From around the side of the building came the sound of running footsteps. Quinn searched the sentry's body quickly for the dead man's gun. He found a Glock with its own suppressor in the man's right hand. Quinn grabbed the gun, then watched the side of the building intently.
Seconds later another man came around the corner. Quinn fired the Glock so that the bullet would come close to the new man but not hit him.
The man retreated quickly back around the corner, then called out, 'Rolf, it's me!'
Quinn let off another shot, and the man returned fire. That was what Quinn was waiting for. He let off one more shot, then dropped the Glock near the dead man's hand. He sprinted back along the wall until he was a safe distance away, hidden in the shadows.
The second guard fired his gun two more times, then waited. When there was no return fire, the guard called out again. 'Rolf?'
A second voice joined the first. 'What is it?'
'Rolf just shot at me.'
'Are you sure?' the second voice asked.
Quinn didn't wait to hear the rest. Soon enough they would discover that Rolf was dead, and if Quinn was right, they'd assume that Rolf was the one who had shot first. It was a trick Durrie had taught Quinn, but this was the first time he'd ever used it.
The activity surrounding the dead guard created a large, temporary hole in the building's security. Quinn saw no one else as he made his escape.
Chapter 25
Having little choice, Quinn knew he'd have to return to Sophie's for one more night. On the way, he stopped once more in Ku'damm.
In the low light of the stairwell, he almost didn't see it. It didn't help that he had been prepping himself to find nothing. A mind often sees what it expects. When he did see it, he had to rub his finger over it to be sure that it was really there.
A gray square, affixed to the handrail next to his.
Orlando.
She was alive, and she was free. Quinn had to force himself to breathe again. Carefully he removed another purple square from his bag and placed it halfway on top of the gray one. If all went according to plan, they would meet up at 10:00 a.m. the next morning.
'When?' Sophie asked. 'In the morning,' Quinn said. He expected her to ask him why he was leaving or where he was going, or even what he'd been thinking coming back to her in the first place. But she didn't.
'Unless you want me to leave now.'
A sly smile crossed her face. 'What I want?' she said. She began to grind her hips against him. 'What I want is more of this.'
Quinn awoke early again the next morning, collected his things, and left before Sophie stirred. Even though he had told her he might return, coming back for a second night had been taking a big chance. He told himself it would be the last time, though. He couldn't tempt fate for a third night.
He took a taxi to Potsdamer Platz, where he was able to buy a breakfast sandwich in the lower level of the mall. Upstairs were the typical stores one would expect to find. Quinn first located a Saturn store, a franchise specializing in electronics, and purchased a charging unit for his phone. Next he went down one level and found a shop where he picked up a few more shirts before venturing back outside.
He spent thirty minutes making sure he wasn't being watched, then made his way into the S-bahn station and down to the northbound S2 platform. He almost expected to find her standing there on the platform when he arrived. But though there were over a dozen people waiting for the next train, Orlando wasn't one of them.
Quinn took up a position at one end near an exit tunnel. He checked his watch. It was 10:05 a.m.
She was late. Three minutes later a new train arrived. As the doors opened, a group of elementary-age children and their outnumbered adult supervisors disembarked. The noise level on the platform increased exponentially.
Quinn scanned the handful of other passengers who also got off. Still no Orlando. There were a few chaotic moments as arriving passengers headed for the exit and departing passengers made their way onto the train. Then suddenly the train was gone, and the platform was quiet and empty.
No, not completely empty, Quinn noted. Someone was leaning against the wall at the far end. By the way the person stood, Quinn immediately thought female, though she was bundled up in a way that made it difficult to confirm.
She was looking in Quinn's direction, so he began walking toward her. As he neared he noticed a red and black checkered scarf wrapped around her face in a way that left only her eyes exposed. Her Asian eyes.
If he hadn't been so well trained, he would have broken into a large smile of relief. Instead he made no indication that he had recognized her. He kept walking, heading toward a staircase that would take him back up to ground level, without giving her a second glance.
Even with the training, it took all of his willpower not to turn and make sure she was following him. But the Berlin train system was covered by cameras, and while it was highly unlikely Borko would have the resources to check them all, it was safer to assume he did. The last thing Quinn wanted was for Borko to know they'd found each other.
Once he was outside, he allowed himself to be consumed by the morning crowd. A moment later, she was beside him.
'Nate?' she asked, her voice partially muffled by the scarf across her mouth.
'No sign yet,' Quinn said. 'Are you okay?'
'A couple scrapes. Nothing serious.'
They walked past a mother pushing her baby in a stroller, then an elderly couple weighed down with plastic shopping bags.
'What took you so long to check in?' Quinn asked.
'Not sure you've noticed this, but I don't exactly blend into the crowd here,' she said. 'I couldn't get there the night we were blown. So I found someplace safe and stayed there. No way I was going to show my face in the daytime, so yesterday was out. At least until after dark. That's when I found out you were still alive.'
'It's daytime now.'
'Yeah, I'm not too happy about being out here. Come on,' she said. 'I've got us a room at the Mandola Suites.'
'What?' Quinn stopped, and looked straight at her for the first time. 'Hotels are the first place Borko will look.'
'We have to stay someplace, don't we?' she asked. 'What if someone already made you when you checked in?'
She shook her head. 'No chance. I did it all by phone. Had a messenger pick up the key and bring it to me at Friedrichstrasse Station. As far as he knew, I was just someone's assistant.Yours, I guess.' She reached into her pocket and pulled out an electronic keycard.
As far as hotels went, the Mandola Suites was an excellent choice, especially given their situation. It had been designed with the long-term guest in mind. There were several private entrances, which meant guests never had to pass through the lobby. Each room was also equipped with a kitchen. And, best yet, it was right there in Potsdamer Platz. Their room was on the fifth floor, and had a view of Leipziger Strasse. Unfortunately, Orlando had only been able to secure a one-bedroom suite, so Quinn would have to camp out on the couch.
As they shed themselves of their winter cover, Quinn noticed a bruise near Orlando's ear, high on her cheek.
'Ashtray,' she said after he pointed it out.
'You fell on it, or it fell on you?'
'The guy who threw it was aiming for the back of my head, but I turned at the last moment.' Quinn stared at her, waiting for more. Orlando sat down on the couch. 'They must have
keyed into our signal somehow. They knew where you were. From that they must have got a fix on me. Probably surprised the hell out of them I was right next door to where you were staying.'
'Then why didn't they get you?' Quinn asked.
'When you were in the sphere and our signal got jammed, I knew I only had a few seconds,' she said. 'I grabbed my gun, got behind the couch, and aimed for the door. I think their timing must have been a little off. They probably wanted to cut our communication and break in at the same moment.' She shrugged. 'It's how I would have planned it.'
Quinn nodded in agre
ement. It's how he would have planned it, too.
'There were three of them,' she went on. 'I got the first one as he came in. The second as he ran toward the bedroom. It was the last who gave me the most problems.'
'He was the one with the ashtray?'
She nodded. 'But he won't be throwing anything else soon. After that, I didn't want to wait to see if anyone else was coming, so I grabbed what I could and got out of there.' She nodded at him. 'Your turn.'
Quinn told her about his escape from the sphere, his conversation with Duke, and his subsequent return to the sphere the previous night.
'So are you intentionally trying to make me look like a slacker?' she asked.
'I wasn't exactly going to point it out.'
'Your sensitivity is touching,' she said. 'What about Nate?'
Quinn's mouth tensed. 'He should have checked in by now.' 'He's not going to.' 'I know.' Orlando looked at him for a moment. 'We'll find
him,' she said. Quinn nodded, but said nothing. He only hoped his apprentice was still alive when they did.
He thought for a moment, then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. 'I think it's time I had a real talk with Peter.'
'Yeah. Have fun with that.' She got up and walked into the bedroom.
As Quinn turned on his phone and dialed Peter's number, he could hear the shower being turned on in the other room.
A moment later, Misty answered. 'It's Quinn,'
he said. Silence on the other end. 'Misty?' he asked. 'Sorry,' she said, sounding shaken. 'It's just. . .
we heard you were dead.' 'When was this supposed to have happened?' 'Two nights ago,' she said. 'In Berlin.' 'I don't feel dead.' 'Thank God for that. I assume you want to speak
to Peter.' 'Please.' Within seconds Peter was on the line. 'Holy
Christ, Quinn. What the hell's going on?' 'You tell me.' 'Borko's bragging that he took you and your
whole team out. He seems to know you were
working for me.' 'Really? Tell me, who are you working for, Peter?' 'What's that supposed to mean?' 'The job with Duke was a setup,' Quinn said.
'Turns out he was in deep with Borko. I know. Shocking, isn't it?' he said, his voice flat. 'But you want to hear something even more interesting? He told me Borko was responsible for the disruption. And that he'd had inside help. You're the one who really wanted me to work with Duke. You begged me. Now it turns out Duke was working for Borko.
And Borko was the one who took out the Office. See where I'm going with this?'
'Fuck you. Fuck you for even thinking what you're thinking,' Peter said. 'You're saying I was in on something that killed several close friends of mine?You think I would have done that?' He paused. 'Fuck you.'
'You're the one who wanted me here.'
'I had nothing to do with what happened. As far as I knew, Duke was just helping us out. How was I supposed to know otherwise? I can't even leave my goddamn office. And I've got no one out there but you.'
Quinn paused. As much as it looked like Peter was involved, it just didn't seem right. He'd known Peter for a long time, and despite the man's faults, the head of the Office had never turned on one of his assets. So Quinn was inclined to believe him. But that didn't mean he'd make it easy for Peter. 'If it wasn't you, then who was it? Maybe you need to take a hard look at your employee situation. How's morale?'
'Go to hell,' Peter said. 'Everyone's clean here.'
'How can you know that?'
'I just do. All right?'
'If you say so.'
'What's your situation?' Peter asked.
Quinn took a breath. 'Nate's missing.'
'You think he's dead?'
Quinn hesitated, then said, 'No. I think they've got him.' 'Using him as insurance?' 'That would be my guess.'
'They get anyone else?' Peter asked.
'No.'
'Who else are you working with?'
'That is not something you need to know.'
'I'm just trying to help.'
'Really?' Quinn said. 'That's good to hear, because I need some information.' 'What kind of information?' 'Anything relevant. Taggert. Jills.' Quinn paused.
'The Office's involvement. You've got to tell me everything.'
'What's that have to do with anything?'
"The disruption and the job in Colorado are tied together,' Quinn said. 'Come on. You've got to realize that.'
'I don't know what's going on.'
'Don't fuck with me, Peter. I've heard too many I-don't-knows lately. Tell me what's going on.' 'There's nothing to tell,' Peter said. Quinn clenched his teeth. 'You're not doing a
lot to win my trust.' 'Do you know for sure Borko was behind the disruption?'
'I'm sure enough,' Quinn said. 'His operation here leads me to believe he's tied into Taggert, too. Peter, we're wasting time.'
'I can't tell you.' Quinn took a deep breath. 'Let me throw another name at you,' Quinn said. 'Dahl.'
'Dahl?' Peter was obviously surprised. 'Where did you hear that? Did Gibson say something to you?'
Quinn paused. 'Why would Gibson have said anything?'
It was Peter's turn to go silent. When he finally did speak, his voice was laced with barely controlled anger. 'At each . . . incident of the disruption, there was a message. We didn't realize there was a pattern until yesterday. Each message was the same. A white business card stuffed into the victim's throat, far enough back so they couldn't be found without an autopsy.'
'You did autopsies?' Quinn asked. That wouldn't have been procedure. The cause of death would have been pretty obvious.
'We didn't,' Peter replied. 'But the local authorities got to one of our casualties before we could. Their M.E. found the card. Once we knew about it, we went back and checked the others.'
'What was the message?'
'It was only a single word. "Dahl." The son of a bitch wanted us to know who did it.'
'Gibson didn't have a card,' Quinn said.
'Maybe he got rid of it before you got him.'
'Not a chance.' It bothered Quinn that the attack on him deviated from the others in this way. Duke's words came back to him: You were a special request. 'Is he somebody you crossed before?'
'I . . . don't know.' Peter sounded truly stumped. 'He's been around awhile, but as far as I can determine, we've never worked with him.' A pause. 'But I want him now. Find him and I'll give you triple bonus.'
'Then I need your help.'
Quinn could hear Peter exhale on the other side of the line. 'Okay. But I need to check something out first,' Peter said.
'Are you kidding?' 'I'll get back to you.' Before Quinn could say anything else, the line
went dead.
As soon as Orlando emerged from the bedroom, Quinn said, 'I want to contact your friend. See if he's found anything out yet.'
Her hair was damp and she was wearing one of the white robes the Mandola provided. 'The Mole? I don't have his number. He changes it every day.'
'Then how do you get ahold of him?' 'E-mail first, then he sends me the number.' 'Okay. We'll find a computer.' She sighed wearily. As she turned to walk back
into the bedroom, she said, 'Okay.' 'Wait,' Quinn told her. 'How much did you sleep
last night?' She looked back at him. 'Enough.' 'How much?' 'Maybe an hour.' 'Curled up in a ball in some doorway?' 'Something like that.' 'You stay here. I'll contact him,' Quinn said. 'He may not talk to you.' 'I'll be very persuasive. What's the e-mail
address?'
She gave it to him. 'You'll need the code, too. If he actually answers your message, you won't be able to understand anything without it.'
Quinn found an Internet cafe on Ku'damm called Easy Everything. He paid in advance for an hour of time, then sat down at one of the machines in the back of the store, where there would be less chance of someone looking over his shoulder.
He logged on to the computer and used its browser to access one of the many services that provided free e-mail addresses. It took him less than three mi
nutes to sign up for a new identity. Composing the short message to the Mole took longer.
You're doing an appraisal for me. A bracelet I picked up in Colorado. 0 said I should contact you directly about authenticity. Can we talk?
JQ.
He clicked on Send. Now it was just a matter of waiting. While leaving the window with the mailbox open, Quinn brought up a new window to access the website of a printing firm based in Chelsea, Massachusetts. Using a back door he'd secretly placed on their server, he routed himself to a paper supply company in Baltimore, Maryland, and from there into the computers at the Government Services Administration, the GSA, in Washington, D.C. Now it was a simple matter of skipping over to the FBI's system, using channels Orlando had set up long ago.
Once he was in, Quinn spent thirty minutes going over the list of potential missing persons that could be Taggert. He was even able to cross half of them off his list.
Before he went further, Quinn opened another window, and used it to access MapQuest for the U.S. He typed 'Campobello, Nevada' in the appropriate field, then hit Return. He was greeted with a map for Campobello, South Carolina. He tried again, but got the same results.
He switched from Mapquest to Google. For his next task, a simple search engine would be enough. He typed 'Campobello, Nevada' into the subject line, then clicked on Search.
Within seconds, he was presented with a list of over ten thousand hits, but none of them were for a Campobello, Nevada. The hits had keyed in on either the word 'Campobello' or the word 'Nevada' but not both. He scrolled through the first couple of pages. In Italy there was a city named Campobello di Mazara on the island of Pantelleria. Italy also produced a product line called Campobello Riserva Olive Oil & Balsamic Vinegar. Probably from the same region.
In Canada there was a Campobello Island, where Franklin Roosevelt had had a summer retreat. There was a Campobello's Pizzeria in St. Louis, and a Campobello Lodge at the Bar-N-Ranch in West Yellowstone. But no Campobello, Nevada.
Quinn rolled his shoulders back, stretching. He moved his head from side to side and was greeted with a loud pop as his upper vertebrae realigned.
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