The Silenced jqt-4 Page 14

  Nate looked back and forth between them, then finally said, “This is a great place. You been here long?”

  Liz looked at him. “Almost two years.”

  “Swanky.”

  “It’s paid for by a scholarship,” she said, defensive.

  “Nice.” Nate looked around. “What are you studying?”

  “I’m sorry. Who exactly are you?”

  Quinn jumped in. “I told you, he’s the son of a colleague.”

  “And why is he with you?”

  “Hey,” Nate said. “I didn’t mean to upset you. This really is a nice place. And the way you’ve set it up, it’s, you know, comfortable. I’m sorry. People tell me I sometimes come off a little abrasive.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Sometimes they’re right.”

  Liz seemed to relax. “It’s fine. And … thanks. People tell me I sometimes get a little defensive.”

  Nate laughed. “We’re the perfect combination, then.”

  That brought the hint of a smile to her lips. “How long are you in town?” she asked her brother.

  “A few days,” Quinn said.

  “And then home?”

  “Unless something else comes up.”

  She nodded without feeling, but said nothing more.

  “School,” Quinn said. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine.”

  “How much longer until you graduate?”

  “Two more years.”

  “Have you been able to—”

  His cell phone buzzed in his pocket.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as he pulled it out.

  WILLS

  “Everything all right?” Nate asked. His tone was light.

  “Yes. Sorry,” Quinn said. He accessed the log on his phone. “Just a second.”

  He could hear Liz let out a faint sigh, and imagined her rolling her eyes as he scrolled through his recent calls list.

  There had been three additional calls to the one he’d just received. All had come from Wills. Checking the times, he was able to figure out the first had come during the initial encounter with Julien, while the other two sometime between then and when he’d returned to Liz’s apartment. Missing one, okay. But more than that?

  He knew the reason, of course. He’d been so focused on seeing his sister everything else had become background noise. I’m losing focus. Not good. Not good at all.

  Just as he was about to slip the phone back into his pocket, it began to vibrate again, the same name on the display as before.

  “I need to take this.”

  “Sure,” Liz said, as if she’d expected as much.

  He flipped the phone open, and said to Wills, “Hold on.” He looked at his sister. “Is there someplace private? It’s a business call.”

  “There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall,” she said.

  There’s a bedroom down there, too, he thought. But she hadn’t offered that up. It would have been too personal.

  “Thanks,” he said, standing. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  * * *

  “You were supposed to be here this morning. Where the hell are you?” Wills asked.

  “I had a personal matter to take care of,” Quinn said.

  “You’ve already used up your personal matter allocation. I’m paying you to be here. Have you even left the States yet?”

  “David, I know this is important. And I know you want it done right away. But this couldn’t be helped. The body isn’t going anywhere. A day or two delay shouldn’t matter.”

  “What are you talking about, delay? My client wants this done immediately. He’s expecting me to tell him the removal is already in process.”

  “Then tell him that. I’d need at least a day to scout the location before I could do the removal anyway,” Quinn said. “One of my team members will be there by tomorrow morning to start the process. Okay?”

  Whom that would be Quinn had no idea. Maybe he could get Orlando to reroute to London instead of coming to Paris. Or maybe he could hire someone local he’d worked with before. Whatever the case, he knew he could make it happen.

  Wills was silent for a moment. Quinn could almost feel his client’s anger emanating through the phone.

  “This is not what I expected out of you,” Wills said. “I’m paying you a lot of money, and right now you’re making me think I made a mistake.”

  “You want your money back? Fine. I’ll transfer a third back and we’ll call it even. You can hire someone else.”

  “A refund? I don’t want a refund. I want you to get my goddamn job done!”

  Quinn said nothing for a moment. “I always get the job done. Always.”

  “I need your assurance you will take care of this,” Wills said, his voice calmer.

  “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  Wills remained silent.

  “Okay, David. I assure you that this will be taken care of as quickly as possible. Tell your client your team is on it.”

  “All right,” Wills said. “But you had better not let me down.”

  “I won’t.”

  For a second, Quinn thought Wills had hung up. Then the Englishman said, “Sorry. I know you won’t.” He paused. “There’s one bit of good news. Moody’s body was found. Looks like he was killed when they were trying to drive away from the house.”

  “What about the Russians?”

  “No sign of them,” he said. “Quinn, get here as soon as you can.”

  “I will.”

  Quinn hung up, then looked in the mirror and ran his hands across his face.

  Professionally, he was in the wrong, and he knew it. He should have been in London by now, already having done at least one scout of the building where the body was located.

  He should have, but instead he was in Paris, two hundred miles away.

  A job had been offered, and Quinn had agreed to do it. In his world, commitment, reliability, and trust were the true currencies. Without them, you quickly fell out of favor, and soon found yourself doing little check-and-reports like Julien just to stay afloat, or futilely scratching from the outside to get back in, or lying in an unmarked grave with a bullet in your skull because your unreliability came at a cost too high for your employer to ignore.

  He eased the bathroom door open and stepped across the threshold, but then stopped. From down the hall, he could hear Liz and Nate. They were talking. Pleasantly.

  In fact, they seemed almost friendly.

  * * *

  The minute Quinn stepped out of the living room, Nate said, “About earlier, I apologize.”

  Liz shook her head. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” She was more relaxed now that her brother was gone.

  “So what are you studying? I mean, if you don’t mind talking about it.” He was playing the disarming, interested male. A role he slid into naturally.

  “It’s fine to ask,” Liz said. “I’m working on a doctorate from the Archaeology and Art History Department. Specifically, I’m interested in the influence of Flemish painters on French society in the Renaissance period.” She gave him a sideways look. “Did your brain just freeze? It happens to all my friends when I tell them that.”

  “It might have. Painters like Jean Clouet, right?”

  She stared at him, her surprise evident.

  “I have a B.A. in history,” he said, smiling, “and am working on a master’s in European history at UCLA. Well, will be working on it when I go back to school in January.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Okay, so maybe I won’t be going back until next fall. But don’t say anything to your brother. If he tells my dad, I’m screwed.”

  From her throat came a sound that was half grunt, half laugh. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  Nate hesitated. “Yeah, I got the impression you guys don’t get along too well.” He paused. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not like we were hiding it. What are you doing with him, an
yway?”

  “My dad again. He found out your brother was in Paris, and he knew I was headed here. So he asked him to check on me. I’m only hanging out with him because he might buy me lunch, and if I play my cards right he might spring for dinner, too.” A sheepish smile. “You know how it is. Student salary and all.”

  “Totally get it,” she said. “So you’re traveling around?”

  “Yeah. Doing the Europe thing. But wanted to come when it was quieter.”

  “Where have you been so far?”

  “Copenhagen, Berlin, Amsterdam, Brussels. And now here. Thought I’d hang around a week or so, then maybe head south for Spain.”

  “I love Spain.”

  “That’s what everyone says,” Nate said. From down the hall, he thought he heard the bathroom door open. “I’m thinking I want to hit Barcelona and Madrid for sure. Then maybe pop over to Portugal. I hear the coast is beautiful.”

  “I still need to get there.” Liz’s enthusiasm was genuine. She seemed caught up in the idea of his trip. “When you’re in Spain, you’ve got to check out the Alhambra. You’re planning on that, right?”

  “Definitely. I’m visiting as many historic sites as possible.” He leaned toward her and said in a faux whisper, “It’s how I talked my dad into funding the trip. ‘Seeing the actual locations will help me with my studies.’ ”

  She laughed. “And he bought that?”

  “I don’t know if he did or not, but he pretended to. Funny thing is, it’s kind of turned out to be true.”

  “When did you get to Paris?” she asked.

  “Just this morning. Your brother was waiting for me at Paris Nord. I was going to stay in Brussels a few more days, but my father wanted me to come here to meet Jake. He’s paying the bills, so I said okay.”

  “You’re going to love Paris,” she said. “History everywhere. You could spend months here and not see it all.”

  “I can’t afford to spend months,” Nate said. “I think I can barely afford to spend a week. Kind of why I’m heading to Spain. I hear it’s cheaper.”

  “If you play it right, you can stretch your euro here. Are you staying in a hostel?”

  “Don’t know where I’m staying yet. Haven’t had time to look.” Nate decided it was time to take a chance. “Any recommendations?”

  She looked like she was about to say something, but then stopped. She shook her head. “I’ve always had a place here.”

  He glanced around the apartment. “Hey, no worries. I’m sure I’ll find something.”

  Again, she seemed to hesitate. “Look,” she said. “If you can’t find anything you like, you can … uh … stay here.”

  “Liz, you don’t have to offer that.” It was Quinn. He’d entered the living room without either of them hearing him come in. In an instant, Liz’s face tensed again.

  “He’s right,” Nate said. “I really appreciate it, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “Besides, you don’t even know him,” Quinn said.

  “I don’t know a lot of people in my apartment right now, Jake.” That shut everyone up.

  Nate stood. “I think maybe I should leave. Find someplace to stay.”

  “You’ve got a place to stay,” Liz said. “That is if you don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

  Nate glanced back and forth between her and Quinn, like he was caught in the middle of a situation he didn’t know how to read.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure,” Quinn said. “I think it’s a bad idea.”

  “Are you saying you don’t trust him?” Liz asked.

  “No, it’s not that. I just don’t think you should let someone you don’t know stay with you.”

  “I think I can make my own decisions,” she said. She looked at Nate. “And I would be more than happy to have you stay here. Let me get you the spare key.”

  She walked out of the room. As soon as she was gone, Nate caught Quinn’s eye.

  “Don’t screw it up,” Quinn mouthed.

  Chapter 22

  Julien was sitting at a table across from the bar inside Shywawa when Quinn arrived. There was an almost-empty glass of beer in front of the Frenchman, so Quinn ordered two more before taking a seat.

  “Merci,” Julien said as Quinn handed him one of the glasses. Julien finished off the dregs of his first beer, then took a healthy swig of the new one. When he was finished, he asked, “So where is your partner?”

  “Getting settled in his temporary home.”

  “You convinced her?”

  Quinn lifted his glass and looked over the rim at his friend. “I didn’t. Nate did.”

  “He is good, this partner of yours.”

  Quinn smiled. “He’s not bad.” He took a drink. “Did you talk to your client?”

  Julien nodded, serious now. “I told them she wasn’t home. And, like you predicted, they want me to keep an eye out in case she comes back.”

  “You took the job, of course.”

  “Of course. Only they wanted something else, too.”

  “What?” Quinn asked.

  “They wanted me to keep an eye out for you.”

  Quinn leaned back. “What, exactly, did they say?”

  “They said there’s an operative named Jonathan Quinn who might show up. I was to let them know if you did. When they asked if I knew you, I told them I had heard your name before, but had never met you. They emailed me a picture.”

  Julien stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He pressed a few buttons, waited a moment, then turned the screen so Quinn could see.

  The fact that it was a picture of Quinn wasn’t the disturbing part. He’d expected that. What unnerved him was where and when the picture had been taken. It was from the lobby of the Grand Hyatt in New York the previous day. And from the angle, Quinn knew it could have only been shot by one person — Annabel Taplin.

  “Son of a bitch,” Quinn said under his breath. “I have to go to London. Tonight.”

  “Why London?”

  “This picture. It was taken by someone we identified as MI6. If they’re the ones who hired you, then they have my answers. If I can neutralize the cause, then the problem will go away.”

  “What do you need me to do?” Julien asked.

  “Exactly what we talked about. You keep the perimeter watch on my sister. Nate will handle the inside. I’ll text him to let him know I have to leave. But I’m counting on the two of you to keep her safe.”

  “D’accord,” Julien said. “What should I tell my client in the morning?”

  “Tell them I’m not in Paris. That way you won’t be lying.”

  Julien grinned under his mountain man beard. “And when they ask about your sister?”

  “Tell them she didn’t come home all night. Suggest that perhaps she has a boyfriend, and you’d be happy to track him down if they want. If they say yes, raise your rate.”

  A deep laugh. “You’re good at this, my friend. Don’t worry. I’ll sell them the story.”

  “Thank you. You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

  Julien raised his glass in the air. “To old friends, yes?”

  Quinn raised his own. “Yes.”

  “And to screwing over those who try to do the same to us.”

  Quinn smiled. “I’ll drink to that, too.”

  * * *

  Anton Nova was a surprisingly small man given his reputation. Petra had expected someone closer to six foot three than five-four. And fat, not thin.

  His real name was Kirill Nikitov. Once part of the Moscow underworld, he’d been forced to leave the Russian capital seven years earlier due to a problem with someone higher in the organization. Since his exile to England, Nova had developed into the person you went to if you needed something from the ever-growing Russian community. His knowledge of the city, and of both the Russian emigrant population and the native English, was unparalleled. He was the kind of person most people made a p
oint of avoiding unless absolutely necessary.

  It had been Dombrovski who had told her that if she found herself in London, Nova could be trusted. There were other contacts in other places, too. They, like Nova, all had the same thing in common. They had all had their lives touched by the Ghost.

  When she and Mikhail arrived at the pub in Piccadilly, they were directed to a large, silent man standing near a door at the back of the room. He ran a metal detecting wand over them, then performed a quick physical search. Satisfied, he opened the door and motioned for them to go through.

  Inside they found Nova sitting at an otherwise empty round table. The only other person in the room was an unsmiling man standing along the wall by the door.

  “Please. Sit,” Nova said, pointing at the two empty chairs at the table.

  They did so.

  “I had heard we had a couple of interesting visitors in town,” Nova said. “What is it I can do for you?”

  “We’re looking for two people,” Petra said. “Englishmen. We were hoping you could help us find them.”

  “Have you tried the phone book?”

  “These two are special,” she said. “They wouldn’t be in any phone book.”

  Nova put a spoon into the bowl of soup that sat in front of him, then looked at Petra. “I can guarantee you one thing. If you don’t tell me their names, I can’t help you.”

  “One is named Leon Currie.”

  Nova slurped the soup, then asked, “And the other?”

  “David Wills.”

  Nova dropped the spoon onto the table, dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin, then rested his arms on the edge of the table. “I don’t know if ‘special’ is the right word. ‘Unusual,’ perhaps.”

  “Then, you know them?” she asked.

  “Why would you be looking for these two men?”

  “We have things we need to discuss with them.”

  “What things?”

  “Private things.”

  Nova leaned back. “If you want my help, then nothing is private from me.”

  Mikhail touched Petra’s arm. “Tell him,” he whispered.

  “Yes, please. Tell me,” Nova said.