The Deceived (41 page)

And finally, after they had left her in California, she had continued to call him. Somehow she must have worked out a way to trace his sig-nal—a signal that was supposed to be untraceable.

Quinn’s jaw tensed as he remembered answering her call right before he was to meet up with Jenny at the Far East Square. He had even told Tasha he was about to see her “friend.” Her men must have been shadowing him, and with a word from their boss, they had moved in.

“There it is,” Nate said.

Though Quinn had been looking out the front window, he had seen nothing. Now, with his eyes refocused, he spotted the Von Feldt Building half a block away on the left.

“Where do you want me to go?” Nate asked.

There were no obvious diplomatic vehicles parked in front of the building. “Pull over there,” Quinn said, pointing to an open spot just past the building. Once the car was parked at the curb, Quinn opened his door. “I’m

going to look around.” “I’ll go with you,” Orlando said, already opening her door. “What about us?” Jenny asked. “Wait here. We won’t be long.” Orlando and Quinn walked down the sidewalk toward the high-

rise. “There’s got to be VIP parking, some kind of garage or something around here,” Quinn said.

“Quinn,” Orlando said, “Tasha is obviously a professional. She’s as good at what she does as you or I are at what we do. You didn’t expect to run into someone like her.”

“I should have never let that happen,” he said. “But Tasha hasn’t gotten to Jenny. You’ve done okay.” “I should have left her in D.C.” “It worked out all right. We know about her now. We know what

she is.” He frowned. “It was a mistake.” Before she could say anything more, he stopped and pulled out his

phone. He punched in Ne Win’s number and hit Send. “I was expecting your call,” Ne Win said. “You are still here, aren’t

you?” “Yes.” “So what is it you need?” “I know what the dealer setup at the Quayside is for,” Quinn said. “Really?” “It’s a diversion,” Quinn said. He gave Ne Win a quick version of

Jenny’s story about the upcoming assassination attempt on her boss. “Here’s what I think. Somewhere not too far from the Maxwell Food Centre, there’s going to be a dead body. The person will be ID’d as the man who killed the congressman. It won’t have been him, of course, but that won’t matter. The evidence will all point to him.

There’ll be something on the body, something that links the man to the weapons showroom at the Quayside Villas.” Quinn paused. “The hair.”

“What hair?”

“I found one hair in a desk drawer at the showroom. I’ll bet you anything it belongs to the fall guy.” Quinn took a breath. “That can be checked later. Once the police find the showroom, there’ll be something there that will eventually lead them to an extremist group, probably Islamic.”

“Assassination of an American official in Singapore would be bad for business. Especially if it looks like one of us did it.”

“I agree. If they put everything together, they’ll have a full-fledged jihadist conspiracy on their hands.” He paused. “But if there’s no body to find, there’s no link to the apartment.”

“And no link to any organization.” “Exactly right.” “So you want me to find the body,” Ne Win said. “Yes.” Quinn looked at his watch. “If they’re playing it smart, the

body won’t be moved into place for at least another thirty minutes.” “If they are playing it smart,” Ne Win said, “the body is still alive right now.”

The old man was right. To make it seem realistic, the red herring had to die in relatively the same time period as he would have if he were the real assassin.

“Can you find it?” Quinn asked. “It won’t be easy,” Ne Win said. “But we will try.” “If you do, be sure to remove all the evidence.” “Interesting. I seem to be doing your job today.” “Trust me, I wish it was the other way around.” There was a beep on the line, another call coming through. Quinn

moved the handset out far enough so he could see the display. A Singapore number. “Let me know if you find anything,” he said to Ne Win, then

switched the calls. “Hello?” “Is this Mr. Quinn?” The voice was vaguely familiar, female. “Who is this?” Quinn asked.

“Brianne Solomon. I work at the embassy. I’m Mr. Murray’s assistant.”

“Okay. Why are you calling me?”

“This is Mr. Quinn, correct?”

“Yes,” he said, his patience slipping rapidly. “What is it?”

Orlando had been scanning the neighborhood, looking for the kind of car Guerrero might have arrived in. But she looked back at Quinn and shook her head.

“Mr. Murray would like it if you would call him on his mobile phone.” She read off a number. “Do you need me to repeat it?”

“No. I got it.”

He disconnected the call, then punched in Murray’s number and hit Send.

“Quinn?” Murray’s voice came over the line the moment the connection was made.

“What is it, Kenneth?”

“You’re a son of a bitch, you know that? You got me in it again.” Murray sounded like he was outside somewhere. Quinn could hear traffic and distant voices. Murray, apparently concerned he might be overheard, was keeping his voice low.

“What happened?” Quinn asked.

“I took your
warning
to the appropriate person at the embassy.” Quinn assumed that was either the CIA resident or, more frequently in these post-9/11 days when they’d been given more international responsibilities, an agent from the FBI. “I played it off like I’d received an anonymous tip. Good thing, too.
They
said they’d received a similar warning.
They
said they’d checked it out.
They
said it was nothing.”

“They said they looked into it?” Quinn asked.

“I think the direct quote was, ‘There was nothing there, Mr. Murray. But thanks for bringing it to our attention.’”

“They’re lying,” Quinn said.

“Dammit, Quinn...Yeah, I know they’re lying,” Murray said. He sounded pissed off. “Normally they wouldn’t just dismiss something I told them like that. But if Homeland Security isn’t going to do anything about it, what the hell am I going to do?”

“Call the congressman directly. Stop him. He’ll listen to you.”

“I am able to figure a few things out on my own,” Murray said. “I already tried that. I called the Raffles Hotel, talked to one of his staff. Turns out the congressman’s schedule has changed quite a bit. The meeting at the Von Feldt Building has been moved someplace else, but the guy I talked to had no idea where. Said if I wanted to get ahold of him, then the next possibility would be the one p.m. stop at the Maxwell Food Centre.”

“Son of a bitch.” Quinn looked at Orlando. “Come on. He’s not here.”

They started running back toward the car.

“I asked the aide if he’d give me the congressman’s mobile number, but he wouldn’t,” Murray said. “Said he’d be happy to pass along any message.”

“Did you tell him it was an emergency?” Quinn asked.

“Of course I did.”

They reached the car and got in quickly.

“He’s not here,” Quinn told Nate.

Nate gave him a single nod, then pulled the car away from the curb and headed down the street. There was no need for Quinn to tell him where to go next.

But Murray was a different story. “You need to go to the Maxwell Food Centre,” Quinn said.

“What? Why?”

“You need to be there. You’re a representative of the U.S. government. I need you to cover my ass, and make sure that the right story gets out.”

“What do you mean ‘the right story gets out’?”

“The one you’re going to have to take on faith. But I promise you’re going to come out of this smelling good.”

“Like last time?” Murray asked.

“I’d say it worked out pretty well for you.”

“Fine,” Murray said.

Quinn disconnected the call.

“So what are we doing now?” Jenny asked.

Quinn looked back at her. “Now we try to keep your boss from getting killed.”

CHAPTER

HAWKER CENTERS WERE BORN FROM THE DESIRE TO

clean up Singapore. At one time, food carts were everywhere, lining the streets and roads of the city. Then someone got the idea to move them into centralized locations where there would be community seating and a clean water source.

Maxwell Food Centre was just one of many, but more popular than most because of its location near Chinatown. Tiny walk-up food stands made of cinder blocks were jammed together side-by-side-by-side under a giant corrugated tin roof. The restaurants were aligned in rows back-to-back, creating wide aisles full of tables for the hungry to enjoy their meals with a few hundred of their closest friends. And while the roof covered the entire complex, there were no walls on the outside of the center, just support columns and open air.

Quinn directed Nate to park the Mercedes a block away.

“Everyone radio up,” Quinn said. “Orlando and Nate, I want you to take up positions inside. Look for anything unusual. I’ll hang out near the street and try to stop Guerrero from getting out of his car.” Quinn looked at Jenny. “We’ll give you a radio, but you’ll stay here. If we need you, I’ll let you know.”

She looked like she wanted to protest, but didn’t, her damaged shoulder no doubt reminding her what happened when she got directly involved.

Orlando passed out the communications gear. Once they were all outfitted, she gave Quinn and Nate each a 9mm SIG Sauer P226 and matching suppressors. For her own use, she pulled out a Glock.

“Here.” Orlando handed both of them a miniature version of the messenger bag Ne Win had given Quinn a couple of days before. Then, for Nate’s benefit, she said, “Keep your gun in the bag unless you absolutely have to pull it out.”

Quinn checked the chamber to make sure a round was already loaded, then popped out the magazine to confirm that it was maxed. After he’d attached the suppressor, he put the gun in his bag in a way that would make it easy to reach in, aim, and fire without ever pulling the pistol out.

“What about Jenny?” Orlando asked.

Quinn looked at Markoff ’s girlfriend. He still couldn’t get used to her short hair or the lack of a smile on her face. But most of all, he couldn’t get used to the sense of controlled anger she exuded.

“Do you know how to use a gun?” Quinn asked her.

She nodded, hesitantly. “Markoff showed me.”

“Leave the big bag where she can get to it,” Quinn said to Orlando. To Jenny, he said, “There are a couple guns inside, and some other things you won’t need. But don’t pull anything out unless it’s an absolute emergency.”

Jenny nodded.

Nate and Orlando left first. Once they crossed the street, they separated and entered the food center from different directions.

While Quinn waited for a moment, he said to Jenny, “Why didn’t you get help? Isn’t that what your friend wanted you to do?”

She took a second before answering. “There wasn’t time. When he was killed, it scared the shit out of me, you know? I didn’t want any of this, but I couldn’t ignore it. I tried to call Steven, but he was out of town and didn’t pick up. I didn’t know what else to do, so I went back to Houston, to my home there. Steven showed up the next morning. I told him everything and then played the tape. It was his idea to get out of the country. We were on a flight for Europe within hours.”

“Then why was Markoff in Singapore?”

“He wanted to get more proof. Something to go along with the tape. He thought he could find it here.” She looked at Quinn. “Maybe he did find it, only like you told me, his signal didn’t last long enough for you to locate it.”

Quinn nodded. Markoff had done exactly the same thing Quinn would have done: get Jenny as far away as possible, then try to find another way to prove what was going on so that Jenny’s life would no longer be in jeopardy. He did it all because he loved her. Even in his last moments of life, when he knew they would never be together again, he had pointed toward a clue that could possibly set her free.

It was time for Quinn to go.

“If you see anything or hear anything you think I might need to know about, just start talking,” Quinn said. “Otherwise, unless we ask you a direct question, it would be best for you to just listen.”

“Okay,” she said.

Quinn got out of the car.

Quinn purchased a pork bao and a soft drink from one of the vendors nearest the edge of the hawker center, then found a seat in front of the Zhen Zhen Porridge booth.

Unless you were with a large group, there was no such thing as getting your own table. At Quinn’s table there was an older couple, each with a bowl of porridge. They smiled at Quinn as he sat down, then returned to their meal.

“Check,” Quinn said, voice low.

“Check,” Orlando said. “I’m on the northwest side. Nothing here.”

“Nate?” Quinn asked.

“Check,” Nate said. “Center aisle. But nothing out of the ordinary here, either.”

The old couple gave Quinn an odd look, so he took a bite of the bao and smiled.

“Quinn. Quinn!” It was Jenny.

He stood up and began walking toward the street. “What’s wrong?”

“A woman just walked by,” Jenny said. “I’ve seen her before. She was with the congressman’s wife once back in D.C. She’s not alone. She’s with some of the men I’ve seen protecting Congressman Guerrero. My God, do you think she’s the killer?”