Aslan was listening to her. He was not disputing her. He looked at the man in the corner. “What sort of distraction would they take notice of?”
“A genuine threat to the person in question would pull their attention away from their subject and force them to focus upon the threat,” the man said. He had an English accent.
Aslan nodded. “Then the threat must appear genuine.” His attention moved back to Quinn. “The Deputy Director carries in her right-hand jacket pocket an electronic fob which lets her log into the FBI framework from home.”
“There must be thousands of FBI employees who have the same fob,” Quinn said. “Why do you need a high-profile target for that?”
“Because her fob gives her access to all the classified records on the database.” Toni’s voice was dry, as if this should have been obvious to Quinn.
“And as soon as she knows the fob is missing they will change her access and you’ll be back where you started,” Quinn pointed out.
“That is not something you need to worry about,” Aslan said. “Given that the distraction is adequate, can you do this?”
Quinn drew in a breath. “Do I have a choice?”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Aslan said. His green eyes glittered with a hard light she had never seen in them before.
Quinn remembered what Noah had just told her. She said, “Is this woman, this Hague, in Austria?”
Toni snorted. Aslan glanced at her, perhaps in warning, for she contained herself, still smiling.
Aslan looked at Quinn. “The Deputy Director is in Washington, of course.”
Quinn managed to look surprised, because she was surprised. Noah had been right about her test being in another country. What else was he right about?
[14]
Wednesday, December 4th
G Street was only three blocks away from the J. Edgar Hoover Building on Pennsylvania Avenue, yet Hague had herself driven there in her bulletproof limousine. “It is standard operating procedure, which we can count on,” Johnson, the Englishman, had explained on the long plane ride from Vienna.
Macy’s was just up the road from where Quinn stood. Shoppers strolled on both sides of the street. It was midday. Office workers were outside, looking to buy lunch or catch up on chores. The road was choked with traffic as usual.
Quinn took another glance at the front of the office building where Hague’s car would stop. Quinn was on the same side of the road as the building but thirty yards away. She had tucked herself behind one of the black retro lamp posts.
Aslan waited somewhere inside the foyer of the building. Hague thought she was attending a meeting with a known associate of hers, a businessman with extended industrial affiliations and connections with the trade unions. He was a useful tool in Hague’s work, Aslan had explained. If the businessman sent her a message demanding a meeting to deal with an emergency, she would drop everything and come.
Quinn had to leave that part of the operation up to Aslan. Her role was straightforward. When Hague moved from the limousine to the building, she was to waylay her and lift the fob in her right pocket.
The distraction, Johnson assured Quinn, would be adequate. Quinn had to trust him, too, although she didn’t like it. When she tried to press Johnson for details, he refused. “It’s better that you look just as surprised as everyone else around her,” he told Quinn.
Now everything depended on Hague turning up for the emergency meeting. Quinn monitored the corner where she expected the limousine to appear.
The black Escalade which did pull up in front of the building came from the opposite direction.
Quinn became alert. Hague had done the unexpected, possibly because of the emergency nature of the meeting. Was she already spooked? It would make things harder for Quinn.
As soon as Quinn realized the Escalade was pulling into the curb, she pushed herself off the lamppost and walked toward the building. She timed her pace so she would arrive in front of the building as Hague got out of the car and their paths would cross.
Quinn suppressed the knowledge that at least five people watched her right now. She preferred to operate unobserved. It made her nervous to think that not only were people monitoring her every footstep, but they most likely had guns trained on her, too. At this stage, it was to “protect her”.
If anything went wrong, it was likely the guns would be used for a different purpose.
She didn’t know where anyone but Aslan was. Their part in the operation had been kept from her. Everything had been kept from her, except for her single role at this moment.
She hoped it wasn’t just Aslan’s people watching her. She had not heard from Dima and couldn’t bring the cellphone with her. It was possibly vibrating itself to death inside her pillow, back in Innsbruck. If Dima did have her back, then her people would be salted away somewhere on G Street, watching this unfold, too.
Would they try to interfere? Would they try to steal her away from Aslan’s people? They were on home turf. It was the perfect opportunity for them to get her out from under Aslan’s thumb.
In the thousands of times Quinn had imagined how this might go down, her most fervent wish was that Dima’s people would step in and get her out of this cesspit.
Even though she longed to know why Denis had died, she was beginning to feel that the answers weren’t worth the price. She tried to clear her mind, as she approached the corner of the Escalade. Old and dusty lessons about approaching a mark came back to her.
The door of the Escalade opened and a big man in a suit stepped out. He looked around, his gaze passing over Quinn. Then he opened the back door.
Twelve yards. Diana Hague thrust out one foot and put it on the pavement, then stepped out of the car.
Eight yards.
Hague headed for the building.
“This is for Afghanistan, bitch!” The cry came from closer to the building, halting Hague in her tracks. A man with long, scraggly hair, a full beard and the dirtiest clothes Quinn had ever seen was throwing off a layer of plastic bags and newspapers, to reveal a sawed-off shotgun, which he brought to bear upon Hague.
The suits around her reacted instantly. They reached for their guns and pushed Hague behind them, straight into Quinn’s path.
Quinn tripped over her, as Hague crouched. Quinn gave a little scream, as someone would if they spotted a man with a gun in public. She stumbled and staggered forward, as she untangled her foot from Hague’s flank. She put her hands out to save her fall.
The security guards shouted at the homeless man, telling him to put down the gun. One of them fired, a soft sound under the shouting. The man with the shotgun fell back with a cry, as Quinn pushed herself to her feet once more. A guard picked up Hague and shoved her in the car.
Quinn strode, putting distance between her and the car.
The guard who had put Hague in the car straightened and pointed at her. “You! Stop right there!” He bought his gun up and pointed it at her. Quinn turned to face him, painting her face with shock and fear. It wasn’t hard to do. “Me?”
The guard got the attention of the only other suit left guarding the car, as the other three tackled the homeless man.
Pedestrians gathered close by, drawn by the drama yet wary enough to stay at a distance. People across the road watched the action, too.
“She took something from the director,” the first suit said to the second, pointing at Quinn.
Shit.
Quinn looked around. She had failed to account for the congestion of sightseers watching it go down. Her escape route, the one she had planned, was gone.
Her heart hammering, Quinn kept her hands up. She didn’t want to get shot today.
The two guards headed toward her. She had to do something in the next few seconds, or it would be too late. Only how the hell had the guard seen her lift the fob?
It was a question for later. She had to act. Now.
She couldn’t take her gaze away from the black round ends of the guns pointing at
her. A pound or two extra pressure on the trigger and she would be dead.
Think, she commanded herself.
The lead guard was only three feet away from her when a small black mountain rocketed across her field of vision and took him out. The guard sprawled on the concrete. Quinn heard the smack of flesh upon flesh and a soft groan. The guard grew still.
Noah bounced to his feet. His black wool hat was pulled down low over his forehead and ears, disguising most of his face. The thick scarf around his neck rose to meet his ears and covered the lower half of his face. At this time of year, it was the perfect disguise. He had taken off his sunglasses, though.
His black eyes met hers. Then he turned to deal with the second guard, who dropped to the ground with a soft sigh and closed his eyes. Noah bent and picked up the two pistols and shoved them in his coat pocket. Then he spun to face her, grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the building. “Move your ass, Quinn!”
She staggered toward the building. Behind her, Noah bellowed, “Find Elijah!” He didn’t speak Aslan’s last name, not even in the heat of the moment, because somebody might hear it.
The guards dealing with the homeless man paid no attention to her. She ran past them, the heel of her hand slapping the glass door before it could open for her. She pushed it faster than the mechanism moved and heard the hiss of pneumatics.
Then she was inside. Artificially warmed air bathed her face. The foyer was almost empty. Six people stood between the elevators, waiting for a car to arrive.
Aslan stepped around the elevator shaft at the other end of the foyer and beckoned.
Quinn ran, skidding between people, which made them glance at her with startled expressions. Their attention had been on the fuss outside the building. Now they had noticed her.
Aslan was already running. Quinn caught up with him and he picked up speed. He turned right and then left, and the corridor narrowed down to a service shaft running toward the back of the building. There was a door at the end which he shoved open and let her through.
“Take off your coat,” he told her. “And your hat.”
As they ran down the concrete-lined passageway, Quinn stripped her coat and hat from her and tucked them over her arm. Aslan did the same. He wore one of his silvery, silky suits beneath, while she had on a simple sweater and jeans. It was warm in the passageway. If they had to go outside, cold would become an issue.
There were many doors coming off the passageway, most of them steel-lined doors with emergency bars. Some of them had small steel reinforced windows in them. Aslan ignored all but one, which he shoved open with his elbow.
It was a fire escape. Instead of heading up, Aslan went down. Quinn almost slid down the steps, trying to maintain her speed.
At the bottom Aslan hit the bar on the door and shoved it open. They ran out into a parking garage filled with cars and the sound of air vents gusting tepid air.
Aslan opened the lid of the dumpster sitting right beside the door. He threw in his coat and waited for her to do the same. Then he dropped the lid with a clang and ran once more.
On the far side of the garage was a sloped ramp up to the street level. They burst out upon the street, which was one over from G Street. Quinn didn’t know Washington well. This street looked far too similar to G Street. The same business buildings, streetlamps, pedestrians and traffic.
Aslan dived across the road without regard for the traffic. A car stamped on its brakes and laid on the horn. He paid no notice.
Quinn glanced at the Mustang, startled. The driver looked right at her.
Vexed, she surged forward, out of the way the Mustang. She chased after Aslan. Now the driver had seen her face.
Aslan slowed to a jog, heading for another professional building. The glass doors opened for him and Quinn caught up with him as they closed behind. Aslan walked fast through the foyer, turning his head. “Ah!” he murmured, sounding satisfied.
He changed direction, heading for a door in the wall of the foyer. It was a glass door and through it, Quinn could see the fixtures and fittings for a café. As they drew closer, she smelled coffee.
They stepped into the coffee shop, which was packed full with a lunchtime crowd. Strolling as if they were another pair of workers looking for lunch, Quinn followed Aslan to the end of the line waiting to be served.
He studied the menu board for a moment, then looked around casually. Quinn kept her gaze on the board. She didn’t know what Aslan was trying to do and looking around wildly would draw suspicion.
It was hard enough to keep herself from panting like a sprinter. She worked on regulating her breath, so she wouldn’t sound as though she had just run away from something.
Aslan looked at his watch and made an impatient sound. “This will take all day,” he said, modulating his voice so even though he didn’t speak loudly, his words would travel. “Let’s go to that soup joint across from the office, instead.”
“I have a meeting at one. That sounds like the good idea,” Quinn said. She spoke as if she was only addressing Aslan, although she didn’t lower her voice.
Aslan turned and moved toward the exit onto the street. There were rows of tables on either side of the entrance, most of them full. As they passed an empty one, Aslan picked up the coat hanging over the back of the chair to save the table. “Don’t forget your coat.” He held it out to her.
“Thanks.” She pushed her arms into the sleeves and pulled the coat around her, as he opened the door and let her through.
They moved back onto the street but didn’t stay on the pavement long. Aslan seemed to have an intimate knowledge of the connections and byways of Washington. They moved into stores and through connecting doors to other stores, into parking garages, then onto different streets. They moved through alleyways and occasionally through building foyers. They pivoted and changed bearings several times. Quinn’s sense of direction was good. She knew they were heading north more often than they were moving in any other direction. Aslan had a destination in mind.
Quinn focused on keeping up with him, which wasn’t easy, for her energy was flagging. Aslan set a murderous pace.
Finally, they turned onto a sidewalk in a street which seemed to have less traffic than the others they had been in. Aslan strolled, rather than striding. He glanced at her, gave her a stiff smile. She saw his gaze move behind her. He was checking for any familiar faces or signs of pursuit.
“Move to my other side,” he told her.
She stepped around him and continued walking on his left. He glanced at her again and scouted the area behind her and on either side. It gave him a three-sixty scan of the street.
He nodded and kept walking.
“We are nearly there?”
“No questions yet.” There was tension in his voice.
Quinn shut up.
He grew wary as they moved farther along the sidewalk. They approached the entrance of a parking garage and Quinn realized why he was wary. The parking garage was their destination.
“If they intend jump us, now is the time to do it,” he murmured.
They walked down the ramp, instead of using the pedestrian door and the stairs. The parking garage was like any other, with 9-to-5ers’ cars sitting in neat rows. There were few spaces left.
Aslan angled over to where the central stairs wound down and up to the other levels. Now they were off the street, he turned and openly scanned in all directions as they move toward the stairs.
Quinn understood why he was so nervous. This place was a bottleneck. If this was their destination, then they could not afford to move away from it. It meant there was no bolt hole if anyone tackled them here.
A squeal of rubber sounded from somewhere above them.
Aslan sighed. “Run!”
He was faster than she thought a man of his size would be. Quinn had trouble keeping up with him and she was a sprinter. Or she had been, once. She almost slid down the stairs. She gripped the steel handrail with a death grip to save himself.
<
br /> They moved down the stairs to the lower levels as the sound of the squealing tires and gunning engines grew louder.
On the second subbasement level, Aslan stepped off the stairs and moved out between the cars. There was a wider space in front of the stairs, designed to give access to them. Aslan moved to the right, ducked behind the minivan there and slotted himself between the minivan and the Jeep Cherokee on the other side.
He turned to face the driving lane. “Stay behind me.” He reached under his jacket and bought out a handgun, expressed the clip, glanced at the load and shoved the clip back in.
Her heart jumping, Quinn stood behind him as instructed. She was breathing harder than she should have for the amount of exercise she’d got. Walking and jogging used to come effortlessly to her. Being shot in the stomach had stolen all her fitness.
“Stay crouched down low,” he told her without looking at her. He stood with the gun hanging at his side and looked relaxed. Quinn suspected it was an illusion.
She crouched down, her hands on the cars on either side to balance herself.
The squealing tires came closer. The sound of the engines grew louder, drowning out the stressed rubber sounds. It sounded as though more than one car headed their way.
Then she saw the wheels of the car rolling down the ramp on the other side of the garage. Only a single rail separated that level from this one.
Aslan lifted his hand, the gun coming up and holding steady. He didn’t turn to sight the car as it appeared. He kept his gaze on the driving lane where the car would eventually show.
His finger curled around the trigger. “When I tell you to run, you run like hell for the stairs.” His voice was tight but steady and calm. “Go down two more levels. Then wait. Someone will come.”
“And where the fuck will you be?” she demanded. Fright raised her voice.
“I plan to be right behind you,” he said.
Plan.
Tires squealed as the lead car rounded the tight corner at the end of the ramp. It was on their level now.
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