The Silenced

by Brett Battles

  “Take a shower and get dressed,” she said.

  “We’re leaving?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “London.”

  The text from Wills said he’d arrive at the Grand Hyatt Hotel between twelve and twelve-thirty. So Quinn and Nate arrived a few minutes before eleven.

  The hotel was at the corner of Forty-second Street and Lexington Avenue, midtown Manhattan, its black glass tower standing in stark contrast to the stone edifice of Grand Central Terminal next door.

  Quinn and Nate entered through the revolving doors, staggering their entrance so that it didn’t seem like they were together. An escalator took them up to the large open lobby. There, Nate headed toward check-in, while Quinn turned right toward the elevators at the rear of the room.

  Though there were many people in the lobby, the size of the room made it seem almost empty. Here and there couples and small groups clustered together, while others sat on the couches and chairs reading or talking or just passing the time.

  Each person in the room received either an X or a check in Quinn’s mind. An X meant they could be ignored. A check meant follow-up might be required. By the time he reached the far end of the elevators, he had accumulated twenty-one Xs and two checks.

  One of the checks was a woman standing alone off to the left. She was Caucasian, mid-thirties, and had dirty-blonde hair. She was dressed in a gray pantsuit and was holding a briefcase in her left hand. She also seemed to be trying very hard not to look at Quinn.

  The second check was for a man seated on a chair near the elevators. He appeared to be around the same age as the woman, but was dressed more casually: dark green polo shirt and blue jeans. What earned him the extra attention was that he had a look that screamed operative. Good shape, hair not too long and not too short, and eyes that took in everything without seeming to do so.

  Quinn moved into the seating area and leaned against one of the circular pillars that held up the second-floor atrium. From this position, he could see both the man and the woman. After a few moments, the man picked up a newspaper and started to read. The woman held her position, still not looking at Quinn.

  Wills’s people?

  It would make sense. If he were Wills, Quinn would have had people scouting the meet by now. Only with everything that had been going down, Quinn couldn’t dismiss the possibility that one or both of them might be with the people who’d shown up at the Moody operation.

  He pulled out his phone and brought up the text he’d received from Wills. He selected Reply, then wrote:

  U send advance team to Hyatt? If yes, how many?

  He touched Send, then glanced toward the far end of the lobby. He expected to see Nate, but there was no sign of his apprentice. As Quinn scanned the large room, his phone vibrated. He thought it would be a reply from Wills, but the text was from Nate.

  Look up

  Quinn glanced up at the atrium that ringed the lobby, and spotted Nate a second later standing a few feet back from the railing that stretched between the columns.

  It was a good position. Great, considering that Quinn was stationed at the opposite corner, one floor down. Together they had the whole lobby covered.

  Quinn texted Nate back:

  Anything?

  Nate’s reply came twenty seconds later.

  Man sitting near elevators w/paper. Woman at stairs south of you.

  Nate had seen them, too. Good.

  Quinn’s phone buzzed again. Wills this time.

  Leaving airport now. One person at hotel.

  Quinn replied:

  M/F?

  Wills’s answer came only a few seconds later:

  M

  The man reading the newspaper, then. So that meant the woman was an unknown.

  Quinn strolled over to one of the empty seats, putting a little more distance between himself and the woman. As he sat he called Nate.

  “Hey,” Nate said.

  “The man is with our friend.”

  “And the woman?”

  “Unknown. Perhaps not even interested in us.” Quinn paused for a moment. “Stay on the line. I’m going to walk back to the bar. Let’s see what she does.”

  Quinn stood up, his phone still held against his ear. He smiled as if the person on the other end had said something amusing.

  “Perhaps next time I’m in town,” he said, his voice loud enough for the woman to hear.

  “I don’t have to play this game, too, do I?” Nate asked. “She can’t hear me.”

  Quinn began walking across the carpet. “It’d be a big help to me,” he said.

  “I’m sure it would.… Wait, she just looked at you.”

  “I appreciate that. For how long do you think?”

  “Long enough for me to see that she’s interested in you.”

  Quinn left the carpet and stepped onto the marble tile. He held his position for a moment, pretending to listen.

  “And now?” he asked.

  Nate said, “She just sneaked a second peek … now she’s looking toward reception.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Quinn turned to his right and quickly moved up a short set of steps and into a hallway that cut along the eastern edge of the elevators and back to the bar where he was supposed to meet Wills. Within seconds, the lobby was out of sight.

  “What’s she doing?” Quinn asked, all pretense gone.

  “She’s still looking at the … hold on … She glanced back at where you were.… Okay, she’s looking around. Not hiding the fact, either.”

  Quinn had a choice at the end of the hallway: either continue straight and enter the bar, or go left along another hallway directly behind the elevators. Along this new hallway were a set of public restrooms and several shops. Quinn turned left, heading for the men’s room.

  “She’s on the move,” Nate said.

  “Heading my way?”

  “She doesn’t seem quite sure where she wants to go. She started toward reception, then stopped.… Walking toward the elevators now.”

  Quinn stepped into the bathroom. It was a large facility with several stalls. A quick check revealed he was the only one present.

  “If she comes anywhere near you, snap a photo,” Quinn said.

  “Already got two, but profile only. If I can get something better, I will.”

  “Position?”

  “She’s stopped at the bottom of the steps.… Interesting. Our friend with the paper is also keeping tabs on her.”

  Wills’s man had probably spotted her before Quinn and Nate had arrived. He would no doubt be curious why the woman was interested in the guy his boss was supposed to meet.

  “What’s he doing?” Quinn asked.

  “Just watching … Okay, the woman’s coming your way … up the steps … and … there … she … goes. I can’t see her anymore.”

  “All right. Find a room we can use, then text me the number.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “Stow and go,” Quinn said.

  QUINN DONNED A PAIR OF THIN, TRANSPARENT gloves, then silently counted down from twenty. When he hit zero, he stepped out of the restroom.

  The woman was ten feet away, heading toward the shops, her back to him. He walked up behind her, not hiding the sound of his steps. When she turned, her eyes went wide.

  There was no question now. She’d definitely been looking for him.

  “Hi,” he said.

  She turned her head and started walking away.

  Quinn reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “Hold on.”

  “Please, leave me alone,” she said, not even looking back. Her accent was British.

  “Sorry. Not an option.”

  “I’ll scream.”

  “And I’ll kill you where you’re standing.”

  He could feel her tense under his palm. “What do you want?” she asked.

  He turned her around to face him. “I believe you’re the one looking for me. So what
do you want?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I need to—”

  She tried to push past him, but he stopped her.

  “I wouldn’t do that.” He let his hand hover near the opening of his jacket. Sometimes the threat of a gun was all it took.

  For several seconds she didn’t move, then a barely perceptible nod.

  “Great. We shouldn’t have any problems.”

  Quinn’s phone vibrated in his pocket. With his other hand he retrieved it from his pocket, and glanced at the screen.

  2467

  Putting a hand on her arm, he said, “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Some place we can have a chat.”

  “We can have a chat right here.”

  “If we do, it’ll be over very quickly, and you won’t like the results.”

  Her eyes moved side to side. “Okay,” she whispered.

  Quinn led the woman back to the elevators. While they waited for one to open, he said, “If you cooperate, you’ll be fine.”

  “I won’t give you any problems.”

  Quinn smiled. “Perfect.”

  Over her shoulder, he could see Wills’s man, still sitting in his chair, but now openly looking at him. Quinn gave him a quick nod, and the man returned the gesture.

  One of the elevator doors opened, and Quinn ushered the woman inside, then pushed the button for 24.

  As soon as the doors closed, he said, “Give me your phone.”

  She hesitated, then pulled a phone out of her suit pocket and handed it to him. It was a cheap pay-as-you-go model.

  “Thank you,” he said, slipping it into his pocket. “Now the briefcase.”

  “I need this for work,” she said.

  “Don’t make me ask twice.”

  She handed it to him.

  “Do you have ID?” he asked.

  “It’s in the briefcase.”

  “What should I call you?”

  Another pause. “Ann.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, Ann, you’re doing fine so far. You keep cooperating and you’ll be okay.”

  When they reached the twenty-fourth floor, Quinn led her down the hall and around the corner to room 2467.

  “This is it,” he said. He could feel her tense again. “Relax. If you cooperate like you said you would, then I promise I won’t hurt you. And I always keep my promises.”

  He rapped twice on the door. A second later Nate opened it and moved to the side so they could enter.

  Quinn pointed at the bed. “Why don’t you sit there?” he said.

  She walked over to the bed, but didn’t sit down.

  “You’ll be more comfortable,” Quinn told her.

  “I prefer to stand,” she replied.

  He stared at her until she looked away. A moment later she sat.

  Quinn placed her briefcase on the desk. It was the kind that had combination locks on each hasp. He pushed the release tabs, but the hinges didn’t move.

  “What’s the combo?” he asked.

  “You don’t need to open it,” she said. “There’s nothing important inside.”

  “What’s the combo?”

  Her lips pressed together for a moment, then she said, “Zero-six-one.”

  “For both sides?”

  “Yes.”

  He moved the case onto the bed beside her. “Open it.”

  If the briefcase was booby-trapped, she would either disarm it before opening the case or not open the case at all. And if she didn’t know it, she’d soon find out.

  She dialed in the combo and pushed on the tabs. With a click each latch popped open.

  Quinn put the case back on the desk. “Check it,” he said to Nate.

  He then pulled out the cell phone the woman had given him. The call logs were empty. As was the contact list. There were no text messages, sent or received, and no pictures had been taken. Either she’d been deleting things as she was going along, or the phones had yet to be used.

  He slipped it back into his pocket.

  “Why were you following me?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t following you,” she said.

  “Can I give you a piece of advice?”

  She looked at him.

  “Remember what I said about cooperating.” He smiled. “Why were you following me?”

  A pause, then, “I made a mistake.”

  “What mistake?”

  “I should have said no.” The words were whispered, more to herself than to him.

  Quinn felt a tap on his shoulder.

  “Here,” Nate said, handing him a small booklet with a red cover, one very familiar to Quinn. In fact, he had a couple of them himself. A British passport.

  He opened it to the information page. It had been issued a year earlier. The picture inside was of the woman sitting on the bed in front of him. The name listed was Annabel Taplin.

  “Annabel or Ann?” he asked.

  She looked at him, then away. “Annabel.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up as he looked back at the booklet. Her birth date put her age at thirty-two. Her birthplace was listed as Waltham Abbey. He checked for arrival and departure stamps. She’d made two round-trips from London to New York. First in May, and a second in August. Each time she stayed for less than two weeks before returning to the U.K. The final stamp denoted entry into the United States the previous evening.

  “You’ll want to see this, too,” Nate said.

  He gave Quinn a business card.

  WRIGHT BAINS SECURITIES

  Annabel Taplin

  Consultant

  There was an address in London and a phone number.

  The name of the company tugged at Quinn’s mind. Familiar, yet he couldn’t place why.

  He handed the card back to Nate, then leaned over. “See what our contact can find out about this place. I think I’ve heard of it before.”

  Nate nodded, then went into the bathroom to call Orlando, shutting the door behind him.

  “Okay, Annabel. Why don’t you tell me why you’re in New York?”

  “I’m here on business.”

  “I’m your business?”

  She took a second, then said, “No. Not exactly.”

  “Not exactly? That answer falls into the ‘not cooperating’ category. We had an agreement. But if you’re going to break your end, I’m going to have to break mine.”

  Her face was tense, her lips pressed tightly together. Then, as if someone had flicked an off switch, she slumped forward, her head falling into her hands.

  “Oh, God,” she said as she began to cry.

  It lasted only a few moments, then she wiped her eyes and looked up. Her mascara was smeared, creating a thick black outline on her lids.

  “I was doing a favor, okay?” she said. “Someone at work. They knew I was in New York and called me this morning. I was told to get that stupid phone.” She waved in the direction of Quinn’s pocket. “Then to come here and wait for you.”

  “Only me?”

  “Another man, too. They emailed me pictures of each of you.”

  “The pictures weren’t on your phone. Where are they?”

  “On my computer,” she said, trying hard not to look at her briefcase. “At my hotel.”

  Quinn stepped over and looked inside the case. Besides a small stack of business cards, some pens, and two unused legal pads, there were also several folders. He picked them up.

  “Those are confidential,” Annabel said.

  Ignoring her, Quinn looked inside the first: letters, an unlabeled graph, and a report that looked of little interest. Most of the other folders contained similar documents. The second to last, though, contained printouts of three photos. The first was of David Wills, and the second of Quinn. The third was of a man Quinn didn’t recognize. It was a headshot, the kind used not by actors, but by businessmen and politicians for PR purposes. The picture itself looked dated.

  �
��Who is this?” Quinn said, holding up the man’s photo.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “They didn’t give me any names. Just said that there was a chance that man might show up, too.”

  “This shot’s from at least twenty years ago. He’d be an old man now.”

  She shrugged. “I guess it was the only one they had.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “I can tell you only what I know.”

  Quinn returned the files to the briefcase, all but the one with the three pictures in it. That one he set on the dresser by itself.

  “Once you spotted us, what were you supposed to do?” he asked.

  “I was to wait until you were both here, then make a phone call.”

  “And after that?”

  “After that I could leave.”

  “What number were you supposed to call?”

  She looked at him, then looked down, resigned. She took a clip out of her hair and handed it to him. On its back side was a local New York number. From the area code, he could tell it was a cell phone. Probably another disposable.

  “Do you know whose number this is?” Quinn asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Not the person who asked you to do this?”

  “Couldn’t be. When he called this morning, he was in London.”

  “And who is he?”

  “Someone at work.”

  “I’m looking for a name, Annabel.”

  “I don’t know his name,” she said.

  “A man whose name you don’t know asked you to do something you probably realized was dangerous, and you just said yes?”

  “It wasn’t the kind of request I could say no to.”

  “Why not?”

  The bathroom door opened, and Nate stepped out.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” he said.

  But before he could go any further, Annabel said, “Please, let me tell you.”

  Quinn looked at her, curious. “Tell me what?”

  “It’s about my company,” she said.

  “Wright Bains Securities?” Quinn asked, recalling the name from the business card.

  “It’s not what it seems.”

  “Then, what is it?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. There are people there who do financial work.”

  “But?” Quinn said.

  She looked at Nate as if she was gauging whether he knew what she was going to say, and could modify her story if his knowledge was lacking. But Quinn had trained Nate well, and his apprentice’s face betrayed nothing.