The Silenced jqt-4

by Brett Battles

  I’ll call you once I land.Love,

  O

  It was apparent Orlando had been talking a little too much about him with his mother. Jakey was a name he hadn’t been called since he’d left home, and he’d had no intention of ever being called by it again.

  At the moment, though, what troubled him more was the ID of the man in the photo. Russian, like the woman who’d been showing up everywhere Quinn had been working. Maybe there was no connection, but he would be a fool to ignore the possibility.

  He turned off his computer and stuck it in his bag. Since he’d be staying with Orlando that evening, he would take everything with him. But he wasn’t going to check out. London was a big city, and it was always good to have an alternate safe haven.

  Once he was ready, he donned his backpack and headed out for his meeting with Wills.

  * * *

  Petra and Mikhail were up and out of the apartment by 6 a.m. Thirty-seven minutes later, Petra was in position outside the building where David Wills supposedly worked. At 7:43, a man approached the front door. Unconsciously, Petra leaned forward as if those couple of inches would make the difference over the half a block that separated them. Based on the description Nova had given her, this guy was too short and too young to be Wills.

  The man didn’t knock at the door. Instead he pulled out a key and let himself in.

  Petra kept her gaze glued on the entrance in case the man came back out.

  Twenty-five minutes later, he did. Only he wasn’t alone.

  And there was no mistaking his companion.

  David Wills.

  * * *

  As soon as Petra realized Wills and the other man were going to take a taxi, she moved to the curb to flag down one of her own. She didn’t even let it stop before she pulled open the back door and jumped in.

  “I’m with them,” she said, pointing at Wills’s taxi in the distance. “We need to keep up, I don’t have the directions.”

  The driver gave her a quick, knowing look, then took off in pursuit.

  Maybe he thought she was a wife following her husband. That was fine by Petra. Whatever got him moving.

  They drove for ten minutes, fighting traffic all the way. But her driver was a good one and never fell more than three cars behind Wills.

  “Looks like they’re getting out,” the cabbie said. “Is here all right?”

  Petra looked through the front window. They were nearing a busy corner.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “Oxford Circus, ma’am.”

  Wills’s cab was at the curb, the other man leaning in, paying the driver, while Wills waited on the sidewalk.

  “This is fine here,” she said.

  The cabbie pulled over. Petra threw some cash into the front seat, then scrambled out of the car.

  It took her a moment to spot Wills again. His cab was gone, and he and the other man were walking down the sidewalk away from her. She increased her pace and closed the gap to within thirty feet. It was then that she saw a sign for the entrance to the Oxford Circus Underground station, and had a strong hunch that’s where they were headed.

  Using the crowd as cover, Petra moved around and in front of Wills, then descended the stairs to the station, praying she was right.

  At the bottom, she made a beeline for the automatic ticket kiosk. Since she had no idea where they might be headed, she bought a ticket that would allow her to travel to any of the different zones, then looked back just in time to see Wills pass through a ticket gate.

  She followed, once again using the crowd as her shield. She quickly realized that the man with Wills was the one to worry about. At random intervals he would look around like he was making sure they were going in the right direction, but in reality was no doubt checking for tails. Looking, in essence, for her.

  She fell back as far as she could, a couple of times even letting them move out of sight for a moment. And so far, it had worked.

  When it became apparent they were headed to the Bakerloo southbound platform, she fell back even more. Luck was with her. There were two women about her age heading in the same direction. Petra slipped in behind them, keeping the distance that separated them close enough so that it appeared they were all traveling together.

  As she entered the platform it was all she could do not to look for Wills. It wasn’t until the train arrived and she was moving forward with the crowd that she allowed herself to check. Wills was still there, entering the train one car down.

  At Piccadilly Circus, then again at Charing Cross, she positioned herself at the doorway so she could see if the other two had gotten off. But they had stayed on until they reached the third stop. Embankment.

  Embankment Station was much smaller than Oxford Circus, and soon they were all at ground level, exiting into the cold morning air. Wills and the other man stopped just outside, next to a flower shop, leaning close in conversation. Petra passed by as near as she could, but could hear nothing.

  Ahead of her was a cobblestone street that had more pedestrians on it than cars, and on the corner opposite her was a Starbucks. She walked over and entered the coffee shop. Once the door was closed behind her, she looked back.

  The other man was still there, but Wills was gone. She scanned the area and couldn’t find him on the street, either. Had he gone back in to take the subway somewhere else?

  No, there he is. He was just disappearing to the left of the flower shop, along a sidewalk that led between some bushes and trees. The small patch of wilderness stretched along the street from the station for dozens of yards.

  The other man was still at the flower stall, but most of his attention was on the station. Petra pushed the door open and crossed the street to a path that led in the direction Wills had gone down. Within seconds the man at the flower stall was no longer in view.

  On the other side of the bushes and trees, the path led into a grassy park. Wills was walking slowly down one of the sidewalks, away from her.

  Petra walked into the park and took the path parallel to the one Wills was on.

  Ahead, he reached the point where the two paths intersected. Petra quickly glanced around. There were several benches lining the walkway. Most were empty, but the one nearest was occupied by a bundled-up woman reading a book. Petra hurried over to the next bench and sat just before Wills turned down the path in her direction. She could hardly believe her luck. She was never going to have a better opportunity to get him alone so they could talk than this.

  She angled her head so she could see him in her peripheral vision, and watched as he continued forward for another twenty feet, then stopped.

  Come on. Come on.

  He checked his watch, so Petra did the same. It was ten minutes to nine. When she looked up again, Wills had resumed walking. Slowly though, like he was killing time.

  As he drew near, she chanced a look out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t appear to have noticed her at all.

  Perfect.

  * * *

  Quinn made his way through the controlled chaos that was Victoria Station to the Underground entrance at the north end. He used a prepaid Oyster card to get through the gate, then, instead of heading to the platform for the eastbound District and Circle lines — either of which would have taken him to Embankment Station two stops away — he headed to the Victoria Line northbound. This way he would arrive early via an indirect route. It was his standard-operating procedure.

  The morning crowds were huge. It didn’t matter which direction you were going, you couldn’t help getting swallowed up in the mass of men and women making their way to work.

  That suited Quinn just fine. More people meant he would be harder to follow. Still, he checked several times to make sure no one was behind him giving it a try.

  A second train line later, he was exiting at Charing Cross, one stop shy of Embankment Station. From there he strolled down the cobbled street that led toward the park.

  By Quinn’s watch, there were fifteen minutes
left before his meeting with Wills. Given what had happened at the last two job sites, and at the aborted meeting location in New York, Quinn expected Wills to have watchers already in place securing the site and keeping an eye out for trouble.

  Straight ahead, at the far end of the street, Quinn could see the entrance to Embankment Station. On the left side, against the outer wall and near one of the paths into the park, was an outdoor flower shop. That’s where Quinn spotted the first watcher.

  It was the same man who’d been sitting in the lobby of the Grand Hyatt. He was wearing a suit that helped him blend in with the rest of the morning crowd, and was browsing the flowers with a watchful eye on the station exit.

  Keeping a group of three businessmen between himself and Wills’s man, Quinn approached the park, then ducked in through the northern entrance unseen.

  The path led through a wide strip of bushes and trees that separated the park from the street. Quinn found a spot where he was out of view, but could still see into the park through the foliage.

  He looked at his watch, then settled back against the concrete half-wall that separated the sidewalk from the bushes, content to wait until nine. But not thirty seconds after he’d adjusted his position, a man walking along the sidewalk at the far end of the park caught his attention.

  Quinn pulled out his phone and switched on the zoom of his camera, training it on the man. It was Wills.

  Early.

  He watched as Wills continued down the path, killing time. Quinn was just about to go out and meet him when he noticed a woman sitting on one of the benches. She was trying very hard not to look at Wills. Just as the Englishman passed her, she did glance up. Quinn could see her face.

  She had a look that seemed almost … predatory.

  Chapter 26

  Where was the backup? Quinn wondered. Had Wills thought the meet was safe enough to bring only the man he’d left out by the entrance?

  Quinn brought up Wills’s number on his phone and called his client. He could hear the line ringing, but Wills continued undisturbed down the path.

  Could he not have his phone?

  But then Wills paused and reached into his jacket. When his hand reappeared, it was holding his cell.

  He looked at the display.

  * * *

  Just a few more seconds, Petra told herself.

  Wills had just passed her position. A couple more feet and she could get behind him before he’d even realize it. From that position she’d be in control.

  She tensed her legs, ready to push herself up.

  Then abruptly Wills stopped.

  Petra remained on the bench, waiting for him to start walking again. But instead he pulled a phone out of his pocket, checked the screen, then raised it to his ear.

  “Quinn? Are you—”

  * * *

  As soon as Wills lifted the phone to his ear, Quinn could see the woman start to rise off her bench.

  “Quinn? Are you—”

  “Watch out,” Quinn said, cutting Wills off. “Behind you.”

  * * *

  Petra sensed movement to her left.

  She turned and saw the woman who had been sitting on the other bench jump up and start running toward Wills.

  No! she thought.

  * * *

  Quinn watched as Wills ducked to the right and moved off the path through a gap between two of the benches.

  The woman raced after him, in her hand a suppressor-enhanced pistol.

  Wills had turned toward her and, from under his jacket, was pulling out his own weapon, bringing it to bear on the woman.

  But then Quinn saw him hesitate.

  The cause was a second woman right in the fire zone.

  And she seemed … familiar.

  Son of a bitch, he thought. It’s the Russian.

  He glanced back to where he’d last seen Wills, but the Englishman had slipped down behind the row of benches, out of view.

  His attacker moved quickly toward the gap Wills had passed through, then pulled the trigger on her gun.

  Thup.

  One of the benches exploded in a spray of wood chunks and splinters.

  The attacker rushed through the gap, seeking a clear shot at her target. But as she did the Russian threw something at her. A bag.

  It hit the attacker’s hands just as she was pulling the trigger, ripping the gun from her grip, sending it flying. Before she could even react, the Russian rammed into her, shoulder first, carrying her through the gap and down onto the grass.

  Where’s Wills? Quinn thought. And where the hell is his backup?

  The Englishman had yet to reappear from behind the bench. Now would be the perfect opportunity to make a move, but Wills didn’t seem to be taking it.

  Screw it.

  Quinn pushed himself out from his hiding spot and sprinted into the park. As he neared the benches, he could see the attacker trying to pull herself from the Russian’s grasp, her eyes searching for her gun. The Russian hit her in the face, then twice hard in the gut.

  Quinn jagged to his left through the gap in the benches, then pulled to a quick stop. Now he knew why Wills hadn’t made his move.

  Quinn’s client was lying on the grass, blood all over his neck and shirt. His gun lay several feet away.

  Quinn knelt beside him. The bullet had entered Wills’s neck just left of his windpipe. By the angle of entry, Quinn was willing to bet it had also hit Wills’s spinal cord. He wasn’t dead, but he soon would be.

  Quinn picked up the gun, then leaned down next to Wills’s face. The Englishman’s eyes were half closed and unfocused, but he seemed to realize someone was there.

  “Just relax,” Quinn said.

  “Quinn?” Wills’s voice raspy.

  “Everything’s all right.”

  Quinn heard footsteps walking toward him. Without looking up, he raised Wills’s gun.

  “Close enough,” he said.

  The footsteps halted.

  Quinn glanced over and wasn’t surprised to see it was the Russian. He also wasn’t surprised to see the other woman’s gun in her hand, pointed at him.

  “Are you here to take his body away, too?” she asked.

  Wills coughed. Blood was coming out of his mouth, but his gaze was still on Quinn. He tried to say something. Quinn couldn’t make it out, so he leaned closer.

  “Care … ful,” Wills said.

  “David, do you know who’s responsible for this?” Wills coughed again.

  “It’s okay. Don’t force it.”

  Wills coughed again, then looked at Quinn as if he was begging for help.

  Another wet breath.

  Then … nothing.

  David Wills was dead. And if he knew the woman who’d killed him or who she worked for, he’d taken that information with him.

  Quinn stood up, his gun still pointed at the Russian. Behind her he could see the other woman, the attacker, sprawled out on the grass, her dead eyes staring up at the sky.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “Who are you?” she countered.

  In the distance, he could hear sirens heading in their direction.

  The Russian lowered her gun and motioned behind her. “You were with her, weren’t you? She is probably one of Palavin’s dogs, and you work for Palavin, too.”

  Palavin? That was the name Orlando had mentioned. He hesitated before he spoke. “I don’t work for anyone by that name. But if he’s responsible for David’s death, then maybe you’re the one who works for him.”

  The look on her face was utter shock. “What? Of course not. I’m trying to find him. But you know him, don’t you? You must know where he is. Tell me! You have to tell me!”

  He could hear the sirens getting louder. As much as he would have liked to place his gun against this woman’s head and find out what she knew, there was no time to pursue it now. He tucked Wills’s gun under his jacket and turned to leave.

  “Wait. If you know where he is, please tell me,” the woman p
leaded. “I need to know.”

  He kept walking, but the woman didn’t give up.

  “Leave me alone,” he said.

  “Your name’s Quinn, right?” she asked. She glanced back over her shoulder to where Wills’s body lay. “I heard him call you that. I need your help, Quinn. I need to find Palavin.”

  “I can’t help you.”

  She started to point her gun at him. But he reached out and yanked it from her hand before she even knew what was happening, then shoved her to the ground.

  “Get the hell away from me,” he told her.

  “I can’t,” she said, pushing herself up and rushing to catch him. “You’re the only lead I have left.” They reached the section of bushes and trees that separated the park from the street. “I’m not leaving until you help me.”

  Quinn stopped and turned to her. “I’m not your lead. I’m not anyone’s lead. I can’t help you. You need to get away from me right now, or I’ll—”

  “Or you’ll kill me?” she asked, cutting him off. “Then go ahead and kill me.”

  Who the hell is this woman?

  He stared at her for a moment, then walked down the path toward the street.

  The sirens were very near now, and all instincts told Quinn to run the other way. But he knew that the easiest escape route was often toward the police, not away. At least initially. If he could get past them before they’d set up a perimeter, then he’d be in the clear. Most of their focus would be in the direction Quinn had come from, not behind them.

  But his biggest problem wasn’t the police. It was the Russian woman. She was still shadowing him, matching him step for step. Then, as he stepped out of the park and onto the street outside Embankment Station, he momentarily forgot about the police and the woman.

  What had been a typical busy morning had turned into a madhouse. Instead of several dozen people, there were now several hundred. They were gathered in groups, some small and some large. The biggest of which was near the entrance to the station. At the other end of the street, two police cars and an ambulance were trying to make their way through the crowd, but traveling slowly to avoid hitting anyone. Policemen tried to direct a pathway for an ambulance to drive, pushing people out of its way.