The Deceived (37 page)

dering” or “I really don’t care,” but instead he said, “Excellent.” “Well, it wasn’t
that
good.” “Get anywhere?” Quinn asked Orlando. She nodded. “I was able to download everything on the hard drive

of the computer at the Quayside.” Quinn pulled out a chair and sat down next to her. “See, I told you

you could do it.” “I never thought I couldn’t.” “Anything worth noting?” She smiled. “Stuff you’d expect, mainly. Office-type software and a

few document files. There’s also a whole PDF catalog of everything they’re selling. You might find this interesting.” She clicked on a file, and a spreadsheet opened up. “Price list.”

The document listed items and their individual price followed by lower and lower discount prices depending on the volume of weapons purchased.

“Anything on who these guys are?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Even the software and the computer are registered to a generic name. A. Lee. No company.” She paused. “Something else interesting, though. I went into the system and got the serial number on the machine. Turns out it’s less than a month old. Sold two weeks ago right here in Singapore.”

“You know where?”

“Mail order to an address just off Orchard Road. And, yes, I checked it out. No such address.”

“Wonderful,” Quinn said. “What about clients? Was there anything on the drive about them?”

“There is a client folder, but it’s empty.”

The look on her face told him there was more. “But?” he said.

“I dug around the hard drive and retrieved any deleted files I could. There weren’t many. Either everything else has been written over, or they just don’t use the computer that much.”

“But there was something?”

“Yes. Several files were spreadsheets. Strictly numbers, so I have no idea what they mean. There was a copy of the catalog, some temp files the computer generated, and a text document.”

She opened the text document.

A Kamarudin SR-98

“Kamarudin. Sounds like a name,” Nate said.

“It is,” Orlando said. “But I didn’t get any unusual hits on it.”

“Could be an alias,” Quinn told them. “It’s the ‘SR-98’ that’s interesting to me.” He had heard the numbers before. He knew they denoted a weapon, but he was having a hard time bringing up an image of it. “Rifle,” he said, half remembering.

“Sniper rifle,” she corrected. “British. Used by the military in the UK, Australia...” She paused and looked up at Quinn. “And even Singapore.”

“So it would be easy to obtain.”

“That would be my guess,” she said. “But it’s weird, you know? Why would this one file still be retrievable? It would seem to me this would be something they’d do a secure dump on, make sure it was written over. There are no other deleted files like it.”

“Maybe they just missed it,” Nate offered.

“It’s a possibility,” she said, then glanced at Quinn. “But even more than before, I think you’re right. It’s just too perfect.”

“Like a setup,” Quinn said.

“Yes. Only for what?”

Quinn leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his still-damp hair. “I don’t like it. I don’t like any of this.” He took in a quick, deep breath, then forced the air out of his lungs. “I don’t care what Jenny wants. We’re going to find her, and we’re going to get her the hell out of here. End of story.”

“But we don’t know where she is,” Nate said.

For a moment, it seemed as if Quinn was just as tired as he had been when he had fallen asleep a few hours before. He closed his eyes and tried to think of an option, some way to get Jenny to agree to give up whatever mission she thought she was on and go someplace safe. But he knew if he just contacted her, there would be no way he could talk her into coming with him. She had already made that clear enough.

“I think I might know what we can do,” Orlando said.

Quinn opened his eyes and looked at her.

“We know she’s interested in Congressman Guerrero, and given the chance, she’ll try to contact him.”

“Why would she do that?” Nate asked. “He’s trying to kill her.”

“That’s not what she believes. She said she had to warn him. She wouldn’t warn someone she thought was trying to kill her,” Quinn said.

“Right,” Orlando said. “So I was thinking we could use that to our advantage.” She looked down at her computer and pulled up a file that had been open but hidden. “I was able to get a copy of the congress-man’s itinerary. Most of the time, he’s scheduled to be in private meetings. But he does have a couple of public appearances. Tomorrow he’s scheduled to visit a hawker center in the afternoon”—the Singapore version of an outdoor food court—“and then spend some time shopping before leaving to go back to the States in the evening. But tonight there’s a reception for the American congressional committee at a restaurant on Orchard Road called Rivera’s. Technically, the party isn’t open to the public, but the restaurant is in a shopping center.”

“Easy access,” Quinn said, starting to see where she was going with this.

She nodded. “I was thinking you could contact her on the Sandy Side message board and tell her about the reception. Maybe even tell her where a good place to spot the congressman might be.”

“Isn’t that defeating the purpose?” Nate said. “I thought we were trying to keep her away from Guerrero.”

“He’s just the bait,” Orlando told him. “We have to lure her out of wherever she is. But then we get to her before she has a chance to approach the congressman.”

“Sounds risky,” Nate said.

“You have a better idea?” Quinn asked.

Both Quinn and Orlando looked at Nate, waiting.

“No,” Nate finally said.

Unfortunately, neither did Quinn.

Rivera’s was part of a new upscale shopping complex on Orchard Road. It was located on the second-floor atrium and took up the majority of the east side of the building. The location was no doubt highly desirable. Quinn guessed rent for that much space would have to be considerable.

If it had been located in Los Angeles, it would have been one of those restaurants celebrities dined at to be seen. Upscale, expensive, and trendy. It would have also probably been hot for a year, then just as suddenly forgotten as newer and even trendier places opened up. But this was Singapore, not L.A. Perhaps here it would have a fighting chance to survive.

Quinn and Nate were dressed in dark suits, both to conceal the weapons they were carrying and, if necessary, to blend into the crowd at the reception later. They arrived at the restaurant early so they could eat a late lunch and do a little recon. As they were being seated, the waiter told them the restaurant would be closing in an hour, his tone friendly but firm. Without actually saying it, his meaning was clear. Be done or leave without finishing.

There was a bar near the entrance, and to the right the main seating area. Beyond the dining room were the kitchen and restrooms. With the exception of the décor—dark but warm—it wasn’t much different than any other restaurant. The same basic rules applied.

In truth, Quinn hoped they’d get to Jenny before she ever reached the restaurant. If she got inside, where the congressman would undoubtedly have his men with him, it could get really messy. That was the last thing Quinn wanted. But being prepared was ingrained in him. So familiarizing himself with the location only made sense.

Not long after their food was brought to them, two women and a man entered the restaurant. The man wore a gray business suit, while the women were in dresses suitable for a party. The man carried a clipboard in one hand and a thick package in the other. The older of the two women seemed to be in charge. She was the only one doing the talking, while the other two simply nodded.

After a couple of minutes, they separated, the man and the younger woman staying near the front door, while their boss headed for the kitchen.

“I’ll be right back,” Quinn said to Nate.

He got up and headed toward the two near the front. They were standing near a small table just off to the side of the entrance. The man had opened the package and was pulling out several items.

“Excuse me,” Quinn said as he reached them. “My name is Tim Foster, I was supposed to meet with someone who’s organizing tonight’s reception. You don’t know where I might find them, do you?”

The woman smiled. “You’ve found us. I’m Darla Wong, and this is my associate Dean Gaboury. How can we help you?”

“Oh, this is great. I’m sorry. I thought you worked for the restaurant,” he said. “I’m part of Congressman Guerrero’s advance team. I just want to make sure everything’s okay. We never actually received any hard-copy invitations.”

“Everyone is on the list,” the woman said. “No invitations necessary.”

“Great. And you’ve got all of us, right? I believe there are eleven people in the congressman’s group.”

“Let me check. Dean, can I have the list please?”

Gaboury handed the clipboard to his colleague. “We updated the list this morning,” the man said. He had a slight Australian accent. “I’m sure everyone’s there.”

As Darla began looking at the list, Quinn moved around so he could glance over her shoulder. The name of the attendees were in a column on the left. In the column next to it was the name of the group, if any, they were with. And finally, there was a column with either a
C
or a
T
in it.

“What does the letter at the end denote?” Quinn asked.

Darla glanced up, surprised that Quinn had moved in so close. “Ah...
C
is for ‘confirmed,’ and
T
is for ‘tentative.’ ”

“Of course,” Quinn said.

The woman went quickly through the list, obviously uncomfortable with Quinn’s gaze, but apparently too polite to tell him to back away.

“I count nine people,” Darla said.

“Nine? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. Not your problem. I just have to get ahold of my boss and see what the deal is. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Quinn turned back toward his table, the names of five women who were listed as only tentative to attend etched in his mind.

After they finished their meal, they spent several hours scoping out the shopping center both inside and out. They met up with Orlando a block down from the shopping center’s entrance thirty minutes before the party was to begin.

“Are you set?” he asked her.

She nodded. “Third place I called. Wendy Hsiao. She’s apparently in Sydney on business.”

“ID?”

Orlando pulled a blue card out of her small purse. It was a Singapore National Registration Identity Card—NRIC. It had Orlando’s picture and Wendy Hsiao’s name. “Ne Win’s source cranked it out in an hour and a half. Don’t think it’ll pass any computer checking, but it should do nicely as a visual ID.”

“Good, once the guests start arriving, you and I will move inside the mall,” Quinn said, looking at Orlando. “Nate, I want you out here on the street. Jenny doesn’t know what you look like, so you won’t

scare her off.”

“Sure,” Nate said.

“I want you to get inside the party right away,” Quinn said to Orlando. “You’ll be backup in case Jenny gets past us.”

Per Quinn’s instructions, she’d come dressed for the reception. She was wearing a sleeveless black ankle-length dress with lavender highlights, a mandarin collar, and a back that dipped three quarters of the way down her spine. She was beyond beautiful.

“Got it,” she said.

“Where will you be?” Nate asked.

“Outside the restaurant, at the other end of the atrium,” Quinn said. “Everyone got their comm gear?”

They both nodded.

“Good. Let’s go.”

By 7 p.m., the party inside Rivera’s was filling up. But as at the gallery show in Georgetown, the congressman hadn’t arrived yet.

Several times a minute, Quinn glanced toward the elevator at the back side of the center. He knew from their recon earlier it led down to a subterranean parking garage. Since several of Guerrero’s House colleagues who were also on this trip had arrived that way, it was a pretty fair guess the congressman would be doing the same.

Quinn’s gaze moved to the restaurant. Orlando had disappeared inside fifteen minutes earlier, her ID working perfectly.

“Anything?” Quinn said.

“Clear here,” Nate reported.

“Same. No sign.” Orlando’s voice was barely a whisper, the noise of the party around her nearly drowning her out.

Movement to his right drew Quinn’s attention back toward the elevator. A new group had arrived. Three men. They exited the elevator, but stopped only a few feet away, waiting.

“A couple of our friends from the Far East Square are here,” Quinn said.

He recognized two of the men from the chase the night before.

“Heading my way?” Orlando asked. “Not yet.” The elevator door opened again, and out stepped Blondie, fol

lowed almost immediately by Congressman Guerrero and his wife. The three who had been waiting suddenly became alert. Two fell in behind the congressman and his wife, while the other joined Blondie in front as the group began walking toward the restaurant.

“Shit,” Nate said. “What?” Quinn asked. “I think she just passed me.” “Jenny? You were supposed to stop her.” “I’m not one hundred percent sure. I think it’s her. If it is, she’s

wearing a wig.” “Where is she?” “She just entered the complex. Hold on.” Quinn could hear Nate moving quickly up the front stairs into the

shopping center. “I see her,” Nate said. “She’s heading toward the escalators. Blue dress. Brown wig, hair below her shoulders.” Quinn stood up and moved around the atrium balcony toward the

escalator that would bring the woman up to the second floor. “What do you want me to do?” Nate asked. Quinn said, “Stay down there in case this isn’t her.” The escalator let out on the south side of the floor. There were over

a dozen people riding up it as Quinn neared. Most were dressed in suits and fashionable dresses, ready for a party.

He leaned over the atrium railing just enough to take in the entire escalator. The woman Nate had seen was only a quarter of the way up. Unfortunately, she was turned away, looking toward the restaurant and not at Quinn. Her height was right, and so was her build, but that wasn’t enough for a positive ID.