phone. He punched in Ne Win’s number and hit Send. “I was expecting your call,” Ne Win said. “You are still here, aren’t
you?” “Yes.” “So what is it you need?” “I know what the dealer setup at the Quayside is for,” Quinn said. “Really?” “It’s a diversion,” Quinn said. He gave Ne Win a quick version of
Jenny’s story about the upcoming assassination attempt on her boss. “Here’s what I think. Somewhere not too far from the Maxwell Food Centre, there’s going to be a dead body. The person will be ID’d as the man who killed the congressman. It won’t have been him, of course, but that won’t matter. The evidence will all point to him.
There’ll be something on the body, something that links the man to the weapons showroom at the Quayside Villas.” Quinn paused. “The hair.”
“What hair?”
“I found one hair in a desk drawer at the showroom. I’ll bet you anything it belongs to the fall guy.” Quinn took a breath. “That can be checked later. Once the police find the showroom, there’ll be something there that will eventually lead them to an extremist group, probably Islamic.”
“Assassination of an American official in Singapore would be bad for business. Especially if it looks like one of us did it.”
“I agree. If they put everything together, they’ll have a full-fledged jihadist conspiracy on their hands.” He paused. “But if there’s no body to find, there’s no link to the apartment.”
“And no link to any organization.” “Exactly right.” “So you want me to find the body,” Ne Win said. “Yes.” Quinn looked at his watch. “If they’re playing it smart, the
body won’t be moved into place for at least another thirty minutes.” “If they are playing it smart,” Ne Win said, “the body is still alive right now.”
The old man was right. To make it seem realistic, the red herring had to die in relatively the same time period as he would have if he were the real assassin.
“Can you find it?” Quinn asked. “It won’t be easy,” Ne Win said. “But we will try.” “If you do, be sure to remove all the evidence.” “Interesting. I seem to be doing your job today.” “Trust me, I wish it was the other way around.” There was a beep on the line, another call coming through. Quinn
moved the handset out far enough so he could see the display. A Singapore number. “Let me know if you find anything,” he said to Ne Win, then
switched the calls. “Hello?” “Is this Mr. Quinn?” The voice was vaguely familiar, female. “Who is this?” Quinn asked.
“Brianne Solomon. I work at the embassy. I’m Mr. Murray’s assistant.”
“Okay. Why are you calling me?”
“This is Mr. Quinn, correct?”
“Yes,” he said, his patience slipping rapidly. “What is it?”
Orlando had been scanning the neighborhood, looking for the kind of car Guerrero might have arrived in. But she looked back at Quinn and shook her head.
“Mr. Murray would like it if you would call him on his mobile phone.” She read off a number. “Do you need me to repeat it?”
“No. I got it.”
He disconnected the call, then punched in Murray’s number and hit Send.
“Quinn?” Murray’s voice came over the line the moment the connection was made.
“What is it, Kenneth?”
“You’re a son of a bitch, you know that? You got me in it again.” Murray sounded like he was outside somewhere. Quinn could hear traffic and distant voices. Murray, apparently concerned he might be overheard, was keeping his voice low.
“What happened?” Quinn asked.
“I took your warning to the appropriate person at the embassy.” Quinn assumed that was either the CIA resident or, more frequently in these post-9/11 days when they’d been given more international responsibilities, an agent from the FBI. “I played it off like I’d received an anonymous tip. Good thing, too. They said they’d received a similar warning. They said they’d checked it out. They said it was nothing.”
“They said they looked into it?” Quinn asked.
“I think the direct quote was, ‘There was nothing there, Mr. Murray. But thanks for bringing it to our attention.’”
“They’re lying,” Quinn said.
“Dammit, Quinn...Yeah, I know they’re lying,” Murray said. He sounded pissed off. “Normally they wouldn’t just dismiss something I told them like that. But if Homeland Security isn’t going to do anything about it, what the hell am I going to do?”
“Call the congressman directly. Stop him. He’ll listen to you.”
“I am able to figure a few things out on my own,” Murray said. “I already tried that. I called the Raffles Hotel, talked to one of his staff. Turns out the congressman’s schedule has changed quite a bit. The meeting at the Von Feldt Building has been moved someplace else, but the guy I talked to had no idea where. Said if I wanted to get ahold of him, then the next possibility would be the one p.m. stop at the Maxwell Food Centre.”
“Son of a bitch.” Quinn looked at Orlando. “Come on. He’s not here.”
They started running back toward the car.
“I asked the aide if he’d give me the congressman’s mobile number, but he wouldn’t,” Murray said. “Said he’d be happy to pass along any message.”
“Did you tell him it was an emergency?” Quinn asked.
“Of course I did.”
They reached the car and got in quickly.
“He’s not here,” Quinn told Nate.
Nate gave him a single nod, then pulled the car away from the curb and headed down the street. There was no need for Quinn to tell him where to go next.
But Murray was a different story. “You need to go to the Maxwell Food Centre,” Quinn said.
“What? Why?”
“You need to be there. You’re a representative of the U.S. government. I need you to cover my ass, and make sure that the right story gets out.”
“What do you mean ‘the right story gets out’?”
“The one you’re going to have to take on faith. But I promise you’re going to come out of this smelling good.”
“Like last time?” Murray asked.
“I’d say it worked out pretty well for you.”
“Fine,” Murray said.
Quinn disconnected the call.
“So what are we doing now?” Jenny asked.
Quinn looked back at her. “Now we try to keep your boss from getting killed.”
CHAPTER
HAWKER CENTERS WERE BORN FROM THE DESIRE TO
clean up Singapore. At one time, food carts were everywhere, lining the streets and roads of the city. Then someone got the idea to move them into centralized locations where there would be community seating and a clean water source.
Maxwell Food Centre was just one of many, but more popular than most because of its location near Chinatown. Tiny walk-up food stands made of cinder blocks were jammed together side-by-side-by-side under a giant corrugated tin roof. The restaurants were aligned in rows back-to-back, creating wide aisles full of tables for the hungry to enjoy their meals with a few hundred of their closest friends. And while the roof covered the entire complex, there were no walls on the outside of the center, just support columns and open air.
Quinn directed Nate to park the Mercedes a block away.
“Everyone radio up,” Quinn said. “Orlando and Nate, I want you to take up positions inside. Look for anything unusual. I’ll hang out near the street and try to stop Guerrero from getting out of his car.” Quinn looked at Jenny. “We’ll give you a radio, but you’ll stay here. If we need you, I’ll let you know.”
She looked like she wanted to protest, but didn’t, her damaged shoulder no doubt reminding her what happened when she got directly involved.
Orlando passed out the communications gear. Once they were all outfitted, she gave Quinn and Nate each a 9mm SIG Sauer P226 and matching suppressors. For her own use, she pulled out a Glock.
“Here.” Orl
ando handed both of them a miniature version of the messenger bag Ne Win had given Quinn a couple of days before. Then, for Nate’s benefit, she said, “Keep your gun in the bag unless you absolutely have to pull it out.”
Quinn checked the chamber to make sure a round was already loaded, then popped out the magazine to confirm that it was maxed. After he’d attached the suppressor, he put the gun in his bag in a way that would make it easy to reach in, aim, and fire without ever pulling the pistol out.
“What about Jenny?” Orlando asked.
Quinn looked at Markoff ’s girlfriend. He still couldn’t get used to her short hair or the lack of a smile on her face. But most of all, he couldn’t get used to the sense of controlled anger she exuded.
“Do you know how to use a gun?” Quinn asked her.
She nodded, hesitantly. “Markoff showed me.”
“Leave the big bag where she can get to it,” Quinn said to Orlando. To Jenny, he said, “There are a couple guns inside, and some other things you won’t need. But don’t pull anything out unless it’s an absolute emergency.”
Jenny nodded.
Nate and Orlando left first. Once they crossed the street, they separated and entered the food center from different directions.
While Quinn waited for a moment, he said to Jenny, “Why didn’t you get help? Isn’t that what your friend wanted you to do?”
She took a second before answering. “There wasn’t time. When he was killed, it scared the shit out of me, you know? I didn’t want any of this, but I couldn’t ignore it. I tried to call Steven, but he was out of town and didn’t pick up. I didn’t know what else to do, so I went back to Houston, to my home there. Steven showed up the next morning. I told him everything and then played the tape. It was his idea to get out of the country. We were on a flight for Europe within hours.”
“Then why was Markoff in Singapore?”
“He wanted to get more proof. Something to go along with the tape. He thought he could find it here.” She looked at Quinn. “Maybe he did find it, only like you told me, his signal didn’t last long enough for you to locate it.”
Quinn nodded. Markoff had done exactly the same thing Quinn would have done: get Jenny as far away as possible, then try to find another way to prove what was going on so that Jenny’s life would no longer be in jeopardy. He did it all because he loved her. Even in his last moments of life, when he knew they would never be together again, he had pointed toward a clue that could possibly set her free.
It was time for Quinn to go.
“If you see anything or hear anything you think I might need to know about, just start talking,” Quinn said. “Otherwise, unless we ask you a direct question, it would be best for you to just listen.”
“Okay,” she said.
Quinn got out of the car.
Quinn purchased a pork bao and a soft drink from one of the vendors nearest the edge of the hawker center, then found a seat in front of the Zhen Zhen Porridge booth.
Unless you were with a large group, there was no such thing as getting your own table. At Quinn’s table there was an older couple, each with a bowl of porridge. They smiled at Quinn as he sat down, then returned to their meal.
“Check,” Quinn said, voice low.
“Check,” Orlando said. “I’m on the northwest side. Nothing here.”
“Nate?” Quinn asked.
“Check,” Nate said. “Center aisle. But nothing out of the ordinary here, either.”
The old couple gave Quinn an odd look, so he took a bite of the bao and smiled.
“Quinn. Quinn!” It was Jenny.
He stood up and began walking toward the street. “What’s wrong?”
“A woman just walked by,” Jenny said. “I’ve seen her before. She was with the congressman’s wife once back in D.C. She’s not alone. She’s with some of the men I’ve seen protecting Congressman Guerrero. My God, do you think she’s the killer?”
“Where is she?” Quinn asked. He was moving quickly through the crowd toward the street.
“She got out of a car about half a block away from me. She’s walking across the street now.”
Quinn dodged past a group of teenagers and craned his head, looking in the direction Jenny had indicated. There was a group of five coming across the street. All but one of them were male. One of the four men was a guy Quinn had seen in Houston and again in D.C. He was sure of it.
The hit squad, he thought.
He checked his watch: 12:30. They’d arrived early so they could be in position by the time the congressman got there.
As Quinn looked back at the group, the men began moving off in different directions. For the first time, Quinn was able to get a look at the woman.
Even though he’d already prepared himself for it, he still stopped in his tracks. He could feel anger beginning to swell inside him again, only instead of clouding his judgment, it focused him.
“Tasha,” he said.
“God, I was hoping you were wrong,” Nate said.
“Me, too,” Quinn said, teeth clenched.
He stared at Tasha for a moment longer, then tore himself away.
“Orlando, two of them are heading in your direction. They’re not going to be hard to miss. White guys in suits. Tall, short hair. Nate, move to the south. See if you can keep tabs on the other two.”
“Check,” Nate said.
“Be careful,” Orlando said. “She’s a lot more dangerous than you thought she was.”
Quinn grunted a response. No matter how dangerous she was now, he was pissed and she was going to pay.
He moved to his right, keeping a layer of people between himself and the road as he got closer to Tasha’s position. She had none of the helpless look he’d seen in her before. She was all business, her face hard and determined.
As she scanned the food center, Quinn knelt down as if he’d dropped something. From the lower angle, he could see her continuing her examination. Her gaze passed right by his position, not even noticing him.
“We’ve got another problem,” Orlando said over the radio.
“We don’t need another problem.”
“Well, tell that to the congressman. His car just pulled up.”
Before Quinn could say anything, Nate jumped in. “I’ve got movement over here. The two I’m watching are headed north now.”
Quinn stood up. Tasha was moving, too, heading in the same direction as the others. They were all converging on the congressman’s position.
“Orlando, we’re all coming to you,” Quinn said.
“Check,” she said.
Tasha stayed to the street, so Quinn paralleled her from his position inside.
“The congressman is getting out of the car,” Orlando said. “His wife is with him. So is your blond friend from last night. He’s got a nice big bandage around his hand.”
“Keep your eyes open,” Quinn said. “The shot can come from anywhere.” Just because Tasha was in charge didn’t mean she’d necessarily be the one to pull the trigger. It could come from any of her team—not only those who’d arrived with her, but also the men supposedly guarding the congressman.
They all worked for Tasha.
“My guys have stopped in the crowd and are just watching, not moving in,” Orlando said.
“Mine, too,” Nate said. “We’re a little bit south of you.”
As Tasha neared the corner, she turned in, passed beneath the metal roof, and entered the food center. She kept scanning the crowd as if she expected to find someone, but she never stopped moving forward.
Quinn had at first thought she was going to take the most direct route to the congressman, but instead she headed a little to the south, aiming for a break between the permanent food stands that would take her into the central aisle.
Quinn circled around so she was in front of him, then followed her, keeping about fifteen feet between them. If she were to turn around, she’d see him, but her focus seemed to be on what was ahead of her, not behind.
/> “Status,” Quinn whispered. “Holding position here,” Nate said. “Same,” Orlando said. “The congressman’s party is starting to move
down the central aisle. He seems a little tired. His wife is tense, though.” “Go figure,” Quinn said. “The blond guy stayed back at the car,” she said. “But two of the se
curity men are with them. They’ve also got someone who looks local with them. Chinese, I think. He seems to be giving the congressman a tour.”
Ahead, Tasha moved into the ten-foot-wide passageway. Because of the angle, she passed out of his sight for a moment, hidden by one of the cinder-block restaurants.
Quinn quickened his pace, but when he reached the gap, she wasn’t there.
She must have turned either right or left immediately on the other end of the short corridor; those were the only options. Quinn ran to the other end, slowing just as he reached the central aisle so as not to attract undue attention.
He looked right. Then left. But she wasn’t there. He turned around to look behind him, thinking maybe she had
spotted him and had just tricked him into passing by her. But she wasn’t behind him either, and there was no place in the passage she could be hiding.
Again he scanned the central aisle. But the result was the same.
Off to his left, near where the rows of restaurants began, he could see the congressman and his party. Their guide had led them to one of the stalls and was explaining something to them.
“Quinn?”
Quinn whipped around, his hand slipping into the opening of the bag on his shoulder. But it wasn’t Tasha or one of her team. It was Kenneth Murray.
“I saw you, but I wasn’t sure,” Murray said. He was an average-sized man, with an average-looking face. The kind of guy who would be hard to describe later, if you even remembered him. “I mean, I thought it was you, but...well, I guess I was right.” He paused. “What is it you wanted me to see?”
“Kenneth, I nearly killed you just now,” Quinn said.
“Wh...what?” Murray stammered.
Quinn could see the white all the way around Murray’s irises.
“Rule number one for you, never sneak up on me.”
“Okay, sure. No problem.” He took a step back. “Maybe actually I shouldn’t be here. I’m just in the way.”
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