“So what do you want to get for dinner?” Nate asked.
“Are you changing the subject?”
“Absolutely. The presentation’s ready. What I’m most worried about is what I’m going to put in my stomach.”
The path forked ahead. To the left, it headed downhill, passing under the bridge, and to the right, it went around the side of the Quayside Villas building to the street. Quinn led them to the right.
Around the lower level were a couple of shops: a bakery, a laundry, a wine shop. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Quinn glanced upward, following the rise of the west tower. There was no way to tell where in the building Markoff ’s message had been pointing them toward without getting inside. But there was also no doubt the building was where he had placed his beacon.
Around the front was a small two-lane road that passed between the Quayside Villas and a hotel on the left.
“I don’t care what we eat,” Quinn said. “You can choose.”
“A girl in the bar was telling me about a great Japanese place downtown.”
“Japanese? Shouldn’t we at least try Chinese while we’re here? Or Indian?”
An offshoot of the road curved toward the front door of the Quayside, rejoining the road up ahead. The front door was glass again, leading into a lobby at the base of the west tower. Mounted on the window next to the door was a security pad for a keycard or something similar. There was also a push button that looked like a large, flat light switch. No doorman, though.
But this realization was short-lived. Ahead there was another glass door, this one leading into the east tower. Beside it was a glass-walled room, complete with a bank of television monitors and two security guards.
“I’m ready to head back,” Quinn said. “How about you?”
CHAPTER
THE PHONE RANG ONCE.
Twice. Three times. Four. Five. She didn’t get the message, Quinn thought. Six. Click. Quinn almost expected to hear the prerecorded Thai voice again,
but the line was live. “Jenny?” Another breath. “Jenny. It’s Quinn.” “What happened?” Though the voice was low and rushed, Quinn
knew it was her. “I didn’t get your message until too late,” Quinn said. “The call time you wanted already passed by then.”
“No...Steven. What happened?” Her voice was managed, not quite calm, not quite out of control. It was almost as if she was accusing Quinn of killing her boyfriend.
“I don’t know exactly. He was...he was dead before I even knew
he was in trouble.” “What do you mean?” Quinn glanced at Orlando and Nate. They were huddled around
the small hotel room desk, monitoring the call on the computer.
“A week ago, I was hired to do a job,” Quinn said. He then told her about being shocked that the body he’d been asked to dispose of belonged to his old friend. He didn’t fill in all the details, but it was enough, he hoped, to convince her he was telling the truth.
There was a long silence when he was through. “Whoever sent you the body must have killed him,” she said.
“Who was it?” “I don’t know,” he said. “Bullshit.” “Jenny, I don’t know. It was an anonymous client. It’s how it goes
in this business.” He could have given her Albina’s name, but he was only the middleman and had nothing to do with it.
She was silent for several seconds, then said in a trembling voice, “I knew it. When he didn’t come back I knew something was wrong. I just thought...I hoped...Oh, God.”
She could no longer hold it back. Quinn heard a loud sob, then the muffled noise of the phone moving away from her face so she could endure her agony without a witness.
It was half a minute before she came back. When she spoke, her
composure had returned. “Are you really in Singapore?” “Yes.” “What are you doing there?” “Trying to help you.” “But I’m not in Singapore,” she said. Quinn looked at Orlando. Silently she mouthed, “She’s still in KL.” “No, but Kuala Lumpur isn’t far away,” he said into the phone. “You know where I am.” “It’s okay. We’re the only ones who know.” “What do you mean we?”
“There are two others with me,” he said. “Friends I trust and work with all the time. They’re okay.”
“If you know I’m in Kuala Lumpur,” she said, her words sounding more guarded than they had before, “then what are you doing in Singapore?”
“We’re in Singapore because Markoff sent us here.” “What do you mean?” she blurted out. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Look, I’m going to come get you. I’ll
take the first flight in the morning. It won’t take long. We’ll get you out of there and to someplace safe.” The flight between Singapore and Kuala Lumpur was measured in minutes, not hours.
There was dead air for a moment. “No. I’ll come to you.” “That’s not such a good idea,” Quinn said. “Your boss is flying
into town. It would be best if you weren’t here.” “Do you know when he arrives?” Quinn shot a glance at Orlando. She whispered, “Tomorrow, around midnight.” “Tomorrow,” Quinn repeated for Jenny. “Late.” “I’ll send you another message when I get there,” Jenny said. Quinn’s grip on the phone tightened. “No. Stay where you are. It’s
not safe here.” But he was only talking to himself. The line had already gone dead.
“Kuala Lumpur,” Orlando said. “But she’s moving around the city.” The tracking software was still up on her computer, and the blue dot blinked above Merdeka Square in the Malaysian capital.
“I should have pushed her harder to stay there and wait for us,” Quinn said. He was near the couch, not quite pacing, not quite standing still.
“How much harder could you have pushed?” Nate asked. “She seemed anxious to come here,” Orlando said. “This is the worst place she can be. If Guerrero is here, his men
will be here, too.” Quinn came around the end of the sofa. “When she gets here, we need to find her and get her someplace safe. If Guerrero’s men even think she is in the area, they’ll hunt her down.”
“I’ll keep the tracking software open,” Orlando said. “If she turns her phone on, I’ll know it within seconds.”
“Good,” Quinn said. “Keep the bulletin board open, too, in case she sends a message. Tomorrow I’ll arrange for a place we can take her.”
“Why not here?” Nate asked.
“Too public,” Orlando said.
“Sounds like we’re going to have a busy day tomorrow,” Nate said. He pushed himself up out of his chair at the desk. “I’m going to turn in. See you guys in the morning.”
“Wait,” Quinn said. “We still have something to do.”
“It’s after midnight,” Nate said. “Isn’t it something that can wait until morning?”
Quinn’s only answer was a silent stare.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Orlando said to Quinn. “But it’s not a good idea.”
Quinn turned to her. “I don’t think we have a choice. Markoff died trying to tell us about it.”
“It might be a trap. You ever think of that?” she said. “Maybe Markoff didn’t write the module ID on the container.”
“But if he did, I can’t ignore it.”
“I’m sorry,” Nate said. “What exactly are we doing?”
“Dark clothes,” Quinn said to his apprentice. “Then meet me in the lobby in ten minutes.”
After Quinn had dressed, he returned to the living room with the backpack full of items he would need. He was happy to see only Orlando remained. She was still at the desk, but didn’t look happy.
“We’re going to need the communications gear,” Quinn said.
Orlando pointed to her backpack sitting on the floor a few feet away. Inside, Quinn found three boxes of what appeared to be MP3 players. Easily explained as gifts to any prying customs official, they
were in fact two-way radios. He grabbed one each for himself and Nate. “Anything?” he asked, as he glanc
ed over Orlando’s shoulder at the computer. “No. Jenny’s phone is still inactive.” She looked around at Quinn.
“Maybe I should come with you.” “I need you to stay here in case Jenny tries to contact us again.” “Like that’s really likely,” Orlando said. He glanced at the computer. “While we’re gone, maybe you can
try to pin down where the congressman will be staying when he ar
rives. And LP, someone’s gotta know what that means.” “I’ve already taken care of the Guerrero part.” Quinn smiled, not surprised. “He’s got reservations at two different hotels,” she said. “Someone’s a little paranoid. Which ones?” “The Sheraton and, of course, Raffles.” Raffles was the most fa
mous hotel in Singapore, and one of the most famous in the entire world. Large and luxurious, it had been a mainstay in Singapore for over a century. It was also in one of the Raffles’s bars—the Long Bar— that the Singapore Sling had been invented.
“He’ll stay at Raffles,” Quinn said.
“That would be my guess, too.” She hit a few more keys, then stopped and looked up at him again. “You really think it’s a good idea going back there tonight?”
“It’ll be quiet. Easier to look around.” “You haven’t a clue what you might find. You may not even be able to get all the way to the signal.” “Markoff pointed us toward the building for a reason. I’ll just get
the lay of the land.” She turned back to the screen. “You really shouldn’t go.” “And you should get some rest,” he said. “You’re getting cranky.” She scowled but said nothing. “It’s nice of you to offer to wait up for me, though, but it’s not nec
essary,” he said. “Just don’t do anything über stupid, okay?”
Three a.m.
The streets around the Quayside Villas were all but deserted. In fact, the only person visible was the guard sitting in the glassed-in security office out front. He was alone, but that didn’t mean there weren’t others. Quinn figured there had to be at least one additional man doing rounds. And to be safe, it was better to assume there were two more, one for each tower.
The lighting in the front of the building had been well planned. It illuminated the façade tastefully, yet left no dark areas someone could use to hide in. And, as Quinn had expected, the front door was particularly well lit.
“This should be fine,” he said.
He and Nate were standing across the street, near the far corner of the neighboring hotel. From their concealed position, they had a great view of the fishbowl security room and the entrances to both towers.
He looked down at the tracking device in his hand. “Signal’s still strong,” he said. “That’s good,” Nate said. Quinn pulled a small case out of his backpack. It looked like a pair
of old, collapsible opera glasses. But while they served a similar purpose, these particular binoculars had a unique feature. Night vision. Not useful for the theater, but perfect for their needs. He handed them to Nate.
“If the security guard moves at all, you let me know.” “Every time?” Nate asked. “Every time.” Quinn had tucked the wire of his radio under his shirt so it
wouldn’t snag on anything. He picked up the dangling earpiece and put it in his left ear. “Check, check,” he said, making sure the small microphone jutting out of the earpiece worked.
“I hear you.” Nate’s voice came at Quinn both directly and through the earpiece. “What do you want me to say if you need to get the hell out of there?”
Quinn looked at his apprentice. “ ‘Get the hell out of there’ will work fine.”
“Right,” Nate said. “Good luck.”
Quinn gave him a terse smile, then headed off.
He skirted around the side of the building, returning once again to the walkway along the river. Like out front, the rear of the Quayside Villas was also well lit. Only the coverage wasn’t as intensive as it was at the main entrances, and even more importantly there was no permanent security station. There were, however, two cameras covering a large portion of the back, including the central rear entrance.
Lining the walls that led left and right from the entrance were columns about two feet in diameter. They created a narrow portico that was more for decoration than practical use. Above the columns, the second floor was a series of faux windows recessed into the wall and covered with some sort of lattice. And above that, the rooftop patio. That was the key.
Quinn figured it would be the easiest way to get in. Getting there without being seen was the issue. After examining the photos they’d taken earlier in the day, he had located a narrow blind spot in the camera coverage. It was near the southeast corner.
It wasn’t perfect, but it would do.
On their way back to the hotel that afternoon, Quinn and Nate had made a stop at a small family-run DIY—do-it-yourself—store near Chinatown. It was crammed full of kitchenware, janitorial supplies, knickknacks, and tools. It was one of those places where if you didn’t see what you were looking for, all you had to do was ask. No matter what it was, they’d find it for you.
Without the need of assistance, Quinn had been able to locate a pair of gloves with rubber grips and some sturdy rope. Back at the hotel, he had cut the rope down to twenty feet, then tied a thin piece of cord near one end.
Now as he stood in front of one of the columns at the base of the wall, he attached the free end of the thin cord to one of the belt loops on his pants. It would serve as a safety line for when he had to let go of the rope. The next step was the rope itself. He doubled it up and swung it around the column, then wrapped each end around one of his palms, and pulled tight in unison, checking the strength.
Satisfied, he looked in both directions along the river to be sure he was still alone, then began climbing up the column. The rope held him in place as he moved his feet. Every few seconds, he would lunge upward, scooting his lifeline higher. In less than half a minute, he reached the top of the column. From there, he shimmied his feet back up waist-high, resting them on a lip near the top of the column, his knees against his chest.
The timing of his next move was critical. Simultaneously he dropped the rope, shoved upward with his legs, and reached out and grabbed the bottom ledge of the second-floor window. There was a soft thud as the rope smacked against the column, but it fell no further, the safety cord tied to his pants keeping it from dropping all the way to the ground.
Legs dangling below him, Quinn pulled his body up with his arms. As soon as he was high enough, he swung his right leg like a pendulum, catching the ledge with the heel of his foot.
“Any movement?” Quinn half whispered, half grunted. From the angle of the security cameras, he thought he was still out of range, but there was no way to know for sure.
“No,” Nate said over the radio. “He’s not even looking at the screens.”
Security at the Quayside Villas wasn’t a high-risk gig. The mere fact it was right out front and visible to all would have been enough deterrent for most potential troublemakers. The security guards would know that, and no doubt it would make them lazy.
Once Quinn had both feet on the ledge, he maneuvered himself into a crouch. He made a quick scan, assessing his options. The top lip of the wall was about three feet above him. He could make the leap, but if he missed he’d fall backward through the air and land hard on the cement walkway below.
He took a deep breath. Then, without another thought, he thrust upward, his hands reaching for the top of the wall. The lip was curved, and the surface on top had been polished smooth. Quinn’s fingertips slipped for a half-second before the rubber grips on the gloves grabbed held. Knowing he could hold the position for only a few more moments, he quickly swung his right foot upward in the same pendulum move as before, bringing his leg parallel to the ground and catching the lip of the wall with it.
He rolled to his right onto the top of the ledge and took a deep breath.
“You okay?” Nate asked.
Another breath. “Fine. I’m on the edge of t
he terrace. What’s happening there?”
“Everything’s the same.”
“Good.”
Quinn flipped onto his stomach but remained prone. As he had suspected, the roof had been designed as a large deck for the residents. Even in the darkness, it looked like something found at an upscale resort. He was near the east tower. In front of him was a large swimming pool—wide and long. Lights below the surface gave the water an eerie yet inviting quality. Several lounge chairs were placed around the pool, lined up and ready for the next day.
Beyond the pool, the deck continued toward the other tower, but there were several large potted plants obscuring his view.
Glancing up at the east tower, he noted only two of the apartments had lights on. Both were near the top, and each had their curtains drawn. In fact, most of the east tower windows had coverings over them. During the day, a person looking out from any of the apartments would have easily seen Quinn. But at this hour, no one was interested in the world outside their rooms.
He slipped off the ledge and onto the deck. Bending at the waist to cut down on his profile, he first secured his climbing rope around his midsection, then retrieved the tracking device. The signal was definitely stronger than it had been at street level. Markoff ’s beacon had to be somewhere in one of the buildings.
Quinn moved along the pool toward the east tower. It took only seconds to find the glass door leading into the building. And, as he had guessed, there was another camera, this one focused on the entry, catching anyone going in or out. Inside, beyond the glass door, he could see entrances to a couple of the apartments, and an elevator on the left.
The signal strength had gone up a few more decimal points, but it had still not reached 1.000. If the beacon was in the east tower, it had to be higher up.
He skirted past the camera and made his way to the other tower.
No pool on the west side. In fact, since the building was much closer to the river here, the available deck space was considerably reduced. The designer had chosen to create small semiprivate spaces for one or two people by using half-walls and planters full of large bushes. Perfect spots for a bit of alone time in the sun.
The Deceived Page 20