The Deceived (34 page)

“This isn’t about me,” she said, her brow furrowed. “I don’t care about me. Especially now.”

“It’s the congressman, isn’t it?”

“You know?”

“Not everything,” he said. “But enough to—”

“Tell me, is he here yet?”

“What?”

“Is he here?” she asked, her voice suddenly anxious. “Did he come?”

“He was supposed to arrive tonight,” Quinn told her. “He should be here now.”

“Do you know where?”

Again it was a question Quinn didn’t want to answer. “Does he have something to do with an organization called LP?”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“LP. That was part of the message Markoff left. But I’m not sure what it means. Only that it’s a group or organization, and that it scares the hell out of a lot of people.”

“I...I don’t know... what that is.” She looked around nervously as if she was seeing the small clearing for the first time. “I have to go. I have to find him. I have to warn him.”

Quinn reached out and grabbed her arm as she was turning away.

“Hold on,” he said. “What do you mean ‘warn him’? What’s going on?” “You’ll die just like Steven did. I can’t be responsible for that.” She tried to pull herself free, but Quinn wouldn’t let her go. “I don’t care what you think,” he said. “I’m not leaving. I’ll find

out what’s going on with or without your help.” He almost asked her about LP again. She knew something, but like Blackmoore and Peter, the letters had scared her. That wasn’t what he wanted to do. Not to Jenny. “I’ll do everything I can to keep you from getting hurt.”

“Please, Quinn. Don’t.” “Let me help you.” The look on her face was pained and pleading. But he continued

to look at her, unwavering. After a moment, she looked down and she pulled a small rectangular box out of her pants pocket.

She held the item up. Even in the low light, Quinn could see it was a micro audiocassette, something that was used less and less in a world of digital recorders.

“I need you to hold on to this,” she said. “You can help me that

way.” “What is it?” he asked. She handed it to him. “The only thing keeping me alive,” she said. She pulled away again, and this time he let his fingers fall from her

arm. “I’ll contact you,” she said. He knew he couldn’t stop her, so he said, “I’m not going any

where.” She gave him a half smile, then disappeared into the brush.

CHAPTER

THE APARTMENT NE WIN HAD SET THEM UP IN WASN’T

quite as luxurious as the ones at the Quayside Villas, but it was clean and it was furnished. There were two bedrooms, a bathroom, a living room/dining room combination, and a walk-through kitchen.

When Quinn arrived, he found Orlando standing near the back window. She’d been looking outside, but had turned toward him as he entered.

“Our little outing at the Far East Square made the news tonight,” she said. She glanced over at the TV. It was on, but the volume was low.

“Are they shutting the city down?” he asked.

Gunfire in Singapore was not a usual occurrence. The authorities’ response to even one shot would be something other countries might consider an overreaction.

“They’re calling it a prank.”

“Really?”

“They say it was a particularly loud firecracker,” she said. “I believe that was the newscaster’s exact phrasing.”

“What about the body?” Quinn asked. “The guy I shot up on Club Street?”

“Nothing.”

Quinn thought about it for a moment. A sudden heightened sense of security would probably have forced Guerrero and his fellow congressman to head out of town, thus lessening the threat against Jenny. So it might have actually been preferable. At least this way, though, he could still move around the city without causing any suspicion.

But what he didn’t want was to drag things out any longer than

necessary. “Where’s Nate?” he asked. “Sleeping.” Quinn walked down the hallway, looking first in the master bed

room, then the smaller room, where he found his apprentice stretched

out on the bed, snoring. Quinn walked over and gave Nate a shake. “Get up,” he said. Nate’s eyes shot open. “What? What is it?” “Get up.” “It can’t be morning already.” “It’s not,” Quinn said as he turned for the door. “Get dressed and

come out. I need your help.” “Ah... okay,” Nate said, sleep still heavy in his voice. “Can you

give me a minute?” “I’ll give you two.” Back in the living room, Quinn quickly filled Orlando in on his

meeting with Jenny. “You’re going back, aren’t you?” Orlando said when he was finished. He pulled the cassette Jenny had given him out of his pocket and

held it out to Orlando. “Here,” he said. “You’re changing the subject.” “Yeah. I am.” She scowled, then took the cassette from him. She twirled it

around. “This is an AIT tape.” “Data tape?” he said. “Yeah. Sony’s version. Similar to an eight-millimeter cassette.” “She said it was a recording.” “Could have a sound file on it. Usually we’d just need to de-

archive it. But the container looks damaged.”

“I have faith in you.” “I don’t even have anything I can play this on,” she said, obviously annoyed. “Call Ne Win,” Quinn said. “I’m sure he can get something sent

over.” “He’s not going to have something like this just lying around.” “He’ll find one.” “Then
you
call him,” she said. Quinn thought about it for a moment. “Fine,” he said. There was

something he needed to ask the old man to do anyway. From down the hallway, they could hear Nate shuffle out of his

room. “You taking the Boy Wonder with you?” Orlando asked. “Thought I might.” “Maybe I should go with you this time.” “We really need you to figure out what’s on that tape.” “
If
I can figure it out.” “If anyone can do it, you can.” “Gee, thanks, Dad.” Her face turned serious. “Be careful.” “Be careful?” Nate said as he entered the living room. “Be careful

of what?”

They walked from their apartment to the Quayside Villas. Earlier in the day, Quinn had all but decided to forget about Markoff ’s message. Whatever was at the Quayside Villas wasn’t as important as getting Jenny off the island. But that plan hadn’t worked out. In fact, Jenny’s feeling that whatever Markoff had found might have helped her had only refocused Quinn’s attention on the building. So a return trip seemed the logical thing to do.

On the way, Quinn called Ne Win. He wasn’t surprised to find the old man still up. After Quinn told him what he needed, Ne Win said, “I’m not convenience store.” “I never thought you were,” Quinn said.

There was a sigh on the other end. “Data tape player might take a little while. I’ll call when you can pick it up.”

“We need it as soon as you can get it. So instead of calling, have one of your men bring it to the apartment.”

“You are big trouble, you know that?” Ne Win said.

“You should have thought about that before you sent me the container with Markoff ’s body in it.”

“I never said I sent you container.”

“So you’ll get the recorder over to the apartment?” Quinn asked, getting back to business.

“Yes, yes. I take care of it.”

“And the power? You can take care of that, too?”

There was a long pause. “Take care of that, too. My man call you when they are ready. His name Lok.”

“Okay. We’ll be in position in...” Quinn looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes. It would be great if it could happen right around then.”

“You are big trouble.”

The line went dead.

Quinn and Nate stood in the fourth-floor hallway of the Quayside Villas, near the entrance to the stairs. Each had a backpack on his back, and they both wore latex gloves. If someone chose that moment to step out their door and saw them, there would be no mistaking Quinn and Nate as a couple of residents hanging out in the corridor. But like before, the building was quiet, asleep. Their presence had been unobserved.

In Quinn’s hand was his phone. It was also silent.

“Maybe your friend couldn’t make it happen,” Nate said.

“Patience,” Quinn said.

Another minute passed.

“Perhaps we should go back,” Nate said. “Do it tomorrow night. You know, give the old guy more time to arrange things.”

This time, Quinn said nothing.

Another minute. “What if one of the security guards sho—” The soft hum of Quinn’s cell phone vibrating in his hand cut Nate

off. Quinn raised the phone to his ear. “Yes.” “Mr. Quinn?” “Yes. Who is this?” “Lok.” Ne Win’s man. He sounded around the same age as Nate

and had a slight British accent. “We’re ready when you are.” “We’re ready now,” Quinn said. One second. Two. Three. Suddenly all the lights in the hallway went out. Though there was

no window nearby to check, Quinn knew the power outage extended farther than just the corridor, encompassing several blocks on the north side of the river.

“We’re dark here,” Quinn said. “One hour’s the most I can guarantee,” Lok said. “That’s plenty.” Quinn disconnected the call, then switched his phone to thermal

camera mode. The faint blue glow from the screen illuminated his face

but little else. “Anything?” Nate asked. “No,” Quinn said. He closed his phone, then pulled out the small

set of night vision binoculars he’d let Nate use on their last visit. “Wait here.”

Quinn anticipated that one of the residents would come out to check if power was also lost in the hall, but as he made his way toward 04-21 no one had stepped out to join him. Either they were all asleep, or they assumed the entire building was in a blackout.

When he reached room 04-20, he stopped. He pulled out his phone again and aimed the lens at the wall of room 04-21. Nothing. All was dark. No power and no people, either.

He quickly returned down the hallway where he’d left Nate. “Empty,” he whispered. “Let’s go up.” Quinn was working under the assumption that because the door

to 04-21 was impassable, there must be another way. And since the room directly above it—05-21—was owned by another phony corporation, perhaps that was the way in.

The layout of the fifth floor was exactly the same as the fourth. As was the lack of light.

With Nate’s hand on his back, Quinn led the way down the corridor. When the door to 05-21 came into view, he said, “Same as below. Sconce directly across from the door.” He reactivated his cell phone, then handed it to Nate. “Check it out.”

Nate accessed the thermal image function, then turned the device toward the ornament.

“I’m picking up two power sources. Probably batteries,” he said.

“Two?” Quinn said.

“One toward the bottom and one near the top.”

Quinn trained the night vision binoculars on the sconce. There was a hole at the bottom just like the one downstairs. So that had to be a camera. But there was no corresponding hole near the top.

Camera first,
he thought.

As Nate scanned the apartment, Quinn slipped his backpack off his shoulders and removed a small rectangular box from inside.

“Dark,” Nate said after a moment. “The apartment’s empty.”

“Good,” Quinn said.

He flipped the switch on the side of the box, then a small video screen mounted on the device came to life. He scrolled through a menu until he came to a function labeled sgnl srch. He selected it, was presented with another set of options, selected dig vid, then waited as the device cycled through potential transmission frequencies.

Forty-five seconds later, a dark, murky image filled the monitor. He’d tapped into the feed from the camera in the sconce.

“Here,” Quinn said, handing Nate the monitor.

From his pocket, he pulled out a disk about the diameter of a quarter, and half an inch thick. He removed the protective covering off the sticky rubber base, then crept along the wall until he was only a few feet away from the sconce. He touched a tiny switch on the side of the disk, then pressed the object against the wall. He held his hand underneath for a moment, making sure it wasn’t going to fall off.

“That did it,” Nate said. He was looking at the small monitor.

The disk was a jammer. Until it was turned off, the camera would only be generating garbage.

Quinn moved in close to the sconce and pulled out his flashlight.

“Was that other source on this side of the sconce or the other?” he asked.

“The other,” Nate said.

Quinn moved quickly to the opposite side, passing directly in front of the camera lens. He trained his light along the edge of the sconce and worked his way to the top. There was nothing obvious.

Keeping his motion steady and careful, he reached up into the central vase and worked his fingers down along the stems of the flowers. Less than an inch down, he hit a bump. It was about an inch wide, and rounded over the top like a blemish. It was a shape he knew.

He worked his fingers around it and gave it a tug. It resisted for a moment, then pulled free of the wall. It appeared that it had been held in place by a magnetic backing. He could feel it wanting to reattach itself as he moved it up the side of the vase with his fingertips. Once he was free of the sconce, he slipped his prize into his palm.

It was black and no more than half an inch thick at its highest point. It was exactly what he’d expected. But just to confirm, he pulled out the tracking device and held it next to the bump.