Murray, surprised, slammed on the brakes. Burroughs started to reach for the door. 'Hold on,' Quinn said calmly as he raised the gun. 'Ken, just keep driving.'
The car lurched forward as Murray pressed down on the accelerator.
'Stop the fucking car!' Burroughs snapped. Turning to Quinn, he said, 'I don't know what you're playing, but I'm getting out now.'
'Keep driving,' Quinn said. He raised his gun, aiming it at Burroughs's chest. 'If you think I'm kidding around, you're wrong. Some people I care about are in a lot of trouble because of whatever's going on. My personal rules of engagement aren't as strict as they used to be.'
Burroughs clenched his jaw. His fingers were still on the handle of the door. Quinn waited. It was obvious that Burroughs knew something he didn't want to share.
Finally, Burroughs let go of the handle and leaned back into the seat.
'Jansen. Taggert. You're right, okay? They're the same guy,' Burroughs said.
Quinn remained silent.
'And yes. He said he had come into some information that he wanted to pass on to us.'
'Who's us?' Quinn asked, moving the barrel of the gun a fraction of an inch to remind Burroughs it was there.
'The Agency. Who did you think?'
'What did he want to tell you?'
'If we knew that, he wouldn't have had to tell us, would he?'
'So, he never said anything about a biological sample he might have for you?'
'He wasn't specific about what he had.'
'That's all you knew?'
Burroughs hesitated, then said, 'He told us it was something tailored.'
Quinn furrowed his brow. 'What does that mean?'
'That's all he would say. We were meeting so he could give me the details.'
'Tell me about the meeting,' Quinn said. 'We were supposed to meet in Vail. On the slopes.' 'When?' 'The same day as the fire. I was in Vail, but
Taggert didn't show up.' 'Didn't you know where he was staying?' 'No. He insisted on making those plans himself.
The only thing he allowed us to do was arrange
for someone to drive him around.' 'Protection?' 'We insisted.' 'And this chauffeur didn't tell you where he was?' 'She was instructed not to. Taggert was very nervous.
We didn't want anything messing up the meet.' She? 'Jills,' Quinn said. 'That's right. You were the one who found her,
weren't you?' Quinn stared at Burroughs for a moment, eyes narrowing. 'What's the Office's role in this?'
Burroughs seemed to gauge how much he wanted to say. 'I tell you this, and you have to tell me everything you know.'
'I did say this was an exchange, didn't I?' Burroughs nodded. 'But you haven't shared
anything with me yet.' 'You're right,' Quinn said. 'I haven't.' 'Quinn?' Murray said from the front seat. 'What?' Quinn asked. 'You told me to keep a lookout for anything
unusual.' 'What is it?' 'I think we're being followed.' Quinn swiveled around in his seat to look out the back window. There were several cars behind
them. 'Which one?' he asked. 'The sedan. Directly behind us.' A dark Ford was two car lengths back. 'You're
sure?' Quinn asked. 'I've made a couple of turns. He's staying right with us.' 'Do it again,' Quinn said. 'A quick turn at the next block. No signal.'
Quinn watched out the back window as Murray executed his instructions. The Ford continued to follow them.
'Again,' Quinn ordered. 'Left at the next street.'
The sedan stayed with them. Quinn turned to Burroughs, who had a look of satisfaction on his face. 'I told you they'd come for me.'
'Where the hell did they come from?' Murray asked. 'The blonde,' Quinn said. 'She works for you,
doesn't she?' Burroughs smiled but said nothing. 'The girl?' Murray asked. 'She probably saw us drive off with our friend
here and called it in.' 'Sorry,' Burroughs said. 'It looks like we're done.' 'Lose them,' Quinn ordered Murray. 'Are you kidding?' Murray whined. 'You've
already got me in deep enough shit as it is.' 'That's right, Ken,' Burroughs said. 'Don't make
it worse.' Quinn turned back to Burroughs. 'Keep quiet.' 'Fuck you,' Burroughs said. 'Ken, pull over, and
I'll make sure they understand you did this against your will.'
Quinn lowered the angle of his gun and pulled the trigger.
Burroughs screamed in pain as the bullet tore through his right foot. It was all the message Murray needed. He pressed the accelerator to the floor.
Chapter 30
Quinn knew he had very little time left. He turned back to Burroughs. The man was still hunched over in pain, clutching his wounded foot.
Quinn shoved him back against the seat and glowered at him. 'You smug asshole. Believe it or not, until a few minutes ago I wasn't your enemy.' He thrust the barrel of the gun against Burroughs's right shoulder. 'This won't kill you either. But it'll hurt like hell.'
Burroughs raised a bloody hand defensively.
'This is no longer an exchange,' Quinn said. 'This is a one-way flow of information. From you to me. Got it?'
Burroughs nodded.
'Why was the Office called in?'
Grimacing, Burroughs said, 'Taggert was not considered a completely credible source. He'd cried wolf before. If something went wrong, we didn't want it boomeranging back to us. So they were running the protection.'
'Jills was working for the Office?'
'Yes.'
Something else Peter was keeping from him.
'What was Taggert up to?' Quinn asked. Burroughs's eyes darted toward the back window. 'Your friends are still there, if that's what you're wondering. Just talk.'
'He'd been working undercover. On his own.' 'A freelancer?' 'More of a lone wolf.' 'Doing what?' 'Research.' 'What kind of research?' Quinn asked. 'Biological research is what he said. He was a
virologist by training.' 'So he was working with the people who were
doing the . . . tailoring?' 'That's what he said.' 'And Borko was running things?' 'No,' Burroughs said. 'Jansen claimed Borko was
just the muscle.' 'Then who?' 'Some guy named Dahl.' 'He must have told you more,' Quinn said. 'What
is it? Smallpox? Ebola?'
'No, no,' Burroughs said. 'Neither of those. He told us that much ahead of time. Still, we weren't very inclined to believe him. Then he said he had tangible proof. That's why we gave him the meeting. But whatever proof he thought he had burnt with him in the fire.'
Or maybe not, Quinn thought, an image of the
bracelet in his mind. 'It doesn't matter,' Burroughs continued. 'Why?'
'He was single-source. There was no other corroborating evidence,' Burroughs said. 'I already told you, Jansen was unreliable. All he wanted was the cash.'
Quinn let out a short, bitter laugh. 'You didn't believe him.'
'He'd made a lot out of nothing before. There was no reason why he wasn't doing it again. Besides, he told us Borko was involved. Our sources confirmed Borko has been out of commission for over a month.'
Quinn couldn't believe what he was hearing. 'But what about the murder? What about the disruption at the Office?'
'Just an interagency spat. Jansen got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.'
'And that's what you believe?'
Burroughs was a bit slow to answer. 'Yes.'
'You're an idiot,' Quinn said. He looked out the back window. There were cars behind them, but he couldn't pick out the sedan. 'Did you lose them?' he asked Murray.
'I don't know,' Murray said. 'I think they're still back there, just not so close.'
'You're doing great. Let's see if you can put a little more distance between us.'
'Fuck,' Murray said. 'I'm a dead man.'
'I'll take care of it,' Quinn said. 'You'll be fine.'
'How the hell are you going to take care of it?' Murray asked, glancing back at Quinn. 'You'll just have to trust me.' 'So, what?' Murray asked. 'We drive around all
night?'
'You're g
oing to drop me off first,' Quinn said. 'After that, you might want to take a little vacation. A week should do it.'
'You son of a bitch,' Murray said.
'I can't help you if I'm in jail,' Quinn said.
'You'll never make it,' Burroughs said, his voice weak.
'Really?' Quinn asked. 'You better hope I do.' He peered through the windshield. 'Take that next right. Then at the next street right again.'
Murray did as Quinn ordered. As soon as they made the second turn, Quinn said, 'Over to the curb. Now.'
Murray pulled to the curb and jammed on the brakes. Quinn threw open the door. 'Don't worry,' he said as he climbed out.
'Fuck you,' Murray said.
Instead of flying directly out of Brussels, he drove to Amsterdam, where he caught the 7:20 a.m. KLM flight to Hamburg. There he took a train to Berlin, getting off at the Zoologischer Garten station. He made his way down through the station to the eastbound U2 platform, where he only had to wait a few minutes for the next train. He didn't take a direct route back. Instead he switched trains often, every time checking to make sure he wasn't being tailed. As far as he could tell, he wasn't.
He made it back to Neukölln by 1:30 p.m. The sidewalks on Karl Marx Strasse were filled with shoppers taking advantage of the relatively warm day. Quinn bought a couple of bratwurst sandwiches and two cans of Coke, then made his way back to the store on Karl Marx Strasse.
He almost expected Orlando to be gone, the store truly and completely abandoned. But when he opened the door and stepped inside, he could feel her standing beside him before he even saw her.
'I could have killed you,' she said.
He slowly turned to her. She was holding the Glock in her hand, pointing toward the floor at Quinn's feet. Her eyes were red, her face drawn and ashen. Quinn wondered if she'd slept at all while he was gone.
'Where the hell have you been?' she asked. 'Brussels,' he said. 'I told you that's where I was going.' 'I thought you'd be back yesterday.' Her red eyes flashed in anger.
'It took me a little longer than I'd hoped.'
He walked past her into the other room and sat down. From the bag, he pulled out one of the sandwiches. Orlando followed him in a moment later. He held the bag out to her.
'I've got one for you, too.' She walked over to him, ignoring the bag. 'You should have called me.'
Quinn almost snapped back at her. But he held himself back. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'You're right, I should have called.' He raised the bag a little. 'Take the sandwich.'
For a moment it looked like she was going to bat it out of his hand. Instead, she finally took the bag and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him.
As they ate, he told her about his encounter with Burroughs. Orlando made no comments, only nodding on occasion.
'There's something else,' he said after he'd finished telling her about Brussels.
She looked at him expectantly.
'Before I got to Belgium, I received something in my e-mail.' There was a spark in her eye. 'What?' 'I'll show you.' He picked the portable monitor off the ground
and set it in his lap. From his pocket, he removed his flash memory stick and inserted it into one of the ports on the side of the monitor. As he was doing so, Orlando moved around so she could see the screen, too. It only took him a moment to locate the pictures he'd downloaded in Frankfurt. He opened the one of Nate first.
Orlando drew in a breath at the sight of their injured colleague. 'He's alive,' she said.
'For the moment, he's more valuable that way.'
'I saw there were two files,' she said.
Quinn nodded slowly. Not wanting to, but not knowing any way to avoid it, he closed the picture of Nate and opened the other file. This time Orlando actually gasped. 'Where is he?' she asked, grabbing at the screen. 'I don't know,' Quinn said. 'The photo might be doctored.' She pulled the monitor close, her eyes less than a foot away from the image of her son. 'Does the picture look familiar?' Quinn asked. 'I don't mean the setting. Just Garrett's pose.'
'I've never seen it before,' she said, instantly understanding where he was going.
There was the possibility that Dahl's people had taken a photo from Orlando's home and changed the background. If that was the case, that could mean something worse than kidnapping had happened to Garrett, and Dahl had been forced to create the illusion that Garrett was still alive. But if Orlando didn't recognize any part of the photo, perhaps it was actually genuine.
'Where is he?' Orlando asked again. She looked at Quinn. 'Where the hell is he?'
'We'll find him,' Quinn said. 'I promise you.'
She stared at Quinn, her nostrils flaring. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something, but nothing he could think of would help the situation. Finally, she said, 'I have something you need to see.'
She sat down on the floor next to him and held the monitor so they could both view the screen. She punched a few of the buttons, accessing a specific time on the disk. The screen remained black for a moment as the player located the requested spot. Then the blank screen was replaced by an image of one of the rooms in the basement, the room without the refrigeration unit.
There were four men present. On the tables were several air tanks. As Quinn and Orlando watched, one of the men started up a portable air compressor that was on the floor.
'There.' She pointed at the monitor. To one side of the room, standing alone but watching the others, was a man.
Borko.
The Serb looked nearly unchanged from when Quinn had first seen him in Toronto. The only difference now was that gray hair had started to invade his dark brown mane.
'Hold on,' Orlando said.
She pushed another button, and the action on the monitor began to accelerate. Quinn watched as the men moved from tank to tank, filling those that needed it. Once the operation was complete, they set the tanks on the floor in a row next to one of the cabinets.
'Here,' Orlando said. She punched a button, slowing the picture back to normal speed.
Just as the men were leaving, a phone rang. Borko motioned for the others to continue on, then pulled a black cell phone from his jacket pocket. He looked at the display, then answered the call.
'Borko,' he said into the phone.
He paused, listening to the person on the other end, then started speaking again. But not in Serbian or even German. In English.
'Yes. Yes,' Borko said. 'On schedule. The rest will be here tonight.' He stopped to listen. 'Don't worry. We have forty-eight hours, right? It will be tight, but we will make it.' Another pause. 'No, you don't have to come out. I will come back this evening. Make sure everything has arrived. Tomorrow we put it all together. It will be fine.'
Borko smiled. 'No sign of him or the woman,' the Serbian continued. 'But we have our insurance cards. You sent the files?' A grin. 'That should keep them in check. If they don't give us any more trouble, we can get rid of our guests after the delivery has been made.'
Orlando pressed Pause. 'There's nothing else important,' she said. 'Who do you think he was talking to? Dahl?'
Quinn nodded. 'That would be my guess.'
Quinn glanced down at the frozen image on the screen. Borko was caught in the middle of moving the phone away from his ear. In the background, the door to the room had opened and a man was in the process of stepping inside.
'Press Play,' Quinn said.
Orlando looked at the screen for a moment, her brow furrowed. After a moment, she pressed a button.
Borko slipped his phone into the pocket of his jacket, turning to look at the new arrival as he did so.
'Pause it there,' Quinn said.
The man had walked up and stopped next to Borko. He had sandy brown hair, cut short on the sides, and was a couple inches over six feet tall.
'You know him?' Orlando asked.
Quinn nodded. 'It's Leo Tucker.'
Orlando's eyes widened in surprise. She looked back at the monitor.
'Are you sure?'
&nbs
p; 'Yes.'
Silence.
'So Piper's group didn't just pass on the infor
mation about us,' Orlando said. 'They're actually involved.' But Quinn didn't answer right away. He almost
kept his thoughts to himself, but he knew he couldn't. 'What if Piper is Dahl?' Quinn said.
Orlando started to speak, then stopped herself. He could see the realization dawning on her face as she put the pieces together.
'Of course,' she said, more to herself than to him. She looked up. 'That's it, isn't it? Piper is Dahl.'
'It was more than just bad blood between Piper and Durrie, wasn't it?' Quinn said as he tried to remember the exact circumstances of the split.
'Durrie just thought he was a fool,' Orlando said. 'But for Piper, yeah, there might have been more. Durrie kicked him off a high-profile job for something petty. Durrie said Piper missed an important planning meeting. Durrie said it made them look like amateurs. He badmouthed Piper for months after. It damaged Piper's credibility. Took him years to recover.'
'Right,' Quinn said. 'Only the way he used to tell the story, I think Durrie was just looking for an excuse to break up the partnership. So now that Piper's back in the game, he's in a position to exact a little revenge. Only Durrie's no longer around, so he turns on the only viable targets. The girlfriend and the apprentice. You and me.'
'And Garrett.'
'No,' Quinn said. 'Garrett's a bonus. He may not have even known about Garrett until I led him to you.' Quinn paused, his face hardening. 'Dammit. He made it out like he'd been in Ho Chi Minh City for a long time. But he probably followed me to Vietnam, getting there not long after I did.' He looked at Orlando. 'I led him right to you.'
She turned to him. If she blamed him, she didn't say so. Nor did she say she forgave him either. The look on her face was tense and serious. 'Tell me what you think we should do now,' she said.
He thought for a moment. 'When Borko leaves the plant tonight, we follow him,' he said. 'See if we can arrange a private conversation.'
Orlando nodded. 'Good. If you said anything else, I was going to go alone.'
He wanted to ask her why she didn't just suggest it. Instead, he said, 'Glad we're still on the same team.'
Her smile was not reassuring.
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