“Four including you?”
“Yes.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “Just stay strong and I’ll make sure everything is all right.”
“I’ll try,” she said.
Palavin came back on. “That’s enough. So where do you want us to go?”
“My instructions were one man, my sister, and you. No more.”
“Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it?”
Quinn was silent for several moments. “Fine,” he said. “Should I assume, then, that you have other cars following behind somewhere? Ready to move in if necessary?”
The Ghost said, “Of course not. Just my two men and me. I want this over.”
“That makes two of us. Waterloo Station. Fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes is not enough—”
“Fifteen minutes,” Quinn repeated, then turned his phone completely off.
* * *
They headed first south across the Thames River, then west toward Waterloo Station, the sound of raindrops thumping against the roof of the van. Per Quinn’s instructions, Petra made sure not to shake their tail. He knew as long as the person behind them had them in sight, the Ghost would still think he had the upper hand.
“Anything?” he asked Mikhail.
“Not yet,” the Russian said, his phone held firmly to his ear.
“Does your friend speak English?”
“Of course.”
“Put him on speaker.”
Mikhail said something in Russian into the phone, then pushed a button and lowered it into his lap. “Can you hear me?” he said in English.
“Da,” a voice said on the other end. “A little noisy but I can hear you.”
“Nova, right?” Quinn said.
“Yes,” Nova said.
“This is Quinn. I appreciate your assistance.”
“Not necessary. The Ghost is no friend of mine.”
“He should be arriving soon,” Quinn said.
Nova was in a car near Waterloo. “Good. I have men all around the station. The moment they see him, I’ll know.”
“It’s important that he doesn’t realize he’s been spotted.”
“We understand,” Nova said.
“We’ll keep you on speaker. Let us know the moment there’s a change.”
“I will.”
Quinn pushed himself off the floor and shuffled into the front passenger seat. The rain was steady, but not hard, the windshield wipers more than a match for the storm so far. Quinn looked at the GPS device mounted on the dash, but it only showed a closeup of the road they were on. “Our friends?”
She glanced into her side-view mirror. “Still there.”
“Okay. Let’s do a little zigzagging.”
“Zigzag?”
“Take a few turns. Left-right?”
“Ah, yes. No problem.”
“But don’t lose them. Just make it look like we’re being cautious, and keep our basic direction the same. We want them to still think we’re headed for Waterloo.”
“Hold on,” she said, grinning.
Quinn grabbed the dash as Petra took the next turn, then leaned over enough so he could see the side mirror out her window. Nothing for several seconds, then a set of headlights made the turn behind them.
“Palavin’s men?” Quinn asked.
Petra gave the mirror a quick glance. “Yes.”
“Okay. Take the next turn. My guess is once we do, they’ll start to wonder if we know they’re there, and they’ll halve the distance between us.”
She turned again, and just as Quinn predicted, they were only a half block down when the trailing car showed up again.
“Keep it straight for a few blocks,” he said.
After several seconds of silence, Quinn looked over at Petra. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
He paused. “For Andrei.”
They sat in silence, both watching the road ahead. Suddenly Nova’s voice echoed over the speakerphone.
Quinn looked back at Mikhail. “What did he say?”
“Possible sighting,” Mikhail said.
Quinn glanced at the GPS unit. Waterloo Station was only a few blocks away now.
“Make it like you’re heading toward the station, but keep a block or two between it and us. If you have to, go all the way around. When I give you the word, break off and head toward point two.”
She nodded.
Quinn then made his way back to Mikhail, but remained in a standing crouch.
“Nova?” he said.
“I’m here,” Nova replied.
“Tell me exactly what your people saw.”
“A dark blue Mercedes. S600. Very nice.”
“How many inside?”
“Windows are tinted, so could only see the driver and a man in the passenger seat.”
“What makes you think it’s them?” Quinn asked.
“They circled the station once, then pulled off onto Spur Road and parked at the curb. No one’s gotten out.”
“Any following cars?”
“Yes,” Nova said. “Two so far. A black Audi and a silver Mercedes. Four people in each.”
Counting the car behind the van and the Ghost’s sedan, the total rose to fifteen people.
“There could be more, but two cars sounds about right,” Quinn said. Then in a voice loud enough for the whole van to hear, he said, “Time for the next phase. Is everyone ready?”
“Yes,” Petra said.
“Give my people two minutes to get to their cars,” Nova said.
“All right,” Quinn told them. “Two minutes and I make the call.”
Chapter 46
“Let me speak to my sister,” Quinn said.
“Where are you?” the Ghost asked.
“Let me speak to my sister.”
“You already spoke to her.”
“And you could have dumped her since then. Let me speak to her, or we abort.”
The phone exchanged hands.
“I’m here,” she said, strain still in her voice, but a little calmer than the last time.
“Still okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good. It won’t be long.”
“All right,” she said. “Jake, what about Nate? Is he—”
Quinn could hear the phone moving again.
“I’m at Waterloo,” the Ghost said. “Bring me the package now and you can have her back. Then we can both move on.”
Quinn’s phone vibrated, indicating a text, but he ignored it for the moment.
“Step two,” he told the Ghost. “Head toward Victoria Station. I’ll call you in five minutes with further instructions.”
“That is unaccep—”
Quinn disconnected the call, then looked at the screen. The text was from Orlando.
Arrived point 3. All clear.
Quinn sent her a quick message back.
Did you check on Nate?
While he waited for her reply, he leaned toward Mikhail’s phone. “Anything?”
“The Mercedes is moving,” Nova reported. “Hold on.”
Quinn heard Nova speaking in Russian. There was a muffled reply that sounded like it was coming over another phone. When he came back on, he said, “It’s heading west toward Westminster Bridge.”
“That’s him,” Quinn said.
Nova said something in Russian again. Quinn looked at Mikhail, his eyebrows raised.
“He’s checking on the backup cars,” Mikhail said.
Good. That was going to be Quinn’s next question.
Fifteen seconds of nothing, then Nova said, “Have positions on the Audi and the other Mercedes, too. The Audi looks like it’s hanging back to cover the Ghost’s car, while the Mercedes is racing ahead.”
“Any sign of anyone else?” Quinn asked.
“None,” Nova said. “Should we drop the hammer?”
“Soon,” Quinn said.
His phone vibrated again.
Still alive
&nbs
p; The rain had increased, soaking the road and chasing most people off the streets.
“Now,” Quinn said to Petra as they passed Victoria Station.
Ahead, the light was changing. Petra pressed the accelerator to the floor, then swerved the van around a car that was slowing for the light, and raced through the intersection.
“Did they make it?” Quinn asked.
Petra looked in the mirror. “No. There were too many cars between us.”
“Lose them,” he said.
Petra took the next right, then went several blocks before taking a left onto a quieter residential street. As she continued to work her way through the neighborhood, Quinn kept checking to see if the other car had returned, but it hadn’t.
“Where’s our tail?” Quinn asked.
Mikhail spoke Russian into the phone, then looked back at Quinn. “They’ve gone south. Back toward the river.”
Quinn smiled. “And Palavin?”
Mikhail spoke into his phone again, then said to Quinn, “Nearing Victoria.”
“Take us to point three,” Quinn told Petra. He then called Palavin.
“We’re here,” Palavin said. “We’ll park on the north side. You’ll have three minutes to find us, or the deal is off and your sister is dead.”
“I think you misunderstood me. We’re not meeting at Victoria Station,” Quinn told him.
“I’m done playing your games. Come get her and give me my property.”
“Step three. You should write this down. Fifty-one point seven—”
“What the hell is this?” the Ghost said.
“Figure it out,” Quinn told him, then gave him the rest of the GPS coordinates. “You should be able to get there in an hour. I’ll give you fifty minutes. And if you do anything to my sister, I will expose you, Mr. Robb, and you’ll be spending your last years in prison for murder.”
He hung up the phone.
“Well?” he asked Mikhail.
The Russian was sitting across from him, listening to his own phone. “They’re still at Victoria,” he told Quinn. “Wait … they are on the move again.…” There was a pause of several seconds. “Heading … toward … point three.” Mikhail said something in Russian, then to Quinn, “Definitely heading toward point three.”
“Okay,” Quinn said. “It looks like we’re on.”
Chapter 47
The house was twenty miles northeast of the city, outside Chelmsford, near a little town called Sandon. It was down a rural road lined with fields and the occasional home. The house belonged to a Dr. Ryan O’Sullivan and his Russian wife, Ilya, both friends of Nova’s. When Quinn had scouted it with Orlando and Petra that afternoon, his only question had been where the doctor and his family were.
“Nova says the husband and wife are out of the country at a medical convention, and that the children are away at boarding schools in Ireland,” Petra told him.
“Any chance someone will show up unexpectedly?” Orlando asked.
“He says zero.”
Quinn took another look around. “All right. This will do.”
At the front of the property was a small pond that served as home to a pair of black swans. Quinn had seen them that afternoon, but the only movement on the water now was the frenetic dappling caused by the rain from the storm.
The house at the back of the property was two stories in front with two single-story wings that ran further back on each side. Though Nova had supplied a key, Quinn had no intention of entering. Their business would be dealt with out front, between the house and the pond.
The closest neighbors were a good four acres away to either side, separated by rows of trees and brush. Behind the house, nothing but a tree-ringed field.
When they arrived, Orlando was waiting for them. Her job had been to make sure no one had shown up.
Petra parked the van in front of the house, visible from the road, then Quinn and the two Russians joined Orlando under the carport on the south end of the house.
“How is he?” he asked Orlando, still thinking about Nate.
“Not great, but he’s hanging in there.”
Quinn took a deep breath. In all his years in the business, he had never been seriously shot or lost a limb. In Nate’s short time, he’d experienced both. And, Quinn realized, both times had been on projects that were Quinn initiated. Which meant there was no way to rationalize either injury as just being part of the job.
They were Quinn’s fault. He was responsible.
Orlando placed a hand on his back. “He’s a fighter,” she said. “He’s going to be fine.”
If he makes it through the night, Quinn thought.
Something buzzed nearby.
Mikhail pulled his phone out of his pocket. He listened for a moment, then said, “Five minutes away.”
Quinn nodded. “Tell Nova to drop the hammer now.”
While Mikhail passed on the instructions, Quinn turned to Petra and Orlando.
“We should get into position,” he said.
Petra and Mikhail headed off to the right, past the van. Orlando gave Quinn’s hand a squeeze, then ran along the edge of the driveway opposite the pond.
Three minutes later, Quinn saw headlights in the distance down Meyers Lane. They were proceeding slowly. He moved out from the cover of the carport to a spot in the middle of the driveway a dozen feet away from the van, then turned so he faced the road, and waited as the rain soaked his head and jacket.
A large tree at the northeast corner of the property momentarily obscured the car, then it reappeared along the road just on the other side of the pond. Even with the stormy conditions, Quinn could see it was a Mercedes sedan. It slowed to a near stop fifteen feet shy of the driveway’s entrance, then began crawling forward, finally turning onto the driveway. When it stopped again, it was two car lengths away from Quinn.
Quinn’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out knowing what would be on the display: BLOCKED.
He accepted the call and held the phone up to his ear, but said nothing.
“You weren’t alone. Where are the others?”
“What others?” Quinn asked.
“You think I didn’t have you watched? Where are they?”
Quinn raised his arm. A second later Petra and Mikhail stepped out from around the van.
“Show me your weapons,” Palavin said.
“That’s not necessary,” Quinn told him.
“Show them or your sister is dead.”
“How do I know you didn’t kill her already?”
There was the sound of a slap, then Quinn could hear Liz yelp. “Your weapons,” Palavin repeated.
Quinn pulled a pistol out of his jacket, and held it out so those in the car could see it.
“Drop it on the ground.”
Quinn did so.
“Now your friends.”
Quinn paused, then turned and nodded at Petra and Mikhail. They repeated Quinn’s actions, their pistols joining his in the mud.
“Happy?” Quinn asked.
“Where is the package?” Palavin said.
“In the van.”
“Get it.”
Quinn walked over to the van. As he reached for the door Palavin said, “Tell me now if there is anyone inside.”
“Other than Trevor Robb?” Quinn asked. When Palavin didn’t respond, Quinn said, “No one.”
“Open it.”
Quinn opened the door. The two bags he and Orlando had carried out of the Grant Building were visible just inside.
“That’s him?” the Ghost asked.
“What’s left,” Quinn said.
“Bring the bags over and set them beside the car on the driver’s side.”
“Let my sister out first,” Quinn said.
“I don’t think so.”
“Look. The bags are right here. If you really had someone watching me, then you know these are the same bags I brought out of the building.”
“I know nothing of the kind,” Palavin said. “You’
ve had plenty of time to replace what was inside with anything. Bring the bags over.”
“The deal was an exchange. That means we both get something at the same time.”
Quinn heard movement on the other end, then Palavin’s voice, muffled and unintelligible.
The two front doors opened, and the driver and the front passenger got out. The driver was about Quinn’s height, and at least fifty years old. Quinn had never seen him before.
The passenger was different, though. Quinn knew exactly who he was.
“Hello, Mercer,” Quinn said.
Mercer sneered at Quinn.
The driver opened the rear passenger door and leaned inside. When he stood back up, he had Liz with him. She looked scared.
“Now the bags,” the Ghost said over the phone.
Quinn slipped the phone into his pocket, then pulled the bags out of the van and walked them over to the car.
On the road in front of the property, two cars appeared — a Mercedes and an Audi. A moment later they turned down the driveway.
“What is this?” Quinn yelled.
The rear passenger door on the other side of the S600 opened, and an elderly man climbed out. There was no mistaking his face. He was the older version of the wavy-haired twin in the Young Leninist photo, and the middle-aged man from the headshot in Annabel Taplin’s folder.
The murderer.
The faux Trevor Robb.
The Ghost.
He was smiling an ugly smile.
“I’m afraid this was a career-ending job from the beginning. For a last assignment, I’m sure it wasn’t as satisfying as you would have hoped, and for that I apologize.”
The Mercedes and the Audi pulled to a stop behind the Ghost’s car.
“What are you talking about?” Quinn asked, wiping the water from his face.
“You know about the people I’ve had removed. You obviously know about the late Mr. Robb. I’m afraid you are too dangerous to me alive. I can’t have that.”
“So you’re just going to kill me?” Quinn said.
“You and your new friends,” Palavin said, glancing back toward Petra and Mikhail. He smiled. “Yes. I know who you are. Dombrovski’s puppets. Mercer was kind enough to take photos of each of you in Maine before he killed your friend.” He looked back at Quinn. “So kind of you to team up with them. Makes things so much more neat and easy.” He then said something in Russian.
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