“A little, maybe.”
“Couldn’t they just go in and remove the body themselves?”
“I assume there’s a reason they need us to do it,” Quinn said.
“But there can’t be much left, can there? Bones, maybe some clothes?” Quinn looked at him. “What is it you really want to say?”
Nate stuffed a potato chip into his mouth. “Okay, I know it’s going to sound a little weird given what we deal with most of the time, but this kind of gives me the creeps.”
“The creeps.”
“Yeah. Come on. It doesn’t make you feel a little odd?”
“No,” Quinn said. He started walking again.
Nate was a step behind him.
“Not even a little?”
“Not even a little.”
“Okay. Sorry I brought it up. It’s just, you know, you always said to go by your gut.”
Nate stuffed another chip in his mouth.
Despite what he’d said to Nate, his gut was telling him pretty much the same thing. Only it wasn’t the condition of the body that was bothering him. It was the whole nature of the project. For the first time in quite a while, he was starting to wonder if he was on the right side of things or not.
His phone vibrated, bringing a welcome diversion. It was Orlando.
“Hey,” he said. “How’s Garrett?”
“What? Oh, he’s fine,” she said, seeming distracted. “Okay, so I’ve got you on a 6:40 flight on Continental out of Newark.”
Quinn looked at Nate. “Get a cab.”
“I could change it to the 9:45 if that’ll work better,” Orlando said.
“No. Should be fine. Just need to pick up our bags and head over.” They’d left their luggage in the car they’d driven into the city. It was parked in a lot just off Broadway. “I’ll call you back if I think we’re not going to make it. Have you found anything on that photo I sent you?”
“Not yet. The age might be a problem. But I’m running it through several databases.”
“Here we go,” Nate said as a taxi pulled to the curb. Quinn’s apprentice climbed in.
“Our ride’s here,” Quinn said into the phone. “I’ll check in with you before we leave. See if you’ve found out anything then.”
“Quinn,” she said.
The tone of her voice stopped him on the curb.
“What?”
“That problem I told you about before …”
“What about it?”
“It’s worse than I thought.”
“Worse how?” he asked.
“Whoever’s trying to find out about you knows what they’re doing.” She paused. “They found your name.”
“Which name?” The sounds of the cars and the people on the street disappeared. Even the October chill seemed to vanish.
“Your real name. Someone hacked into the Social Security Administration ninety minutes ago and looked you up.”
“I don’t have a Social Security number.”
“You did once.”
“Yeah, but you got rid of that, didn’t you?” he asked. She hesitated. “I buried it, but I wasn’t able to delete it completely.”
“But you told me …”
“I told you I took care of it. Look, I’m sorry. I thought I had. No one should have been able to find it, but someone did.”
“Okay. All right. What—”
She cut him off. “Ten minutes later I got half a dozen alarm messages from some improved trips I set up last night on things connected to your life before Quinn.”
“Where?” he asked.
“IRS, the Phoenix Police Department—”
“I know for a fact my record with the Phoenix PD was removed.” His tenure there had been short and long ago.
“Your file, yes. But you were cross-referenced on several others. I got what I could, but there were too many files to check. The tripwire at Phoenix did two things. Alerted me to the initial hack, then traced what the intruders were looking at. That’s how I knew it was the same people as the other day. They accessed two files. A burglary and an attempted rape. In both cases you were one of the responding officers.”
“What the hell?”
“There’s more,” Orlando said.
“Hey, you going to get in?” the cabbie yelled out at Quinn.
“Turn on the meter and give me a minute,” Quinn yelled back. Into the phone he said, “What more?”
“They’ve also hacked into the record at School District 690,” Orlando said. “That’s the school district for Warroad, Minnesota.”
“Warroad?”
“You don’t have a file there, either. There is no trace of you in their system. But the flag I have there worked the same as the one in Phoenix, so I know it was them.”
“Okay, so they checked, but I wasn’t there. So that’s good.”
She hesitated. “Yeah. That’s right. They didn’t find your file. But they did find Liz’s.”
Now it wasn’t just the noises of New York that disappeared, but the ground Quinn was standing on, too.
“They didn’t stop there, either,” Orlando said. “They’ve traced her to Paris.”
In a flash, the whole world came rushing back. He jumped into the cab and slammed the door closed behind.
“The bags,” he said to Nate.
Nate told the taxi driver where to go.
“Forget London,” Quinn said into the phone. “We need to get to Paris.”
“That’s the flight I booked you on,” Orlando told him.
Of course it was, he thought. She would have predicted his reaction, and anticipated the request. There was no one on the earth who knew him better than she did.
“My mother?” he whispered into the phone.
“They would have gotten her address off Liz’s file.”
For one of the first times in his life, Quinn felt paralyzed. Should he go to his sister or his mother? Perhaps he was overreacting. Perhaps the hacker had only been after information. Perhaps there was no threat.
Perhaps, but Quinn knew he would be a fool to not assume the worst.
Everyone had their weaknesses. The most common was family. That’s why most people in Quinn’s business did all they could to hide their pasts. Some specialities, such as op agents and assassins, were more likely to see threats in this area. Cleaners, not so much. If they ever ran into trouble, they were more prone to a direct assault than someone trying to leverage the people in their lives. But that didn’t mean Quinn didn’t worry about this possibility. And now that worry had become a reality.
“I made a few calls,” Orlando said.
Quinn shook himself back into the here and now. “Calls?”
“Steven Howard was in Chicago,” she said. “He’s on his way to Warroad to keep an eye on your mother now. Should be there sometime tonight. I’ve also rounded up Rickey Larson and Brent Nolan. They’ll be there by noon tomorrow. And I’m going, too.”
Quinn could feel some of the tension in his shoulders ease. “Thank you,” he said.
“What I need you to do is call her,” she said. “Tell her you have a friend who needs a place to stay. Say he’s working on a project, writing a book or something, and needs to go someplace quiet for a week or two. Tell her I’m going to bring him by. It’ll let us get someone in the house with her.”
“Good,” Quinn said. He knew his mother wasn’t going to like the idea, not this close to her husband’s death, but she’d do it for Quinn.
“Once I get everything settled, I’ll fly over to you.”
“You should stay with her.”
“They can handle things without me,” Orlando said. “You’re going to need me to help with the job in London.”
“Screw the London job. I’m not doing it.”
She paused a moment, then said, “We’ll talk about that when I see you.”
He was about to protest again, but realized it would be useless. She’d hung up.
Chapter 17
Fall in Par
is meant two things: cooler weather and fewer tourists. It wasn’t that there were no tourists, it was just that their number was a fraction of what it was during the summer months. In August, the streets and monuments were overwhelmed by what seemed to be a torrent of refugees from the Tower of Babel. In October, it was more of a trickle.
When Quinn and Nate had gotten into the taxi, Quinn had asked the driver to turn up the heat. It was hovering around forty-four degrees Fahrenheit, several degrees colder than it had been in New York, and more than two dozen less than it was back in Los Angeles. To Quinn it was now officially too cold. The cabbie had fiddled with a few knobs, but from what Quinn could tell the temperature hadn’t changed. He pulled his collar tight to his neck and looked out at the gray morning.
During the flight over he kept his eyes shut, hoping sleep would overtake him, but his mind only let him catch a moment here and there. By the time they landed, the only thing the attempt had been able to accomplish was to keep Nate from asking him questions. All his apprentice knew was that their destination had changed. Quinn had told him nothing else.
In the taxi, Nate tried again to find out what was going on. But Quinn cut him off with “Not yet.” Yes, he was going to have to tell Nate something, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. The thing he was most focused on was that he was going to have to see his sister. And no matter which scenario he played out in his mind, none ended with Liz happy to see him.
He had toyed with the idea of not letting her know he was there at all. He and Nate could set up a perimeter surveillance that might work well enough. They could shadow her, bug her apartment when she was away, plant a GPS chip in her purse or shoes to keep track of her no matter where she went. It would be tricky, but not impossible. Still, relying on a blip on a screen was not a comforting idea.
He knew he was going to have to bite the bullet and approach her directly. That still didn’t guarantee success. She might give him two minutes, or an hour. She might give him nothing, and then where would he be?
He would have to be careful in his approach, telling her just enough of the truth to get her cooperation. She already thought he was in international banking, so he could use that. Maybe he could tell her he was being targeted by a criminal organization that had a grudge with his bank. Maybe their problems were with Quinn specifically, and he feared the trouble might spread to her since she was in Europe.
Quinn frowned, then shook his head. The idea was ludicrous and convoluted. If it were true, why wouldn’t the police be involved? That would be the first question out of Liz’s mouth. She would poke holes in Quinn’s story he wouldn’t be able to plug fast enough.
He played a few more scenarios through his mind, but none proved any better. He needed something different, something believable. But what?
The cab stopped at the curb.
“Le Sorbonne,” the driver said.
On the other side of the intersection was the tan, stone, block-long Sorbonne, the world-renowned Paris university.
“Merci,” Quinn said as he handed the driver enough euros to cover the trip.
“Can you tell me what’s going on now?” Nate asked once they were on the sidewalk.
Quinn stared at the Sorbonne for several seconds, knowing it was time. But how much to tell? Everything, a voice in his head said. Orlando’s voice. “Come on.”
They turned right at Rue des Écoles, walking on the opposite side of the street from the main entrance to the school. He eyed the people going in and out the front doors on the off chance Liz would be among them. No such luck. A short block down and to the right was a small park. Quinn led Nate inside.
The park was enclosed by an iron fence lined with bushes and trees that made it almost impossible for anyone on the outside to see in. Much of the vegetation was showing its fall colors. Scattered around the park were granite statues and a few benches.
In addition to Nate and Quinn, there were only three other people present. Two were reading books, while the third, an older gentleman, seemed interested in some birds on the path. None were threats.
Quinn motioned to a bench in a deserted corner. They sat. It was over a minute, though, before he finally spoke. “What I’m going to tell you goes no further than between you and me.”
“How’s that different from anything else?”
“This isn’t anything else. This isn’t about a job.”
“Orlando?” Nate asked, unable to keep the worry from his voice.
“No. She’s fine.”
“Okay. Then, what is it?”
Quinn stared at Nate, his face hard. “I have your word, your blood oath, that you will never tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”
“Of course you have my word. You shouldn’t even have to ask that,” Nate said. “What the hell is going on?”
Quinn took a moment, knowing he was about to break his most important taboo. “My personal life may have been … compromised.”
It took a second, then Nate said, “Oh, God. How far back?”
“All the way,” Quinn said.
Nate digested the information, then asked, “Is that why we’re in Paris and not London?”
Again, Quinn hesitated. He couldn’t help it. It was a reflex he’d honed over many years. Finally, he nodded. “You remember a couple of weeks ago, when I was out of town?”
“Sure.”
“I was attending my father’s funeral.”
“I’m sorry,” Nate said. “I had no idea.”
“How could you? I didn’t tell you.”
“I really am sorry.”
“We weren’t close,” Quinn said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“So the funeral has something to do with us being here?”
“Only in the sense that you need to know about it.”
Again, Nate looked confused.
“You’re going to meet someone who was there, and if she mentions it I don’t want you to be surprised.”
“All right. That makes sense. Who is it?”
“Her name is Liz,” Quinn said. “She’s … my sister.”
Nate stared at Quinn, surprised.
“She’s studying at the Sorbonne,” Quinn explained. “We’re here because she might be in danger. I want to make sure that doesn’t happen.” He paused. “But to do that, I need your help.”
Nate didn’t even hesitate. “Whatever you need, I’m there.”
“Thanks.”
“Is there anyone else you’re worried about?”
Quinn hesitated. Again, this was sacred ground. But he had no choice. “My mother. Orlando’s with her right now.”
“Whoa,” Nate said, shaking his head. It was a lot to take in. But like the professional he’d become, he seemed to quickly adjust and move on. “What do you need me to do?”
“I’m not one hundred percent sure yet. Liz and I, we aren’t exactly on the best of terms.”
“I sense a pattern. Does your mother hate you, too?”
Quinn shot him a withering look.
“I’m sorry,” Nate said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s complicated,” Quinn said. “And no, my mother doesn’t hate me.”
“Well, that’ll save you some therapy at least.… Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that either.”
In the distance, the old man who had been watching the birds started walking down the path toward their bench. His gait was slow, almost a shuffle.
“Does your sister know what you do?” Nate asked.
“Of course not,” Quinn said. “Wait. Does anyone in your past know what you do?”
“No.”
“I’m serious, Nate. Have you told anyone what you do? Have you even hinted about it?”
“No. No one.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. And how did this suddenly become about me?”
Quinn leaned back, duly chastened. Nate was right. He’d momentarily channeled his anxiety into the possibility that his appr
entice had screwed up.
“Liz thinks I’m in the international banking business. My mother thinks so, too.”
Nate had heard Quinn use the cover with other civilians in the past. “At least you can use that to explain why you’re in town.”
“Yeah,” Quinn said.
After a moment, Nate asked, “What’s Orlando setting up for your mom?”
Quinn explained the plan he and Orlando had worked out.
“When did you call your mom?”
“When we were waiting for the plane in Newark.”
“She go for it?” Nate asked.
“She didn’t say no. Secretly, I think she’s probably happy to have company. It’s been less than a month since she lost her husband.”
The old man had advanced down the path, but was still out of earshot. Quinn gave him a glance, then turned back to Nate.
“So what’s the plan?” Nate asked. “Are we just going to keep an eye on her?”
“I’m not sure. I’m still trying to figure that out.”
“Do you know what Liz’s living situation is?” Nate asked.
Quinn nodded.
“Does she have any roommates?”
“No.”
“So only a one-bedroom apartment.”
“Yes.”
“I assume she has a couch,” Nate said.
“Of course she has a couch.”
“Then why can’t we do a variation on what Orlando’s doing with your mom? You introduce me as a friend who needs a place to stay for a little while. I can crash on her couch and watch the inside. You can get someone to help you watch the perimeter. Done and done.”
The old man moved into hearing range, so Quinn and Nate fell silent.
Quinn used the quiet to think Nate’s idea through. Would it work? It would depend on whether Liz would even talk to him or not. Their less-than-quality time at their father’s funeral tended to make him think the odds were against it. He tried to come up with another option, some other way of getting someone close to her for protection. But nothing came.
In front of them, the old man stopped on the path and stared in their direction.
“C’est mon banc,” the old man said.
“Pardon?” Nate asked.
“C’est mon banc. Vous devez bouger,” he said, waving his hands at them to get off the bench.
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