“That’s why I came to London,” he said. “Last night I arranged a face-to-face with Wills for this morning so I could ask for his help. I thought he could use his contacts to get me in touch with the right people at MI6. We were supposed to meet at the park.”
“Do you think you were a target, too?”
“No. He was killed several minutes before the time we’d agreed to meet.”
“The Russian woman? You think she was the one who wanted him dead?”
“She tried to stop the hit. Almost succeeded, too. She seemed even more upset with Wills’s death than I was.”
Orlando’s brow wrinkled in the way it did when she was trying to figure something out. But when she let out an exasperated expulsion of air, Quinn knew she had no more answers than he did.
“Mom emailed me,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I take it everything went well.”
“It did,” she said. “She took to Steven right away. I think the only thing we have to worry about is if he eats so much he’s too lethargic to notice anything.”
Quinn surprised himself by laughing a little. “I know my mother. That’s actually a possibility. Larson and Nolan?”
“They’re in position outside the farm, ready to move if your mom goes out. They’re taking shifts so that the house is watched around the clock.”
“Thank you,” he said. The words seemed inadequate.
She looked at him for a moment, smiling, then she pulled out her computer and booted it up. “I take it Nate and Julien are keeping a watch on Liz’s place?”
“Better than that. Nate’s actually staying with her.”
“Staying with her?”
“I stepped out of the room for a few minutes, and by the time I came back, he had her asking him if he wanted to sleep on her couch.”
“Really?” she said, her eyebrow raised.
“Really.”
“Good for him. Told you he’s almost ready.”
“He is.”
She gave Quinn a mischievous smile. “What if he doesn’t stay on the couch?”
“That is not an option.”
“Why not? They’re close enough in age, and your sister’s cute, and smart, too. What’s she studying again?”
“I don’t even want to think about this.”
“Art history, wasn’t it? Didn’t Nate study history in school? Seems like there’d be some common ground there.”
“Stop it,” Quinn said.
“You’re no fun,” she said, scowling.
Her computer chimed. She looked down at her screen, then clicked on something.
“It’s a message from Romy,” she said. Romy specialized in information gathering and worked out of Eastern Europe. “She says someone’s been asking about you.”
“The same person who was looking into my background?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. It was a direct inquiry, asking about you by name.” Orlando looked up. “She says the guy doing the asking is a Russian based out of Moscow.”
“He have a name?”
“Goes by Stepka.”
“Never heard of him. You?”
“No.”
“He’s in Moscow now?”
“Apparently.”
“Do we have someone there who can pay him a visit?”
“I think I can arrange that.”
“Do it. And if he—” His phone vibrated, stopping him.
But there was no name on his display, only BLOCKED. He held it out to Orlando.
“I thought the software update you gave me was supposed to decode blocked numbers.”
“It is.” She frowned. “Give it to me.”
He handed her the phone. Without punching the Accept button, she accessed the virtual keypad and began typing. When the vibrating ceased, she looked up. “The program should have been able to figure it out.”
“Maybe you need to start thinking about writing an update.”
“Go to hell,” she said, but Quinn knew as soon as she had a little free time, updating was exactly what she’d do.
As Orlando handed the phone back to him, it buzzed again, indicating a voice message. Quinn pushed the button to play the message, and switched it to speaker so they could both hear.
Nothing at first, then a voice: male, older, with an accent that seemed almost English, but not quite. “I will call you back in ten minutes. Please do answer your phone.”
Quinn played the message again.
“Do you recognize him?” Orlando asked.
“No.”
She then held out her hand. “Give it to me again.”
As she began scrolling through different displays, Quinn asked, “What are you doing?”
She frowned at him. “The software I installed, which you’ve already pointed out needs an update, includes the ability to record both sides of a conversation. I just haven’t activated it yet.”
“And why not?”
“We talk a lot. The last thing I need is for you to record one of our conversations, then throw something I say back in my face.” She tapped the screen one more time, then sat back. “Okay, it’s ready.”
“Does your phone have this capability?”
“Of course.”
“And it’s active, I assume.” She smiled.
He took the phone from her. “I want you to keep this function active on my phone.”
“We’ll see.”
Precisely ten minutes after the first call, Quinn’s phone began to vibrate again.
“Do I need to do anything?” Quinn asked.
“Just hit Accept. It records automatically.”
Quinn did as she instructed, then raised the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Is this Mr. Quinn?” It was the same voice from the message.
“Who is this?”
“What are your plans in regards to the project you are doing for David Wills?”
Quinn paused. “I don’t know any David Wills.”
Orlando looked at him, the brow over her left eye arched.
“We both know that’s not true,” the caller said. “You have five seconds to tell me who you are, or I’m hanging up.”
Nothing for three seconds, then, “Have you read A Burnt-Out Case lately?”
Quinn said nothing. He also didn’t hang up.
Some organizations created code phrases for when the legitimacy of a third party needed to be established. A Burnt-Out Case was the one given to Quinn by Wills when they first started working together.
“Do I have your attention now?” the man asked.
“Who are you?” Quinn said.
“You can call me Mr. Smith. The job you are doing for David Wills is actually for me. I’m his client.”
“Hang on for a moment,” Quinn said. He punched the Hold key and looked at Orlando. “It’s the client. The one with the body in the wall.”
“You’re kidding.”
“He knows Wills’s code phrase.”
“What does he want?”
“Wondering the same thing myself.” Quinn took the call off hold. “Mr. Smith. You may be David’s client, but you’re not mine. He’s the one who hired me, so he’s the one I work for.”
“I see no distinction between the fact that David hired you and I hired him.”
“I do.”
“Please, Mr. Quinn,” the caller said, his tone now conciliatory. “I’m not trying to go around David’s back. You see, certain circumstances have arisen that have made it necessary for me to contact you directly.”
“What circumstances?”
“I’m sorry to say David is dead,” Mr. Smith said.
“Dead?” Quinn said, acting surprised.
“Apparently he was shot.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Quinn. Do you?”
“I have no idea,” Quinn said. Could this guy really have found out about Wills’s death already? It was pla
usible. Mercer, if he was indeed working for Wills, would have informed Wills’s organization, and then they might have begun notifying clients to assure them that current operations were not compromised. Plausible, but the timeline was tight.
“I thought as much, but it is good to hear. The reason I’m calling you is to make sure you’re planning on completing the job. You’ve already been paid, and nicely, I might add. I only ask that once you have the package in your possession, you consider calling me. I would like to dispose of it myself. But if you are not comfortable with that, I understand. Fair?”
“Yeah, see, that’s not the way it works. First I verify what you’re telling me about Wills is true. If it is, then I immediately remove myself, putting as much distance between me and anyone connected with Wills as possible.
Including you. So if your information’s good, you’ll have to find someone else. I’m done.”
Dead air for a moment, then, “What?”
“Done,” Quinn said. “No longer on the job.”
“You’ve been hired for the task. I expect you to carry it out. Mr. Quinn, maybe we should meet in person. We can discuss this—”
“There’s nothing to discuss. Per my standard agreement, in the case that my client is killed, I can terminate my involvement at my discretion. You can be sure I’ll be exercising that clause.”
“Mr. Quinn, that is not an opt—”
Quinn disconnected the call.
“Are you sure that was such a good idea?” Orlando asked.
Quinn’s phone began to vibrate again. BLOCKED on the display.
He pushed the button rejecting the call.
“We have more important things to worry about than a body in a wall,” Quinn said. “We’re off.”
A VIBRATION.
Without even opening his eyes, Nate reached out and grabbed his bag off the floor. Back in college the vibration of a phone wouldn’t have even caused him to stir in his sleep. But now, no matter how deep he was under, it immediately woke him.
The room was still dark, the only illumination seeping in coming from the streetlights outside. Nate activated his phone, then squinted at the sudden brightness of the screen. Once his pupils adjusted, he could see he’d received a text message from Julien.
All quiet out front. Let me know when you’re up.
Nate looked at the clock at the top corner of the display. 5:07 a.m. He tapped out a reply:
Up now, thanks to you.
Julien texted back:
You’re welcome.
There was no use trying to go back to sleep. Nate knew from experience it wouldn’t come. His mind was already alert. He turned off the no-longer-needed alarm he’d set for 6 a.m., then put his phone down and swung his legs off the couch.
He listened for any other noise in the apartment, but all was quiet. Liz apparently didn’t have friends who texted her at five in the morning. Making as little noise as possible, he crossed the living room to the entry.
After Liz had gone to bed, he had braced one of her dining room chairs under the handle of the front door for added security. The last thing he wanted was for her to see it there, so he picked it up and carried it back to where he’d found it.
He thumbed through some of Liz’s magazines, then perused the books on her shelves, before deeming it late enough to take a shower. By 6:20, he was dressed and ready for the day. He began to make bets with himself on when he would hear Liz get up. The winning time turned out to be 7:37 a.m. But it was almost an hour later before she joined him in the living room.
She was wearing dark jeans, a white sweater, a pair of brown boots, and had wrapped a multicolored scarf around her neck. After what had happened the previous night, Nate had been anxious about the moment they would see each other again. As she looked at him, he thought, Here it comes. The I’ve-been-thinking-it-might-be-better-if-you-stay-in-a-hostel speech. Or the listen-last-night-I-drank-a-little-too-much-so-if-I-led-you-to-think-anything-I’m-sorry line followed by the hostel speech.
“Good morning,” she said, a hint of a smile.
“Bonjour,” Nate said.
“Aha. Nice. You work on that all night?”
“As a matter of fact I did. Didn’t sleep at all.”
“Well, it sounds like it paid off.” She stared through him. Now, for sure, he thought. I’m so kicked out. “I’ve been thinking.…”
He suppressed a laugh.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Sorry.”
Her eyes narrowed as if she was assessing him anew, but then she smiled. “I’ve been thinking that I really don’t want to go to class this morning. So, why don’t we grab some breakfast, then visit one of those places we just looked at from the outside yesterday. Maybe the Louvre? Take in the Mona Lisa? How’s that sound?”
He was stunned into momentary silence. That was definitely not the hostel speech.
“No?” she said.
“Ah, no. I mean, yes,” he said. “That sounds great. But I don’t want to mess you up at school.”
“If I thought it was going to mess me up, I wouldn’t do it.”
“Okay. Sure. I’d love it.” He stood up and met her at the entrance hall.
“Besides,” she said as she pulled her jacket out of the closet, “I’d have probably taken the day off whether you were here or not.”
“I feel so special.”
“Thought you’d like that.”
“Hold on,” he said. “I should hit the bathroom first.”
“Make it quick. I’m hungry.”
In the bathroom, he took a moment to refocus, then texted the new plan to Julien. Before he left, he looked at himself in the mirror.
“She’s Quinn’s sister,” he said. “Don’t screw this up.”
The only problem was, he wasn’t sure if the Nate who was looking back at him was listening.
They spent over an hour and a half at a café a few blocks away. Then followed that up by browsing through a couple of bookstores in the neighborhood, looking for a book Liz wanted for her dissertation. It wasn’t until they visited their fourth bookstore that they found it.
“Thanks for letting me take care of this,” she said as they exited the store. “You mind if we drop it off at my place before we head out?”
“Are you kidding? I’d be furious.” He smiled and held up his hands. “You’re in charge today. I’m just happily along for the ride. I mean, I’m in Paris for God’s sake.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m in charge?”
“Within reason.”
“Hmmm.”
A light rain began to fall. They raced down the sidewalk and ducked under the cover of the entryway. While she unlocked the door, Nate glanced back just in time to see Julien slip under the awning of the café. He was talking tensely into his phone.
“After you,” Liz said, holding the door open.
They ducked inside, then rode the elevator up to Liz’s floor.
“Maybe we should just stay in,” Nate said once they were back in the apartment.
She gave him an odd look. “You’re not going to let a little rain stop you, are you?”
“It’s not just rain. It’s cold rain.”
“We won’t be outside that much. Besides, it’s a perfect day for the museum.”
While Liz was in her room, Nate went into the bathroom, once again using the time to text Julien.
Everything ok?
There was no immediate response.
As he was washing up, he heard a noise from down the hall. A double bang, like someone slamming pots down on a counter.
He dried his hands, then stepped out of the bathroom.
There were voices coming from near the entrance. Liz’s and a man’s.
He ran toward the entryway.
“I already told you. There is no Nate here.” Liz’s voice. She was speaking in French.
“I’m sorry, not Nate,” the other voice said, also in French. “Em … Andrew. I
need to talk to Andrew.”
“Andrew?”
As Nate turned into the foyer, he saw Liz standing next to the partially open doorway. On the other side was Julien.
The second Julien saw him, the Frenchman pushed the door all the way open and stepped across the threshold. In English, he said, “I need to talk to you now!”
“You can’t come in here! Get out! Now!”
“What’s going on?” Nate asked Julien.
“Do you know this guy?” Liz asked.
“Yeah.” Nate instantly switched out of backpacking-college-student mode and into that of highly trained operative. “He’s a friend. Do you mind if he comes in for a minute?”
Liz eyed the massive Julien, then looked back to Nate. “You can talk to him in the hallway. I don’t feel comfortable with him in my apartment.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Julien said. He took a step further into the apartment, then shut the front door.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Liz yelled. “Get out!”
But the Frenchman had turned his attention to Nate. “We have to get her out of here. Now.”
“I’m calling the police.” Liz started for the living room, but Nate grabbed her waist and stopped her. “What are you doing?” she shrieked. “Let me go!”
“No police,” Nate said.
A look of terror crossed her face. “Oh, God. You’ve been fooling me, haven’t you? You’ve just been waiting for your friend to get here, and now what? Are you going to rape me, is that it?”
“Relax. We’re not going to hurt you.”
Liz wrenched herself free from Nate’s grasp and pushed herself against the wall. Since she wasn’t going for the phone, he let her be for the moment.
To Julien, Nate said, “What happened?”
“I just received a call from my client. He has three men in the city on their way over here right now. They said they checked with her school and know that she’s in the city. I couldn’t hide her from them any longer. I had to tell them she just got back. As soon as the others arrive, we are to take her to someplace quiet.”
Liz’s eyes grew wide.
“Nate, we have no more than fifteen minutes.”
Nate grimaced, then turned and took a step toward Quinn’s sister. “You need to listen to me. We’re here to help you, not hurt you.”
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