"You are looking at a live shot along West Twenty-seventh Street near Broadway in New York City, where the tragic end of what looks like a kidnapping has been discovered."
The TV image split into two boxes. One continued to show the scene on the street, while the other contained a shot of one of the overnight anchors, a woman, her hair and makeup perfect. Her face was taut, unsmiling, in the universal news anchor look for "this is serious."
"I want to bring back CNN correspondent Daniel Costello, who has moved in as close as possible. He joins us via telephone."
The shot of the anchor was replaced by a still image of a man in his mid-thirties. Under the picture the name Daniel Costello was printed in bold type.
"Dan, as I understand it, the police have still not made any official statements."
"None so far, Connie," Costello said, his voice distorted by the phone line. "We've been told that a press briefing's been scheduled for ten a.m. Otherwise they're pretty much saying nothing."
"What about the identity of the victim?"
"Nothing has been released yet. What we do know is that the body of a man was found in the trunk of a car parked on West Twenty-seventh Street. Through other sources, we have also learned that the victim was a prominent public figure."
"But no name," the anchor said.
"No. There's been some speculation here, but nothing concrete."
"We've heard that the car in question was involved in some sort of incident earlier in the evening. Can you tell us what happened?"
"That's right, Connie. Apparently the NYPD had received a tip about the car several hours ago. Sometime after midnight, one of their patrol cars spotted the vehicle and began pursuit. During the chase the car was involved in an accident at the corner of West Thirty-third and Broadway, sending one man to the hospital. After the accident, the car continued for several blocks until the driver either could go no farther, or decided he would do better on foot. At that point, the police were in a full-scale search, so it wasn't long before the vehicle was discovered."
"And that's when they found the victim in the trunk," the anchor said.
"That's correct."
"Is there any word on suspects?"
"The driver is reported to be male, mid-thirties, with short brown hair. At this time, the police have no one in custody. I've heard from sources that they should have a more accurate description by the time of the briefing later this morning."
Peter switched the TV off.
"I told you to get someone there quick," Quinn said.
"We did. But the police were already there."
"Then you weren't quick enough."
Orlando was staring at Quinn. "They have a description of you," she said.
"That was pretty generic," he replied.
"It is now, but they obviously knew to look for us. Perhaps someone is feeding them a more accurate description right now."
Quinn remained silent for a moment, then looked at Peter. "You called me and warned me about the APB. How did the police know?"
"We're . . . not sure," Peter said.
"Who knew we were going in the building?"
"Only me and my team," Peter said, then looked toward the door where Cooper stood. "Sean and Ida." But Peter seemed to hesitate.
"Who else, Peter?"
"My client knew I was sending someone in, but he didn't know who."
"Who the hell is your client?"
"Someone who would have very much wanted this to stay quiet."
Nate cleared his throat, and everyone turned to him. Quinn could see his apprentice had something he wanted to say.
"What are you thinking?" Quinn asked.
"Isn't it possible that whoever killed the Deputy Director might have been keeping an eye on the building?" Nate asked. "It's probably the same guy who planted the explosives, don't you think? Maybe we were just being watched."
Quinn looked back at Peter. "You're sure your client wouldn't have leaked this?"
"Absolutely."
"Doesn't matter how they found out at the moment," Orlando said. "Pretty soon the whole city is going to be looking for you. We've got to get you out of town now."
She was right. The search for Deputy Director Jackson's supposed killer would go nationwide, but it would be most intense there in New York.
Quinn stood up. "We need a vehicle."
Peter hesitated, then looked at Cooper. "Get the stuff out of our car. They can take that."
"No," Quinn said. Cooper, who had already started for the door, stopped. "Not out of the garage. Something on a nearby street. Something generic."
There would be cameras in the garage of the Marriott Marquis, and maybe even security guards walking around who might take special notice of them. The less people who saw Quinn, the better.
Cooper looked at his boss, his eyebrows raised.
"Do it," Peter said.
With a single nod, Cooper left.
Everyone was silent for several moments.
"You knew the DDNI would be in there, didn't you?" Quinn asked.
"No. I didn't," Peter said, then paused. "There was the possibility, yes. But I really didn't expect to find him there. Especially not dead."
"Then what did you expect?"
Silence, nearly thirty seconds of it. Quinn began to think Peter wasn't going to answer him at all. Then, "I thought we might find a clue to where he'd been taken."
"What do you mean?"
Again, Peter hesitated. This time, though, the silence lasted only a moment.
"Let me show you something," he said.
He walked to the computer on the desk, pulled over the chair Quinn had vacated, then sat down. By the time Quinn, Orlando, and Nate had moved in behind him, he'd already minimized the surveillance images on the screen and replaced them with a spreadsheet. It was broken down into four columns. There were locations listed down the left-hand column, dates in the center two, and two- to four-digit numbers in the right.
"What is this?" Quinn asked.
"Inside the envelope you brought back from Ireland was a jump drive." A tiny flash memory card able to hold multiple gigs of data. "There were only four files on it. This was one of them."
"Looks like an itinerary," Orlando said.
"Yes," Peter said.
"How the hell does this tie into what happened tonight?" Quinn asked.
Peter glanced at Quinn. "The DDNI hired us a month ago for a special project. He'd been approached by a source claiming to have information about a potential terrorist operation."
"Jesus, Peter. Every source says they have information about a potential terrorist operation," Quinn said. "It's the in thing."
"That's why the DDNI hired us instead of using his resources at CIA," Peter said. "He wanted to keep it quiet. Our job was to coordinate meetings with Primus, then check out the info he handed over."
"I'm sorry. Who?"
"Primus. It's the code name for the DDNI's source," Peter said. "If it turned out the information was good, the DDNI would bring in his people at that point."
Peter's story made sense. Much of Washington's behind-the-scenes work these days was outsourced to private companies. In this post-9/11 world, there just wasn't enough manpower to handle everything. Even wars were outsourced to companies like Blackwater and Halliburton.
"Are you saying the meeting in Ireland was with the DDNI's source?" Nate asked. "Because if it was, he's dead. We all watched him get shot."
A year ago, Quinn would have given his apprentice a look that would have told Nate to keep quiet. For the most part, that wasn't necessary anymore. Nate's questions now were more often than not the same questions Quinn would have asked.
Peter shook his head. "The meeting concerned Primus, yes, but we never met with him directly. The men you saw killed were his gobetweens. Up until that point, the information Primus had been feeding us was pretty solid. Nothing big, just things meant to build trust. The package from Ireland was supposed to be the first about the spec
ific operation Primus had told the DDNI about." He nodded at the screen. "This itinerary is the movements of one of the terrorist agents."
"What have you learned from it?" Orlando asked.
"That this guy has made a lot of trips to a lot of different places. Mostly third world."
"Who is he?"
"We don't know that yet."
"Do you know what they're planning?" Quinn asked.
"No."
Before Quinn could say anything else, Peter held up a hand, stopping him.
"Primus was supposed to feed us the rest of the information over two additional meetings. The first was to take place two nights ago. And the last, next Thursday."
"Sounds like the one two nights ago didn't happen," Quinn said.
"After Ireland, Primus got scared. He sent a message canceling both upcoming meets. But we knew we needed the information. It seemed like he might actually be onto something. So the DDNI sent a message back using an emergency contact system we had in place. He was able to convince Primus to meet with him personally, one-on-one. Nobody liked the idea, but it seemed like the only thing we could do."
"You watched him, of course," Orlando said.
"We did the best we could. The meeting took place here in New York. Grand Central Terminal. That was Primus's suggestion."
Same type of location Quinn would have suggested in similar circumstances. A large, public facility with plenty of nooks and crannies for a quick, private chat.
"We lost the DDNI there. That was three days ago."
"Didn't he at least have a tracking bug on him?" Quinn asked.
"Of course he did," Peter snapped. "Sewn in the cuff of his pants. But it had been cut out and dropped in a trash can on Fifth Avenue."
"So your valuable source kidnapped him? Was he setting him up the whole time?"
Peter took a breath, then said, "We don't think he did it. Primus contacted us that night, wondering what the hell happened, why the DDNI hadn't shown up. He could have been just playing with us, but we don't think so. We think the same people who sent the assassin to Ireland are the ones who grabbed Deputy Director Jackson and killed him."
The room became still.
"How does it tie in to the building today?" Orlando asked.
Peter turned back to the computer and opened another document. "Primus sent us a list of locations in New York he thought might be of interest."
The displayed list had at least two dozen places on it. Quinn spotted the address of the abandoned apartment building a little more than halfway down.
"How did he come up with this?" Quinn asked.
"We don't know."
"Peter, for God's sake, you still trust this guy? It sounds to me like he was in on it."
"We're convinced otherwise," Peter said. "Our priority now is to get the rest of the information from him so we can judge if we have a credible threat on our hands or not."
"The DDNI is dead," Quinn said. "You have a credible threat, all right. You've been talking to him." He paused. "And, you know what? Right now, shouldn't your number one priority be getting me out of trouble?"
"I have a question," Nate said.
They all turned to him.
"Am I the only one wondering why Peter is telling us all this? I mean, no offense or anything, but usually you don't tell us anything. Am I wrong?"
Quinn could feel his gut clench. He would have noticed, too, if the evening's events hadn't pissed him off so much. He had come into Peter's room expecting to get answers, and answers he got. But now he realized why.
Peter must have seen it in Quinn's eyes. "Number three," he said.
"No," Quinn said.
"Are you going back on the deal? No questions. You're the one who offered that condition. That means you take whatever I give you."
Quinn could feel Orlando and Nate tense behind him, everyone realizing the fate they were about to receive.
"Here it is," Peter said. "Job number three. You help me get the information Primus knows, then help me stop it if necessary."
"That's two jobs," Quinn said, regretting more than ever the deal he'd made.
"It's one if I say it's one," Peter said. "The condition was no questions."
There was a low, short hum followed by another a second later. Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He flipped it open.
"Yes?" Peter said, then listened for a moment. "All right. Stay there." He closed the phone, then looked at Quinn. "So what's it to be? Are you going to stand by your word? Or do I need to let people know you're unreliable?"
In Quinn's world, reputation was everything. He was pretty sure he could weather whatever negative PR Peter put out there, but it would still hurt. More important, though, Quinn considered himself a man of his word. If Peter wished to pervert a promise made out of necessity, there was nothing Quinn could do but go along with it.
"Fine," he said.
"Good." Peter smiled, then stood up. "Sean found a car for you. It's on Forty-sixth, on the other side of Times Square, about halfway down the block. He's waiting."
He pushed past them and headed across the room toward the door.
"Once you're out of the city, head north," Peter said. "I'll call you with instructions later."
Peter let them out of the room. Quinn didn't even look at Peter as he stepped into the hallway, but he could sense the head of the Office lingering in the doorway.
"Quinn," Peter said. "The agent that was hurt tonight . . ."
Quinn stopped. "What about her?"
"I thought you should know. It was Tasha."
"Tasha?" Quinn said.
The name had also gotten Orlando's and Nate's attention. They had all crossed paths with Tasha the previous year in Singapore.
"Tasha Douglas?" Nate said.
Peter nodded.
"How is she?" Orlando asked.
"Not good, but she's holding on."
"She working for you now?" Quinn asked.
"It was a . . . joint operation," Peter said. "With her out . . . see . . . that's why I need your help."
Quinn stared at Peter, then said, "This is the last one. And I'm not talking about just our deal, Peter. No more after this."
Peter's jaw tensed, his words slipping through clenched teeth. "I know."
CHAPTER
11
IN ONLY A WEEK'S TIME, FEAR HAD BECOME SUCH a dominant aspect of Marion Dupuis's life that she hardly even noticed it anymore. It had become her norm. Her friends would have picked up on it. Her family, too. But she had told none of them she had even returned from Africa.
The Unwanted Page 13
