinn had seen, he’d been going by Eric since attending college at UC Berkeley, where he obtained a bachelor’s degree in electrical engineering and a master’s in computer science.
    Naturally, he’d been snapped up by one of the firms in Silicon Valley before he had a chance to go for an even higher degree. He bounced around a bit, did some time at Apple, and even a half-year stint up in Washington state at Microsoft. But it was his latest job that had caused the problem.
    He was working for a small software company called Shelbycom. It had only one client—the U.S. Air Force. In conjunction with several other companies scattered around the country, Shelbycom was working on the next generation of flight instrumentation. Its portion of the project was to develop the software programming for a virtual control panel.
    Most other details had been redacted from the report Quinn had read. Still, the amount of prep information he and Durrie had been given was considerably more than they usually got.
    The only other thing Quinn knew was Eric Maleeny was in charge of creating a critical interface program. Unfortunately, Eric was not satisfied with the compensation he’d been receiving for his work.
    He’d been selling company secrets on the side, and when you were dealing with a company that was dealing only with the U.S. Defense Department, you were either off your meds or had a death wish. Apparently, Eric Maleeny had the latter.
    Quinn and Durrie had been part of an operation set to catch Eric in the act and to apprehend those buying the info. But things hadn’t exactly gone as planned—the buyer had put up a fight. When it was over, the buyer was dead and Eric was on his way, hit by a bullet not meant for him.
    The buyer’s body was already in the van. Now they were just waiting for Eric to join him.
    “I’m a little cold,” Eric said.
    “That’s natural,” Quinn said.
    “I’m going to...die, aren’t I?”
    A pause. “I’m sorry.”
    “Why did this happen…to me?”
    “I think you know why.”
    “I don’t get what the big deal is,” Eric said, getting the full sentence out without having to pause. “Okay...I made some money I...shouldn’t have...I’m sorry...but the guy who was buying was...with the Navy...I’ll give the...money back...but what’s...wrong with...sharing with ourselves?”
    The casual spy was the worst kind of spy. Ignorance and naiveté were common.
    “The man you were meeting with,” Quinn said, “ he wasn’t Navy.”
    “What do you–” Eric paused. “What...who was he?”
    “A hired front,” Quinn said.
    “For who?”
    “Does it really matter?” Quinn asked. He didn’t know the answer himself. That was part of the information that had been blacked out in the report.
    Eric was silent for a moment, then said, “So I’m just supposed to die?”
    Maybe if they had called an ambulance immediately, Eric might have had at least a small chance of living. But that would have compromised the operation. The industrial park would have been flooded with local law enforcement. And worse, the media would have gotten a hold of it.
    Quinn and Durrie’s instructions had been clear: Keep a lid on everything.
    Quinn gave Eric a half-hearted smile but said nothing.
    “Who are you?” Eric said. But he didn’t stay conscious long enough to hear the answer.
    After several