The Silenced (24 page)

“Let me go,” she said.

“Liz, we have to get out of here.”

“Let me go. I’ll be fine inside. I won’t let them in.”

“They’ll still get in.”

“I won’t let them!”

Nate pulled the key out of the lock, then swept up her purse and handed it to her.

“Hold this,” he said.

Out of reflex, she did. He then lifted her over his shoulder in more or less a fireman’s hold.

“Put me down,” she said.

“If you keep talking, they’ll kill us,” he said.

Just then the door to apartment 25, two down from Liz’s place, opened. An old woman stuck her head out.

“Qu’est-ce que vous faites?”
she asked.

“Rien. Tout va bien. Rentrez à l’intérieur,”
Nate said, reassuring her there was nothing going on she needed to be concerned about.

“You speak French, too?” Liz said.

“A little.”

The woman looked at them for a moment longer, then closed her door.

Nate, with Liz still over his shoulder, began moving toward the stairs.

“What else did you lie to me about?” Liz asked.

“Not as much as you might think,” Nate said between breaths.

He could hear the elevator moving. Up or down, he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. The next time the door opened on this floor, Julien’s pseudo colleagues would be behind it.

He turned for the stairs, but he couldn’t carry her down, so he lowered her to her feet.

“You have to do everything I tell you or this won’t go well. Understand?” He was using his best no-bullshit voice.

She nodded. He could see in her eyes that maybe she was finally getting it.

“We go down. Quickly but quietly.”

But before they had even gone one step, Nate heard someone on the stairs several floors below heading up.

“Dammit,” he said. “Back down the hall.”

She followed him without question this time. Behind them, he could hear the elevator stop for several seconds, then start up again. Then he noticed the doorway at the far end of the hall.

“What’s that?” Nate asked. He was pointing at the door.

“Emergency stairway. An alarm sounds when you open it.”

The alarm was a problem, but not as much of a problem as getting shot in the hallway.

The door to apartment 25 opened again, and the old woman stepped into the hallway.

“Si vous n’arrêtez pas, je vais appeler la police!”

Nate veered toward her and pushed Liz through the open door.

“Vous ne pouvez pas rentrer ici!”
the woman protested, trying to block the way.

“Je suis désolé,”
Nate apologized.
“S’il vous plaît, rentrez à l’intérieur.”

The woman didn’t move.

Liz reached out and pulled the woman by the shoulder back inside the apartment. “Madame Gerard,
s’il vous plaît.
”

Nate looked at Liz. “Shut the door, and don’t answer it unless you know it’s me.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To distract them.”

“But you’ll be back?”

He flashed a quick smile. “As soon as I can. Promise me you’ll stay here.”

“I’ll stay,” she said.

He turned and headed straight for the emergency stairway. He could hear the elevator behind him start to slow down. It would only be a few seconds before the doors opened and the others spilled out.

Nate checked to make sure Liz and Madame Gerard were safely inside, then he threw open the door. An alarm began to wail as he raced down the stairwell.

Come on
, he thought.
Come on
.

He banged against the wall on the second floor landing and kept heading down. When he reached the first floor, he finally heard footsteps on the stairs above him.

With a sense of relief, he raced to the ground floor, then burst out the exit onto the sidewalk.

Forty-five seconds later Julien and two other men ran out the door. By then Nate was across the street, leaning against the opposite building like he’d been there all day.

THE RAIN WAS STEADY AND COLD BY THE TIME
Nate felt it was safe to return to the apartment building for Liz. Back on the street with no umbrella, they were both getting soaked, but if it bothered Liz, she didn’t say anything. She just held on to his hand and followed as close behind him as she could.

He kept them moving in a westward direction, changing streets at random and always checking to make sure no one was following them. At Rue Duguay-Trouin they went left, then veered onto Rue Huysmans. The streets here were residential stone buildings not unlike the one Liz lived in. When they reached the corner of Rue Notre Dame des Champs and Rue de Rennes, Nate guided Liz under the awning of a patisserie, thinking it was safe enough to take a short rest.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said, but her trembling jaw revealed the truth.

They needed to get out of the rain and dry off, fast. He looked through the window into the patisserie. Definitely dry, and probably warm, too. But Nate was hesitant to slow their progress. At the moment, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the apartment building was their number one goal.

A taxi? Not the best option. A cabbie might remember them. Steal a car? Even in the rain, they might be noticed. Then Nate spotted an entrance to the Métro across the street. He’d avoided the stations closer to Liz’s place, but they were far enough away now that the risk was minimized, and with the way Liz was shivering, he knew they had little choice.

“This way,” he said, then led her over to the stairs and down into the station.

He could feel her trembling under his arm. Whether it was from the cold or from fear, he couldn’t be sure. He guided her over to a map on the wall and said, “We need to get as far away from this part of town as possible. So I need you to tell me which way we should go.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice weak. “We’re here.” She pointed to a station called Saint-Placide. “Only one line. The four.”

Nate examined the map. South wouldn’t get them very far.

“Looks like we should go north,” he said.

“If we go all the way to Gare du Nord, we’ll have lots of choices of where we can go from there.”

“Perfect. You’re doing great.”

She smiled weakly. Within five minutes they were settled on a northbound train, as far from the other passengers as possible. With nothing to do for the first time since Julien had pounded on Liz’s door, Nate pulled out his cell phone to check it. As he looked at the display, he realized there was something he should have done before they’d even left Liz’s apartment.

“Did you bring your phone?” he asked.

“My phone?”

“Yes. Do you have it?”

“It’s in my purse.”

“Let me see it.”

She furrowed her brow.

“Please,” he insisted.

Liz opened her purse and hunted around until she found her phone, then reluctantly handed it to him. Immediately, he popped open the back and removed the battery and SIM card.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“You can get a new one later,” he said as he slipped the pieces into his jacket pocket. “This one goes in the trash.”

“Why?”

“Because they can track us using your phone even if it’s off.”

“You have a phone.”

“Mine’s special. Can’t be tracked.”

He looked back at his cell. Two text messages, both asking the same thing.

The first was from Julien:

Are you safe?

Nate wrote a one-word reply:

Yes

But when he tried to send it, it failed. He had no signal on the train.

The second message was from Quinn:

Update

Nate typed out an answer, knowing he’d have to wait to send.

Got her out. Looking for place to lay low.
Julien working diversion.

“What are you doing?” Liz asked.

“Responding to your brother,” he said. “He wants to know what’s going on.”

She hesitated, then asked, “You really work for him?”

“Yes.”

“And that other guy, he works for my brother, too?”

“Sometimes, I guess,” Nate said.

“You guess?”

“Yesterday was the first time I met him.”

She was quiet for a while. “What exactly is it my brother does?”

“I think maybe he should answer that one.”

“But he’s not here. You are.”

Nate had no response for that, so he kept his mouth shut.

They rode in silence, stopping at several stations before Liz suddenly sat straight up. “My mother. If people were coming after me, do you think someone might go after her also?”

“We have people watching her, too. She’ll be fine.”

“She can’t run like me,” Liz said. “If they get close, she won’t be able to get away.”

“Your brother won’t let that happen.”

“He let that happen with me,” she snapped.

Several of the passengers at the other end of the car looked over. But they soon returned to their own worlds when it was apparent a yelling match wasn’t about to break out.

After several seconds of silence, Liz whispered, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Nate said. “I’d be mad, too.”

“I need to ask you something.”

Nate gave her a sideways glance. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”

That drew out just the barest of smiles on her face.

“Is Jake a criminal?”

Nate had to catch himself from laughing. “No,” he said. “Well, I guess it depends on how you look at things. Some people might think so. But no, he’s no criminal.”

“That’s not exactly a clear answer.”

Nate thought for a moment, then said, “Your brother is one of the most honorable people I know. If he gives someone his word, he doesn’t break it. I’d trust him with my life any day of the week.” Nate paused for a moment. “He’s not the easiest person to get to know. And he doesn’t have a lot of close friends. But that’s not because he’s not a good person. He is. He cares more than he ever shows. He’s just … Quinn.”

“There’s that name again. Quinn.”

“It’s his name now.”

“Jake Oliver wasn’t good enough for him?”

“In our world it’s safer to create a new identity. Hell, until just before I met you, I didn’t know him by anything
but
Quinn.”

She scrutinized him again. “So you’re saying your name really isn’t even Nate?”

He smiled. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“On if we’re talking about before or after I started working for your brother.”

Just then the train began to slow as they pulled in to a new station. Nate looked out the window. A sign on the wall said
Gare du Nord
.

“Our stop,” he said.

He stood up and walked toward the door.

“Movement,” Orlando said.

She was at the dining room table, her laptop in front of her. Quinn moved in behind her. The image on the screen showed the blue dot representing Nate’s phone moving west from Liz’s apartment. But was Liz with him? For that matter, had they been taken or were they still free?

Quinn pulled out his phone.

“You still shouldn’t call him,” Orlando said.

“I’m not calling. I’m texting.”

Orlando rolled her eyes as he brought up the virtual keyboard and tapped in one word.

Update

He hit Send. If he didn’t hear back within the next thirty minutes, they’d go to Paris whether it was a bad idea or not.

Orlando’s phone began to ring. She looked at the display, then at Quinn. “It’s Scott Bethel.” Bethel was the person in Moscow she’d asked to follow up on the Stepka lead. She hit Accept. “Hold on, Scott. I’m putting you on speaker.”

She set the phone down next to her computer and touched the screen.

“Okay,” she said. “What have you learned?”

“I found this Stepka guy in an apartment full of highend computer gear,” Bethel said. “Didn’t want to talk at first. But he’s the soft type.”

“Did you hurt him?” Quinn asked.

“Didn’t have to,” Bethel said. “I don’t think he goes out much.” Bethel’s specialty was getting in and out of places unseen. Though he wasn’t large like Julien, he was solid, and could be intimidating if he wanted to.

“Where is he now?”

“Sitting in front of me.”

“What?”

“I’m in his apartment. We just had a nice little talk. But I thought you might want to hear directly from him what he had to say.”

“I’d love to.”

“Let me put him on speaker.” There was a bit of static, then Bethel said in a voice more distant than before, “All right, Stepka. Why don’t you tell my friend what you just told me?”

Silence.

“Stepka. My name is Quinn. Jonathan Quinn. I believe you were doing a little research on me. I’d like to know why.”

More silence.

“So you’re not going to talk to my friend?” Bethel asked. “Maybe this will change your mind.”

There was a loud crash and the sound of something breaking into several pieces.

“No, don’t!” a voice yelled. English with a Russian accent. Stepka.

“What was that?” Quinn asked.

“This kid’s got more computer equipment jammed in here than most IT departments I’ve seen. Well, a little less than he had a moment ago.” Bethel paused. “How about we try this monitor now?”

“No! No, I will talk.”

“Then talk.”

“Mr. Quinn. I … I was only checking on you because … because you have been getting in our way.”

“In your way of what?” Quinn asked.

“Our search for the Ghost.”

“The Ghost?”

“His real name is Palavin. Former KGB. A butcher.”

That jibed with both what Orlando had uncovered and what the Russian woman had claimed. “Why are you looking for him?”

“We want to … talk with him.”

“Talk with him? Really? I get the feeling you want to do more than that.”

Stepka said nothing.

“All right,” Quinn said. “Tell me about the woman.”

“What woman?”

“The woman who is here searching for him.”

“Petra,” Stepka said. “She is the team leader.”

“How many in her team?”

“Now? Just two. She and a man named Mikhail.”

“Why is she interested in me?”

“You have information that will help us find Palavin.”

“I have no such information.”

“Of course you have,” Stepka said. “You’ve been working for him. We need what you know. Petra will find you. She will—”

“Take him off speaker, Scott,” Quinn said. He shared a look with Orlando.

There was a faint click, then Bethel said, “Okay, it’s just me.”

“Put him on ice for right now. Someplace no one can find him for a few days. I’ll let you know when you can release him. But don’t hurt him. Feed him and give him a place to sleep.”

“I can do that.”

“Good,” Quinn said. “We’ll be in touch.”

As soon as he hung up, Orlando said, “What do you think?”

“If Palavin really was Wills’s client, then that might explain why Annabel Taplin had his picture with mine. But even then, whatever these Russians are up to could mess things up for us. My family’s safety comes first. I’m not going to allow them to get in my way.” He paused. “What we really need to do is have a little chat with Ms. Taplin. Can you find out if she’s returned to London yet?”

Orlando smiled. “I can do that.”