“You the one who told me he was dead,” Ne Win said. “I see your friend when he here, all right? He was not careful. He looked in wrong places, understand? I tried to tell him to forget, but he didn’t listen. Whatever happened to him, that is his business.”
“So he came to you.” “Everyone come to me if they need something.” “What did he need?” “Like you, a little gear.” “What else?” Ne Win smiled. “Like you,” he repeated, “a little information.” “You knew he was dead.” Ne Win said nothing. “Someone put him in a shipping container to die, then sent the
container to the States.” Ne Win’s face grew red. “You think I kill him? Markoff a client. I don’t kill clients. He bring me other business, too. He introduce you
to me, remember?”
“Of course I remember,” Quinn said.
“So? You trying to disrespect me?”
“I’m just trying to honor him by finding out what happened.”
Ne Win scoffed. “Don’t try bullshit me.”
“Not bullshit,” Quinn said.
Ne Win eyed Quinn, appraising him. “Okay. I believe you. Now you believe me. I had nothing to do with his death.”
“Do you know who did?”
Ne Win was silent for several seconds. He then looked past Quinn at his men and said something in Burmese. One of the men pulled out a piece of paper, wrote something on it, then handed it to the old man.
“Go find lunch,” Ne Win said to Quinn, then handed him the piece of paper. “You and your apprentice go here one hour. You pick up your order then.”
Quinn looked at the paper. On it was written Le Meridien Hotel, Georges Lounge.
When Quinn looked up again, Ne Win was already walking away with his bodyguards.
“He had something to do with your friend’s death,” Nate said. He, too, was watching Ne Win walk away.
“Absolutely,” Quinn said.
“He’s the one who sent the container, isn’t he?”
“Most likely.”
“So either he killed Markoff or he knows who did it?”
“He didn’t kill Markoff.”
“You believe him?”
Quinn nodded. “Yes.”
“I don’t know,” Nate said. “I don’t trust him. You should have pressed him more.”
“How?” Quinn asked. “Pulled out a gun and pointed it at his head?”
“I don’t know. Something.”
Ne Win had disappeared into the crowd on Orchard Road.
“You might not trust him,” Quinn said. “But I do.”
CHAPTER
TWO HOURS LATER, QUINN AND NATE WERE IN A CAB
on the way back to the Pan Pacific with a satchel full of gear from Ne Win when Quinn’s phone vibrated. He looked at the display: Orlando.
“Hey,” he said as he answered. “We should be there soon.”
“That might not be such a good idea,” Orlando said. “We’re not alone here anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
“I went downstairs to grab a newspaper and get a little fresh air,” she said. “As I was heading back up, I passed by the reception desk. Two of the men you took pictures of in Houston were there.”
That stopped Quinn.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes. They were checking in.”
“Hold on,” he said. He pulled the phone away from his ear, then leaned forward toward the cabby. “Change of plans. Esplanade Park, please.”
The driver grunted in acknowledgment. At the next intersection, the cab veered off its previous course and headed east toward Esplanade Park.
Quinn brought the phone back up to his ear. “We need to get out of the hotel,” he said.
“Ah, yeah,” she said. “That was kind of the point of my call.”
“Can you pack up our stuff?”
“Already done.”
Quinn smiled despite the situation. “Great. Hold tight. I’ll call you back soon.”
“Wait,” Orlando said. “That wasn’t the only thing I needed to tell you. Jenny sent another message.”
“She’s here?”
“I don’t know. She wants you to call her.” There was a pause. “In eighteen minutes.”
Quinn had Nate carry the leather messenger bag with the gear inside as they walked into Esplanade Park. Located at the northwest corner of Marina Bay, the green public space provided a beautiful view of downtown across the water. A main path went west to east through the entire park and continued into the Marina Promenade. It was a favorite of bikers and joggers and those just out for a peaceful stroll. Quinn and Nate walked along the path for a few minutes until they found an empty bench.
Quinn checked his watch. It was three minutes until 4 p.m., the appointed time for the call.
“You realize if the cops catch me with this bag, I could go to jail,” Nate said.
“This is Singapore,” Quinn told him. “You wouldn’t just go to jail. You’d be hanged within months.”
The thought didn’t seem to sit too well with Nate. “Maybe you should carry it.”
“I’m carrying this,” Quinn said, holding up his cell phone.
At exactly 4 p.m., he dialed Jenny’s number again.
Two rings this time.
“Quinn?”
“Yes. Where are you?”
“I’ll be there tonight. Meet me at the Far East Square. Do you
know it?” “Uh-huh,” Quinn said. It was an outdoor mall in Chinatown. “The Water Gate entrance. Eight-thirty.” “All right. Is there—” He stopped. Apparently, it was becoming
everyone’s habit to hang up on him.
Ne Win looked surprised as Quinn and Nate entered the dress shop. But when he noticed the familiar leather bag hanging from Nate’s shoulder, his demeanor changed from surprised to angry.
“What are you doing here?” he whispered to Quinn. “I need something,” Quinn said. “I already gave you something.” The old man’s eyes couldn’t help
but glance at the bag. “I need a place to stay.” Ne Win held a finger to his lips. He then grabbed Quinn by the
arm and ushered him out of the shop, nodding at Nate to follow. He took them down the hallway toward the back of the building. As they passed one of the small shops, Ne Win called out to a woman inside, then pointed back toward his own store.
“Your daughter?” Quinn asked. “None of your business,” Ne Win said. Stuck between two of the shops at the end of the hall was a metal
door painted the same color as the wall. Using a key from his pocket, Ne Win unlocked it. Beyond was a service corridor, about fifty feet in length, with another door at the far end. The walls were scuffed from being banged against for years.
Ne Win kept moving forward, his pace fast. At the end of the hall, he paused only long enough to pull the door open. He passed through without waiting to see if Quinn and Nate were still following.
The door led outside to a short staircase that descended to a makeshift loading dock at the back of the building. There were trash bins off to the left and several vans parked across the back. Ne Win was already halfway down the staircase. When he reached the bottom, he went from van to van, trying all the doors. He stopped when he finally
found one that was open, then climbed inside.
He motioned for Quinn and Nate to join him.
“I apologize,” Quinn said once they were all enclosed within the van’s cargo area.
“You don’t bring that stuff to my shop,” Ne Win said. “Police find you in there with that, cause me big trouble.”
“Thought you said the police weren’t a problem for you,” Nate said.
“Not problem if I don’t have guns in my shop. What you thinking?”
“Things have changed. I need a place to stay. Room enough for several people.”
“I don’t run hotel.”
“No, but you can find me something, can’t you?” Quinn said. “I’d prefer an apartment. Something with a private entrance.”
“You want maid and butler service, too?”
“Just the apartment.”
Ne Win’s eyes narrowed. “You going to be a problem for me. I can tell.”
“Maybe,” Quinn said.
Ne Win found them a deluxe “service” apartment in a building frequented by ex-pats. It was across the river, but less than a half-mile from the Quayside Villas. In Singapore, everything was close.
Quinn called Orlando and gave her the address.
“It’s going to look kind of odd for me to walk out alone with all these bags,” she said.
“I’ll send Nate to help.”
A pause. “What are you going to do?”
“Jenny said she’d be here in a few hours. We’ve set up a meet.” There was no need to add he wanted to recon the location first. She’d understand that.
“You shouldn’t go alone,” she said.
“Once you get set up at the apartment, send Nate back to help me.”
“What time are you meeting her?”
“Eight-thirty,” he said, then told her where.
He got the sense she wasn’t happy with the arrangement. But the only thing she said was, “Be careful.”
Four main entrances surrounded the Far East Square, each assigned an element of the earth to “guard” the complex—water, fire, metal, and wood. Quinn checked out the rendezvous point first.
A large wooden arch framed the entrance. Mounted at the top of the arch was a round sign. The words Far East Square were wrapped around a symbolic lion outlined in yellow. Below this hung a smaller sign: Water Gate.
A stone path led beneath the arch past four pillars of water, two on either side. The pillars were cylindrical Plexiglas tubes, each about a foot and a half in diameter, with bubbling water enclosed inside. The effect was mesmerizing.
The mall buildings were all painted a uniform golden yellow and were trimmed in white and accented by dark red wooden shutters on the windows. There were clothing stores and jewelry shops and gift stores and restaurants. There were also carts filled with wares set at strategic points along the walkway.
The crowd, like Singapore itself, was a mix of Asians and Caucasians. There were the obvious unrefined tourists with their cameras and loud shirts and constant excitement over things out of their norm. And the equally obvious stealth tourist, acting the part of the uninterested local, but blowing it by acting more uninterested than any local ever would. Then there were the locals themselves, those who worked at the mall, those who were doing a little shopping, and those who’d stopped by for a quick meal.
Quinn noticed them all, and considered each a potential adversary until he felt confident enough to mark them off his list. By a few minutes after eight, he’d eliminated all but a handful as potential problems, and even those he felt were very unlikely to be trouble.
He knew better than to wait right at the gate, and instead took up position inside the mall, sitting at a table outside a small restaurant.
On the spare chair, he put the leather bag Nate had been carrying earlier, then ordered a coffee from the waitress and began the waiting. His view of the gate was partially obscured by the shoppers, but he could see well enough.
After fifteen minutes, he glanced at his watch: 8:21. Where the hell was Nate?
Three more minutes passed before his phone rang. Quinn answered without looking at the ID.
“You’re late,” he said.
“Jonathan?” It was Tasha.
“I don’t have time to talk right now.”
“At least tell me if you’ve found her?” she asked, her voice hopeful.
He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Yes.”
“Is she with you now?” Tasha sounded surprised.
“Not yet. Soon.”
“Thank God. Please call me once she’s with you. Let me talk to her.”
“If there’s time,” he said. There was a beep in his ear telling him another call was coming through. “I have to go.”
He disconnected Tasha, then looked at the display before answering the other call. Orlando.
“Where’s Nate?” he said once he activated the call.
“Not coming,” she said.
“What?”
“I left him at the apartment.”
“You left...Wait. Are you here?”
“I’m outside,” she said. “Across the street from Water Gate.”
The thought of her nearby ready to help was more than just comforting. “I’m inside, sitting at—”
“I know where you are,” she said.
Of course she did, Quinn thought. That’s why he liked to work with her. She was almost as good as he was. She, of course, would probably say she was better.
“Any sign of Jenny?” he asked.
“No. At least I don’t think so,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the picture you showed me wasn’t exactly in the best of conditions, was it?”
They fell into several seconds of silence. Quinn scanned everyone in view while acting like he was listening to something interesting. He checked the time again: 8:29.
“We’ve got company,” Orlando said.
“She’s here?”
“No. It’s one of your Texas friends.”
Quinn tensed. “Alone?”
Silence. Then, “I count six.”
Jenny was walking right into a trap. It didn’t matter at the moment how the others had figured out where she was going to be, it just mattered that unless Quinn did something quick, Jenny’s freedom was about to be ripped away.
He pushed himself up from his chair and threw some money on the table. “What are they doing?” he said into the phone.
“They got out of two taxis a half block down from the gate. One of them seems to be in charge. He’s signaling two men to go to the left to a mall entrance down the street. Three others are walking toward the gate.”
Quinn was on the move now, heading toward the gate from the inside. “And the one calling the shots?”
“He’s also heading toward the gate, but is hanging back behind his men.”
“Abort and distract,” Quinn said.
“Got it.”
The line went dead.
There was a group of people just inside the gate. They were all Caucasian and looked to be traveling together. Some type of tour group, Quinn guessed. A couple dozen strong.
He swung the leather bag around and slipped his hand inside. He had yet to attach suppressors to any of the pistols, but that was fine for what he needed to do now. He grabbed the first gun his hand touched, then slipped his other hand into the bag, checking to make sure there was a cartridge in the chamber.
Once satisfied, he moved the end of the barrel so that it was just peeking out from under the top flap, and aimed it low at one of the planters along the walkway. He took a calming breath, then pulled the trigger.
The sound of the shot was magnified by the enclosed space of the mall, rolling over all other noise like a sudden avalanche.
For two seconds, the whole world stopped. Silence, no movement. Everyone frozen in place. Everyone but Quinn.
As soon as he pulled the trigger, he began running toward the gate.
“Gun!” he yelled, pointing back the way he’d come.
His voice seemed to break the collective trance. People began screaming, some running with Quinn, some running in the opposite direction.
“Gun!” he yelled again as he neared the group at the gate. Behind him, he heard others taking up the call.
The group of tourists seemed to move en masse, rushing past the pillars of water and through the wooden arch like a stampede. They were joined by more of the terrified shoppers, all wanting nothing more than to get away.
Quinn blended into the back of the group, his head moving side to side, taking in everything and everyone. There were three men, large and dressed in suits, pushing against the tide as they tried to get into the mall. But the swell of humanity exiting
through the gate was too much. The more they tried to force their way through, the less progress they made. Quinn saw bulges under each of their jackets. Weapons, no question about it. These had to be the men Orlando had seen.
As Quinn passed under the arch, he looked to the right, down the street, trying to spot the leader. The crowd was thinner in that direction, so it only took a moment for Quinn to pick him out.
But he not only picked him out, he recognized him. He was the last man out of the house in Houston, the blond guy.
Traffic on the street had come to a standstill as people flooded onto the road, becoming obstacles no one seemed interested in hitting. As Quinn watched, Blondie ran up to a taxi, pulled open one of the doors, then jumped up onto the threshold so that he could look over the crowd.
Suddenly he pointed toward the far side of the madness, off to Quinn’s left. Quinn whipped his head around. As he did he noticed the suits also following their boss’s gesture.
People moved all around Quinn, creating an ever-changing landscape. At first, he couldn’t figure out what it was that drew the man’s attention. Then the crowd cleared for a split second.
About fifty feet down the street, a woman was running away from the scene. Caucasian, thin, with very short hair. It wasn’t until she glanced back over her shoulder that Quinn recognized her.
Jenny.
She had dropped at least twenty pounds since he’d last seen her, pounds she didn’t need to lose. And her shoulder-length brown hair had been chopped short enough so that in the right circumstances, and with the right clothing, she might even be able to pass for a boy. She’d also darkened it until it was almost black.
It was the look of someone on the run, doing what they could to survive.
Quinn began pushing people out of his way as he changed directions. Two of the other men were ahead of him, muscling their way through the crowd. But Jenny was moving faster than all of them, helped by the fact she was in an area momentarily less congested.
Someone grabbed Quinn’s arm. He looked over his shoulder. It was the third suit. Only he seemed to just be trying to pass by, and didn’t realize who Quinn was.
As the man came abreast, Quinn slammed his elbow into his solar plexus.
The man doubled over in pain and surprise, then fell to the ground as several people plowed into him as they tried to flee.
The Deceived Page 23
