The Deceived

by Brett Battles

  Quinn grabbed Murray by the arm and turned him so he was facing the north end of the food center.

  “There,” Quinn said. “You see him?”

  Murray glanced nervously over his shoulder at Quinn, then looked down the central aisle of the hawker center. “What am I looking for?”

  “That group of people down near the end. The man in the dark suit, that’s the congressman.”

  “Okay. Yeah, I see him.”

  “I need you to go down there and get him out of here.”

  “Whoa. Wait. You just said you wanted me to see something. You didn’t say you needed me to do something.”

  “If you don’t do it, he’s going to die. But you have to be careful. Those security men with him, they aren’t the good guys.”

  Murray started to pull away. “No. You do it.”

  “I can’t,” Quinn said. He knew if he did and Tasha saw him, she’d move in before he could get to the congressman. Murray had a much better chance. “You’ve got to go now!”

  “Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit,” Murray said. “I swear to God you’d better be right.”

  CHAPTER

  THERE WERE PEOPLE EVERYWHERE. THE LUNCH CROWD

  jammed itself into the hawker center like it was the only place to eat within miles. Lines in front of the most popular stalls were growing by the second.

  Quinn moved out into the central aisle, his eyes darting back and forth as he tried to find any sign of Tasha.

  “Status,” he said.

  “My guys are still holding back,” Orlando said.

  “Ditto,” Nate said.

  “Does anyone see Tasha?”

  “You lost her?” Nate asked.

  “Is that a no, then?” Quinn said.

  “Sorry,” Nate said. “Yes, it’s a...no. I mean, you know. No, haven’t seen her.”

  “Neither have I,” Orlando said.

  Quinn looked to his left. Murray was fighting his way through the hungry mob toward the food stall the congressman had stopped at. The only problem was, the congressman and his party weren’t there anymore. They had moved back to the middle of the aisle and were making their way deeper into the hawker center, moving toward

  Quinn’s position.

  “Dammit,” Quinn said under his breath.

  He had to find Tasha. He had to stop her.

  He started weaving through the crowd, heading in the direction of the congressman.

  “I have movement,” Nate said. “My guys are closing in.”

  “Mine are holding back,” Orlando said.

  Mop-up duty, Quinn thought. In case things didn’t go well for the first team.

  There were still at least forty feet and nearly a hundred people between Quinn and the congressman. As he started to skirt around a couple of teenage girls, someone bumped into him, and almost immediately he could feel a cool liquid dripping down his shirt. It had the sweet, fruity smell of fresh juice.

  “Oh, sorry,” a male voice said.

  Quinn’s instincts told him to duck. Unfortunately, they came a half-second too late.

  A fist smashed into his back right above one of his kidneys.

  Pain shot through Quinn’s torso as he fell forward. He tried to twist on his descent, but was only partially successful in landing faceup.

  The people closest to him pulled back, forming a small hole in the sea of customers. They looked down at Quinn in surprise and confusion. All, that was, except the blond man who was standing directly behind where Quinn had been a few seconds before.

  Blondie’s damaged hand was held loosely against his stomach. But it was the good hand that was the problem. It was reaching for something under his jacket.

  Quinn didn’t wait to see what it was. He pressed his hands against the dirty concrete floor and pushed himself up and out, aiming his feet at the man’s knees. He missed the left, but solidly connected with the right.

  Quinn could feel the man’s kneecap slide to the right, dislocating from the socket.

  Blondie cried out and quickly joined Quinn on the ground.

  Whatever he’d been reaching for had been forgotten as he reflexively grabbed his kneecap and tried to push the bone back into place.

  Quinn knew he had no more time to waste. He got to his feet, then stepped on Blondie’s bad hand.

  With all of Blondie’s attention on the pain no doubt shooting through his body, Quinn reached under the man’s jacket. He was definitely armed, but pulling the gun out would cause instant panic.

  Quinn moved his shoulder bag down so that he could maneuver the opening under the man’s jacket. He then slipped the gun inside with his own and stood back up.

  “Quinn! She’s moving in!” It was Orlando.

  Quinn whipped around until he was looking in the direction of the congressman. It seemed Quinn’s run-in with Blondie had attracted only local attention. The crowd at large appeared oblivious to what had gone on.

  As Quinn pushed his way through, he spotted Guerrero. The con-gressman’s wife was no longer with him. She had moved off toward one of the stalls with a member of Guerrero’s security team—getting out of the way, perhaps, and creating a legitimate reason why Guerrero would have only one guard at his side.

  What he couldn’t see was Tasha.

  “Where is she?” he asked.

  “She’s about fifteen feet in front of me, coming in from the north,” Orlando said.

  She must have circled around, Quinn thought.

  “Take her out!” Quinn said.

  “What do you think I’m trying to do?”

  “Nate, do you see her?”

  “No,” Nate said.

  Quinn no longer cared about maintaining secrecy. He began shoving people out of his way. He could hear angry voices behind him, but no one took their protest further.

  He closed to within twenty feet of the congressman and shouted out a warning. But his words were swallowed by the noise of the crowd.

  “Bad guy coming up on your right,” Nate said.

  “You have visual on me?” Quinn asked.

  “Yes. I’m not far behind him.”

  Quinn looked to his right and immediately spotted one of Tasha’s men.

  “Keep him away from me,” Quinn said. “I don’t have time.”

  “Check,” Nate said.

  The congressman was only ten feet away when someone tugged at Quinn’s arm. Quinn pulled back, ready to lash out at his new attacker, but it was Murray.

  “I...I lost him before,” Murray said. “I’m sorry. Do you still want me to talk to him?”

  Quinn grabbed Murray by the back of the shirt and started pushing him toward the congressman. “Get in there and get him on the ground! Now!”

  He gave Murray a powerful shove, sending him racing through the crowd.

  Quinn looked past Guerrero, in the direction Orlando said Tasha would be coming from.

  And there she was. Only five feet behind the congressman. She was reaching into the large purse that hung over her shoulder.

  Quinn threw the man who was standing in front of him to the side.

  “No!” he screamed as he rushed forward.

  Everyone looked up—Tasha, the congressman, his remaining bodyguard. They were all looking toward Quinn, so none of them saw Murray rushing up to the congressman. Without a word, Murray tackled Guerrero to the ground.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Guerrero shouted out in surprise. Then the crowd itself seemed to realize something bad was going on.

  Everyone began yelling and shoving, and trying to run. Some wanted to see what was happening, while others wanted to get away. No order. Only chaos.

  Guerrero’s bodyguard pulled at Murray, trying to get him off. But Murray was hanging on tight.

  Tasha had rushed forward, too, a gun now in her hand. She was bending down to get next to the congressman. The frenzy had actually played into her hands, covering her actions. Not only that, but Murray was holding the congressman still for her, un
intentionally aiding her efforts.

  Quinn had no time to get to his weapon. He took two quick steps, then dove at her.

  She saw him at the last second, and tried to get out of the way but couldn’t. He slammed into her right shoulder, and they both tumbled backward onto the ground.

  Quinn grabbed for the gun in her hand. He tried to twist it out of her grasp, but she held on tight, displaying a strength she had hidden when she had been with him last.

  She tried hitting him in the face, but he deflected the blow.

  They began struggling, each trying to get control of the other as they tumbled first one way, then another across the ground.

  Suddenly they knocked up against one of the permanent tables. Quinn angled Tasha’s arm up, hitting it into one of the chairs. But she wasn’t letting go of her gun.

  “Where is she?” Tasha demanded.

  Quinn hit her hand against the chair again.

  “Is she with you? Is she here?”

  She pushed against Quinn, rolling them both away from the table. As they did, her arm got caught momentarily by the support bar under the seat. Her fingers, already bloody from hitting the chair, could no longer hold on to the pistol. It clattered to the ground as they both rolled several feet away.

  They let go of each other and both dove for the gun. Quinn got his fingers on it first, but Tasha got there a second later and shoved at it, sending the weapon sliding across the floor under another table ten feet away.

  She sent an elbow into Quinn’s chest, rolling him onto his back, then jumped to her feet and began running for her weapon.

  Quinn quickly got to his feet, reaching for his own gun as he did.

  “Stop!” he yelled at her.

  Tasha looked over her shoulder and saw the gun in his hand.

  Instead of going for her weapon, she changed directions and jumped over the counter into one of the tiny restaurants.

  Quinn knew he should pursue, but first he turned back to the congressman.

  Murray was still on him, but Nate was there now, too. The bodyguard that had been his responsibility lay unconscious on the ground next to him.

  “Get them out of here,” Quinn said to Nate. “Take them back to the apartment.”

  “Got it,” Nate said.

  “What’s going on?” It was the congressman. He sounded both pissed and scared.

  “Go,” Quinn said to Nate.

  Quinn ran over to the restaurant Tasha had disappeared into. Even from beyond the counter, he could see the entire space. She wasn’t there.

  “Orlando,” he said, “where are you?”

  “I was following the wife,” she said. “Her bodyguard took her and the tour guide back to the car. Once he got them inside, he waited around for a few seconds, like he was hoping some of his friends would show up. But then they took off.”

  “Rendezvous back at the car,” Quinn said. “Nate’s taking the congressman and Murray to the apartment. Don’t wait for me. Get to the apartment. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Got it,” she said.

  Quinn figured Tasha must have climbed over the wall at the back of the stall into the restaurant on the next row over.

  There was another corridor between the stalls off to his left. He ran over, then through it to the next aisle.

  The intense crowds that had been filling the hawker center were gone. It was like a movie set, all the props in place, but the extras had yet to arrive. Only, he realized after a second, it wasn’t completely empty.

  Quinn saw about a half dozen pairs of eyes peeking over counters at several of the restaurants—shop owners afraid of being ripped off. There was no sign of Tasha, though.

  As Quinn ran over to one of the booths, the man who had been peeking from it slipped below the counter, trying to hide. Quinn leaned into the restaurant so the man would know he’d been found out.

  “No money, lah. Go now,” the man said.

  “The woman, did you see her?” Quinn asked.

  “Take food, but I have no money. All gone.”

  “I don’t want your money. There was a woman, Caucasian. She must have run through here a minute ago. Did you see her?”

  “No. I no see.”

  Quinn reached over and grabbed the man’s shirt.

  “That way. That way,” the man said, pointing down the aisle to Quinn’s right.

  Quinn let go and began running down the aisle.

  There was another seating area at the end of the row, and beyond it was the street. For a second, he wondered if she might have hidden in one of the restaurants he’d run past, but then he spotted her. She was sprinting across the street.

  He slipped his gun back into his bag but kept his hand on it as he ran out from under the food center roof. There were more people on the street, refugees from the food center, half heartedly hiding behind cars and each other. They eyed Quinn suspiciously as he emerged from the deserted center.

  “What the hell?” It was Nate’s voice over Quinn’s radio. “What are you doing? Hey!”

  Though the digital receiver didn’t pick up the full effect, Quinn heard the sound of a suppressor.

  “Nate?” he asked.

  There was no response.

  “Nate?”

  Ahead, Tasha dodged between two cars parked at the curb, then started running along the sidewalk. Quinn increased his speed.

  “Orlando, where are you?’

  “I’m heading for the car,” she said.

  “Nate’s not answering.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Be careful,” Quinn said.

  “Where are you?’

  Quinn cut through an opening onto the sidewalk. “Tasha’s just ahead. I can’t let her go.”

  “All right. You be careful, too.”

  There was another street up ahead. Tasha turned down it, moving momentarily out of sight.

  Quinn increased his speed, not wanting to lose her. But as he turned the corner something smacked him in the chest.

  He doubled over, the wind all but knocked out of him.

  As he rolled on his side, he saw Tasha standing a few feet away against the building, the foot that had kicked him back on the ground. Before he could do anything but suck in a breath, she came at him again, this time throwing a punch at his head. Quinn lifted his shoulder in defense, and the blow hit him in the back. But now he had an opening, and whipped his elbow into her side.

  She groaned in pain but swung the fist at him again.

  This time he was able to pull back just enough so she hit nothing but air.

  Before she could bring her arm back around, he pulled his gun out and pointed it at her.

  “Stop,” he said. “It’s done. You’re through. It’s over.”

  “Where is she?” Tasha asked.

  “I’m not going to let you hurt her,” Quinn said. “Your plan is done. You’re finished.”

  “I should have had you put in jail when I first met you,” Tasha said.

  Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t even try it,” he said. “Once the authorities get ahold of you, you’ll be the one rotting in jail.”

  “Don’t you get it?” she said. “I am the authorities!”

  Orlando’s voice came over his receiver. “Holy Christ. Quinn, you’ve got to get over here.”

  “What is it?”

  “Nate’s down. It’s bad.”

  “What about the congressman?”

  “There’s no one else here.”

  “Jenny?”

  “She’s gone, too. And Murray, and the car.”

  Quinn looked at Tasha, but before he could say anything, she said, “Where’s the congressman?”

  “You tell me. Because if he dies because your men took him, it’s going to be even worse for you.”

  “I’m not the one trying to kill him,” she said. “I’m the one trying to stop it.”

  “Bullshit,” Quinn said.

  A look of dawning realization spread on Tasha’s face. “You really think I
want to harm the congressman, don’t you? You think what you’ve been trying to do is stop them.”

  Quinn said nothing.

  “Don’t you see?” Tasha said. “I’m not the assassin. Jenny is.”

  CHAPTER

  QUINN GRABBED TASHA BY THE ARM AND LED HER

  half a block away where a cab was parked at the curb. He pulled open

  the driver’s door.

  “Out,” he said to the cabby, showing him his gun.

  There was no protest.

  Quinn shoved Tasha through the open door and told her to crawl across to the passenger seat. Once she was clear, he got in and started the car.

  “Orlando, what’s your position?” he said.

  “We’re over near where we parked the Mercedes.”

  “I’ve got a car, we’ll be there in a second.”

  “Hurry.”

  Quinn whipped the car around in a U-turn and for a moment headed away from the hawker center. It would be quicker and easier to get to Orlando if he avoided the streets in front of Maxwell. He kept a hand on his gun and had the barrel pointed in Tasha’s direction.

  “If she’s got the congressman, you’re right, it is over,” Tasha said.

  Quinn kept quiet.

  Before anyone else spoke, a voice came over Quinn’s receiver. “She’s right, you know.”

  Quinn held up a hand so Tasha wouldn’t say anything else. The voice was Jenny’s.

  “Steven had no idea. Not until the end.”

  “Where are you?” Quinn asked.

  “Sorry, that I won’t be telling you.”

  Tasha looked at Quinn, a question in her eyes. By way of answer, he moved the barrel of the gun a few inches to the side, so it was no longer pointed directly at her.

  “Do you have the congressman?”

  “Yes. And your friend Mr. Murray.”

  “There’s no reason to kill anyone now. You’re not going to be able to blame it on anyone else. We found the weapons cache at the Quayside Villas.”

  “Unfortunate, but that doesn’t change anything,” Jenny said. “The story will be spun the way we want it. That you can’t do anything about.”

  “By who? The LP?”

  She let out a short laugh.

  “The story you told me about the congressman’s wife, most of that was true, wasn’t it? Only you’re the killer.”