Since Campobello didn't seem to be getting him anywhere, he decided to check if he'd received any e-mail yet. He brought the window forward and clicked the Refresh button.
There was one message. He clicked on the link to open it.
501587331861xc2
All right, Quinn thought.
He went to a park nearby. The sun was shining, and the temperatures had risen a bit. But it was still cold, so there were few other people about.
Quinn pulled his phone out of his pocket. He used the code Orlando had given him to extract a phone number from the Mole's message, then punched the number into his phone. The other end rang once before someone picked up. There was no greeting, just silence broken by the faint sound of breathing.
'This is Quinn.'
'How do I . . . know?' The voice was flat, electronic, and seemed to pause unnaturally at odd moments. Quinn guessed that it was being run through some sort of digital filter to disguise the speaker's identity.
'You don't,' Quinn answered truthfully. 'How do I know you are who I think you are?'
'You don't.'
Quinn said, 'Have you figured out what was on the slide in the bracelet?' There was a long silence. 'Like I said before, how do . . . I know you are . . . really Quinn?' 'You don't, dammit. You're going to have to trust me.'
'Trust,' the voice said, 'is not something . . . I do.'
'You trust Orlando, and she trusted me enough to tell me how to get in touch with you.'
'Perhaps you got it out of. . . her through . . . other means.' 'Oh for God's sake,' Quinn said. 'Either you believe me or you don't.'
'Where is she?'
'Safe.'
'You've . . . seen her recently?'
'About an hour ago.'
More silence. 'There was word she . . . was dead.'
'There was word I was dead, too.'
'So you've heard.'
'Can we get on to why I called?'
There was movement on the other side of the phone. The Mole undoubtedly shifting position.
'The slide was . . . very damaged . . . it . . . is taking us some . . . time . . . maybe in a . . . few days . . . I'll e-mail you . . . when to call me.'
'Wait,' Quinn said, sensing the Mole was about to hang up. 'What about the inscription on the bracelet?'
'It also . . . is providing a challenge.'
'So you don't have anything yet?'
'Not. . . yet.'
Quinn had been hoping for a little news, something that would at least put them on the right track. 'Okay,' Quinn said. 'I have another request.'
'What,' the voice said, 'do you want?'
Quinn told him.
Chapter 26
Somewhere an alarm was ringing, not a bedside alarm, but something more robust. More urgent. Quinn opened his eyes. It took him a moment to reorient himself. The bed he was lying on was harder and narrower than he was used to. And he was on his side; that wasn't normal. Then he remembered. He wasn't on a bed at all. He was sleeping on the couch in the suite at the Mandola.
He lifted his head and glanced at the digital clock sitting on the end table: 3:43 a.m.
'What's that noise?'
Quinn looked toward the voice. Orlando was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, an oversized T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants serving as her pajamas.
Quinn sat up, focusing his attention on the alarm. It wasn't coming from inside the hotel room, but rather from the hallway beyond.
'Fire alarm,' he said, suddenly alert.
He pushed himself off the couch and walked quickly toward the front door. As he did so, he sniffed the air, trying to detect any smoke. The air seemed as fresh as it had been when he'd gone to sleep. He placed a hand on the door.
'It's still cool,' he said.
In the hallway beyond, Quinn could hear people running and calling to each other over the drone of the alarm. It was the panicked sound of people who had been ripped from their sleep into a dangerous situation.
'This doesn't feel right,' Orlando said. 'Get dressed,' Quinn said. He'd had the same thought as she did. 'And grab your stuff.'
His own clothes were draped over a chair near the couch. He pulled them on in record time. He then stuffed his new purchases into his backpack, pulled on his coat, and threw his bag over his shoulders, cinching it tight.
Moments later Orlando, now dressed, rejoined him in the living room. Quinn crossed back to the door and listened again. The alarm was still clanging loudly, but the sounds of movement and voices in the hallway were gone. He hesitated. There were only two possibilities. Either the fire was real or it wasn't. And if it wasn't, that meant this was a flush. Quinn wouldn't even consider the possibility that it was just a false alarm. That would be too much of a coincidence. And believing in coincidences, like indulging in curiosity, was just one more thing on a long list of items that could get you killed.
So if this was a flush, that meant Borko suspected Quinn and Orlando were in the building but didn't know where. Fire or flush, it didn't matter. The solution was the same. Get out.
Quinn undid the deadbolt, then eased the door open. Only a crack at first, just enough to peer outside.
'It's empty,' he said.
He pulled off his backpack, unzipped the flap, and retrieved the Glock he'd taken off of Duke. 'Here,' he said, handing the gun to Orlando. She released the magazine and checked to see if it was loaded.
'I'm down a round,' she said.
Quinn pulled one of the spare mags for the SIG from his bag, and released one of the 9mm rounds. 'Catch,' he said as he tossed it to her. He returned the mag to his bag, then slipped
the bag over his shoulders. From his jacket pocket, he pulled out his own weapon.
Gun in hand, he gave Orlando a quick nod, then opened the door all the way and stepped into the hall. No smoke, no smell of smoke, no sign of fire at all. Only the two of them in the otherwise empty corridor.
There were two stairways, one at each end of the floor. Quinn had examined each soon after they'd arrived. The one to his left, the west stairwell, went from the top floor to ground level. The one to his right went all the way up to the roof.
Quinn motioned toward his right, then headed down the hallway; Orlando trailed right behind him, watching their back. Once inside the stairwell, they paused and listened for a moment. Someone else was on the stairs, maybe two people. They were several floors below, but Quinn couldn't tell whether they were going up or down.
Quinn and Orlando went up.
The entrance to the roof was located three floors above their room. It took them only forty-five seconds to get there. Again, they paused, listening.
Steps. Perhaps four floors below, definitely heading in their direction.
'Hotel security?' Orlando whispered.
'Maybe,' Quinn said. But they both knew they couldn't take that chance.
A sign on the door to the roof warned that an alarm would sound if it was opened. Quinn guessed it couldn't be any worse than the alarm that was still ringing throughout the hotel. He pushed the door open, and, as promised, a second alarm went off. But it was merely an electronic bleep that could barely be heard above the din of the fire alarm.
Once outside, Quinn pushed the door shut behind them and looked around. The roof was a large flat space with vents and pipes sticking up here and there.
To their right was Leipziger Strasse. Quinn hurried over to the edge of the roof and peered down. Three fire trucks were parked in front of the hotel. Not far away, dozens of people were huddled together, trying to stay warm. A moment later Orlando was at his side.
'Who are they?' she asked, pointing to a group of three men standing off to one side.
Unlike most of the guests, the men were fully dressed in warm, dark clothing. Two of them seemed to be watching the building. The third was talking on a cell phone. They could have been with the fire department or hotel security. But where were their uniforms?
'Whoever they are, I don't think they're looking for
a fire,' Quinn said. 'Come on.'
He stuffed his gun into the pocket of his jacket, then headed to the east end of the roof. Unfortunately, the Mandola was a stand-alone building and didn't butt up against any other structure. But the top floor of the hotel did boast luxury suites with open-air patios only ten feet below the roof. It was something.
'You first,' Quinn said.
Without a word, Orlando slipped over the edge and dropped to the patio below. As soon as she had scrambled out of the way, Quinn climbed up onto the elevated lip that surrounded the edge of the roof. He was just beginning to lower himself over the side when a voice called out, 'Stop!'
Quinn let go.
His feet landed on the tiled deck of one of the patios, barely missing a chaise lounge. His pursuer was seconds behind him and knew exactly where he'd come down.
'He saw me,' Quinn whispered.
But it was unnecessary. Orlando was already on the move. She quickly climbed over the dividing wall onto the patio of the suite to Quinn's left.
Quinn was closer to the one on the right. So he climbed onto the wall at the edge of the patio, then tight-roped his way onto the next deck. He got down and ducked out of sight just as a dark form appeared over the edge of the roof.
Quinn watched the form from his hiding place against the wall that separated the patios of the suites. The man was speaking into a phone.
'I don't know,' the man was saying in German. 'He went over the side, but I don't see him.'
Quinn's pursuer removed the phone from his ear and slipped it into a pocket. He leaned over the edge, peering intently at the patio beneath him. As he did so, a faint light from the street illuminated his features. Quinn placed him almost immediately. He was one of the two men in the photograph Orlando had taken, the photo of the men who'd put the information from Duke under Quinn's door at the Dorint.
Above Quinn, Borko's man swung his legs over the edge of the roof. He dropped down onto nearly the same spot where Quinn had landed. The wall that separated the patios ran diagonally from the retaining wall at the edge of the building up to the roof. Good for cover, but it also now blocked Quinn's view of the man.
Quinn checked to be sure the suppressor was firmly attached to his gun.
There was a patio chair only a few feet away. Quinn reached over and gave it a push, then pressed himself tightly against the dividing wall as the chair scraped loudly across the tile.
Almost instantly he heard the man's steps rushing toward the dividing wall. A moment later the man's head popped over the top. He was looking deep into the recesses of the patio. Quinn crouched directly below him, unseen, gun in hand.
The man jumped up on the retaining wall, his left hand grabbing the diagonal wall between the suites to keep his balance. To his right was a drop of nine stories.
'You can stop now,' Quinn said in German.
His pursuer started to whip around, a gun in his free hand. 'I'll kill you before you have a chance,' Quinn said.
The man stopped, still gripping the dividing wall with his left hand.
'Drop your gun,' Quinn ordered.
The man remained motionless.
'Do it,' Orlando said.
The man jerked his head in her direction, nearly losing his balance in the process. She was standing only a few feet away from him on the patio they had all jumped down on.
'Careful,' she said. 'It's a long way down.'
The man looked from her back to Quinn, a rueful smile on his face. 'So you found each other,' he said.
'The gun,' Quinn said.
The man opened his hand and allowed the pistol to fall over the edge of the building toward the sidewalk below. So this one wasn't one of Duke's incompetent recruits. He was obviously a pro.
'Am I staying up here?' the man asked coolly. 'Or may I come down?' 'You can relax right where you are,' Quinn told him. 'For the moment.' 'Now what? We just wait here until my friends arrive?' 'So they can kill us?' Quinn asked. 'I don't think so.' 'Why would we kill you? Those were not our instructions.' 'Right,' Orlando said.
'You don't believe me?'The man started to reach
into his pocket. 'Don't,' Quinn said. 'I'm just getting my phone.' Quinn thought about it for a moment. Then he
nodded. 'Slowly.'
'Bleiben Sie dran,' the man said into the phone. He
held the instrument out to Quinn. 'Toss it to me,' Quinn said. The man did so. 'What?' Quinn said into the telephone. 'Quinn?' There was no mistaking the voice. 'Hello, Borko.' 'I understand you are entertaining a friend of
mine,' Borko said. 'And I believe you have one of mine. Where
is he?' 'How should I know?' Quinn hit the end-call button and tossed the
phone back to the man, who just barely managed to keep it from flying past him over the side of the building. 'I'm not interested in playing games.'
Immediately the phone rang. Before Quinn could stop him, the man answered, then held the phone out again. 'He wants to talk.'
'Tell him to go to hell.'
The man repeated Quinn's instructions. He listened for a moment, nodding, then looked at Quinn. 'He says to tell you Nate is still alive.'
When Quinn had the phone again, he said, 'Make it fast.'
'What Gregory just told you is true,' Borko said. 'Your friend Nate is one of my guests.'
'Then let him go.'
'Turn yourself in to us, and I will.'
'Why don't I believe you?'
Borko didn't reply immediately. 'You know,' he said, breaking the silence. 'You are a very talented individual. You've really surprised me.'
'Sorry I haven't made myself an easier target.'
'That's good. You are a challenge. Too bad we aren't working together.' 'That will never happen.' 'Never?' 'Believe it,' Quinn said. 'Let Nate go.' 'Are you going to let Gregory bring you in?' 'You know I'm not.' 'Then I think I might keep him for a little while
longer. Until I'm sure you won't be a problem.' Borko paused. 'If you won't turn yourself in, my advice to you is to get out of town. Forget about your friend. If that happens, once I am finished here, he will be free to go where he wants.'
'And my advice to you is to go fuck yourself.'
There was silence. Then Borko said, 'If you need a little more motivation to leave us alone, you should have your girlfriend call home.'
'What the hell does that mean?' Quinn asked, unable to keep himself from glancing at Orlando. But there was no answer. Borko had already hung up.
As Quinn closed the phone, he thought he heard something on the roof above them. Footsteps, still distant but getting closer.
Gregory smiled at Quinn. 'We seem to have
company.'
Gregory's hand moved quickly to his side. Suddenly there was a knife in his hand. Quinn wasn't sure whose bullet hit Gregory first, his or Orlando's. With a look of surprise, Borko's man sailed backward over the edge, arcing upward first, then plummeting into the darkness below.
Chapter 27
They moved through the suite, down the main hallway, and into the west stairwell. There they took the stairs down to the first floor, one floor above ground level. Slipping into the corridor, Quinn spotted four firemen at the far end of the hallway. He motioned for Orlando to wait in the stairwell, then he strode toward the men.
'Who are you?' one of them called out in German, challenging him. They were all roughly the same size, within an inch or two of Quinn's own height, and fully outfitted in fire gear.
'What have you found?' Quinn said, sounding like it was his right to ask.
Another of the firemen spoke up. 'Nothing.'
'It could be a false alarm,' Quinn said. 'But we need to be certain, yes? Two of you come with me. The other two keep looking to make sure you haven't missed anyone.'
'Who are you?' the first one asked again.
'Criminal Investigations. Whoever pulled that alarm did it deliberately. I need to find him and find out why. I suggest we get moving.'
'Yes, sir. Absolutely,' the
first fireman said. 'I will stay with you.'
'So will I,' the man next to him said.
The other two moved off down the hallway. Quinn led the volunteers back to the west stairwell.
Quinn and Orlando discarded the firemen's gear behind the IMAX theater at Potsdamer Platz. The outfits would undoubtedly be found and reunited with their owners once the men explained how they got knocked out and stripped of their clothes.
The gear had provided Quinn and Orlando with the perfect cover. And even though the outfit Orlando wore was several sizes too big, no one had noticed a couple more firemen walking out of the Mandola.
They walked nearly a mile before Quinn felt it was safe to hail a taxi. 'Where can I take you?' the driver asked, once they had climbed into the back.
'Neukölln,' Quinn said.
They found a vacant store on Karl Marx Strasse, less than a mile from the water plant on Schandauer Strasse. Using his lock picks, Quinn was able to open the back door.
'No one's been here for a while,' Orlando said.
She was right, Quinn noted. There was a fine layer of dust over everything, disturbed only by the footprints they had created when they entered.
Quinn passed through the short hallway into the modest showroom that made up the front half of the store. It was occupied only by a few empty display cases and a cardboard box full of trash. The
windows were covered with white paint, preventing anyone outside from looking in. Suddenly a dim light came on from somewhere behind him.
'Did you do that?' Quinn called out.
'In here,' Orlando said from the back of the building.
Quinn retraced his steps and found her in a room off the hallway. There was a single low-wattage bulb glowing from a fixture in the ceiling. Orlando flipped a switch and the light went off. Another flip and it was back on.
'It's the only one that works,' she said.
The room they were in had once served as either a storage room or a large office. It was at least fifteen feet across and ten wide.
'We can set up in here,' she said. 'Get a few sleeping bags, maybe some air mattresses. Just like home.'
The Cleaner Page 21