The Silenced (29 page)

THEY DECIDED TO WATCH THE HOTEL ROOM IN
shifts, Mikhail going first. Petra, in the meantime, would pick up where they’d left off with the Russian immigrant community. She wanted to check something first, so she gave the cabbie the name of the street Wills’s office was on. There was the chance someone the Englishman had worked with might still be around. If so, Petra thought she might be able to isolate them and find out if he knew how to find Quinn or, even better, the Ghost.

But as the taxi drove by the building, she realized that she was out of luck.

“At the corner all right, ma’am?” her driver asked, the taxi already slowing.

“No,” Petra said. “I’ve changed my mind. Take me to Oxford Circus.”

The cab picked up speed. If the driver was at all curious about the change in direction, he didn’t look it.

Standing outside the entrance to Wills’s building were three uniformed police officers and a group of several men in well-cut suits, talking in a tight circle. Wills’s death had generated a strong response. And if Quinn was even close to being as smart as she thought he was, he wouldn’t be within ten blocks of the building.

Another dead end.

Her phone buzzed.

“Hello?” she said.

“Get back to the hotel,” Mikhail said.

“Why? What happened?”

“Someone’s in the room.”

Petra put her hand over the phone, then leaned toward the front of the cab. “Forget Oxford Circus,” she said. “Belgrave Road. The Silvain Hotel.”

Petra met Mikhail as she neared the elevators at the Silvain. “Two women. They’re in the room now,” he said.

“You’re sure?”

“There are only two ways out. The elevator or these stairs. I’ve been keeping tabs on both. I also did a walk-by five minutes ago and could hear voices inside.”

“No sign of Quinn?”

“None.”

Petra considered their options. “Let’s keep up the surveillance. We don’t make a move until Quinn shows up.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“He will.”

He looked at her, concern in his eyes. “Petra. Shelby still might not be Quinn.”

She frowned, then sighed. “All right. If he’s not here in a few hours, we’ll reassess.” She paused. “Let’s take a look at his floor again. Then I’ll relieve you for a while.”

Mikhail led her up the staircase. At the landing, he opened the door just wide enough to peek into the hall. Petra could feel him tense.

“What?” she asked.

“The door to the room is open a few inches,” he said.

“Do you think they’re gone?”

“We would have heard them or seen them,” Mikhail said, but he didn’t sound confident. “Stay here.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just walk by and check if I can see anything.”

She put a hand on his arm. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll go all the way to the other end, wait for a few minutes, then come back. I’ll just be somebody who’s staying on this floor.”

She released him. Mikhail opened the door wide enough to slip into the hallway. Petra caught the door before it closed all the way, and peered through the crack as he walked away from her. The door to the room was still partially open, like someone had gone through it but hadn’t made sure to close it.

Five feet.

Four.

Three.

Two.

All was quiet.

Mikhail neared the door. As he turned his head to take a quick look, it whipped open.

He jerked back in surprise as a tiny, dark-haired woman rushed out and rammed her head into his abdomen. He flew into the wall opposite the door and slipped to the floor.

The woman leaned over him, her fist drawn back ready to deliver another blow. Without a thought, Petra raced into the hallway, pointing her pistol at Mikhail’s attacker.

“Don’t touch him,” she said in English.

The woman froze.

“Take a step back.”

The woman did as Petra commanded. Only she didn’t stop with one. Three quick steps took her back inside her room.

Petra sprinted for the door, jamming her foot in the closing gap, then she tried to shove it inward with her shoulder. The door didn’t budge as the women worked against each other. Suddenly Mikhail was at Petra’s side, adding his weight to hers.

Combined they were too much, and the door began to inch inward. All at once the force on the other side disappeared, and the door swung open with a bang. The woman had given up trying to keep them out, and was sprinting across the room toward the window.

Petra rushed forward, gun first. “Don’t try it,” she said.

The woman froze.

As Petra took another step forward she could hear Mikhail close the door behind her. “We only want to talk, but if you go through that window, you’re dead. Now turn around. Slowly.”

The woman did.

She was Asian, though which specific nationality Petra couldn’t tell. She couldn’t have been much more than five feet tall, and if she had an ounce of fat on her, Petra would have been surprised.

“Where’s your partner?” Petra asked.

The woman looked unsure of what she meant. “My partner?” Her accent was American.

“The person you arrived with,” Petra said.

The woman seemed to consider her answer, like she was calculating the odds of what response would best favor her. She then pointed at the closed bathroom door to Petra’s right. “She’s in there.”

Petra moved to a spot near the wall where she could see both the woman and the bathroom door. “Sit down,” she ordered the woman.

The woman shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed.

Petra shot a glance at Mikhail and nodded at the bathroom. “Check it,” she told him in Russian. When she looked back, the woman on the bed was staring at her, a curious look on her face. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” the woman said.

Mikhail approached the door, stopping against the wall just shy of the jamb. It was hinged on the other side and would open into the room.

After a brief hesitation, he reached out with his free hand, pushed the levered handle down, then gave it a jerk. As the door swung open, he fell back against the wall, his gun trained toward the opening.

Though there was no light on inside, enough spilled in from the bedroom so that Petra could see someone hunched low a few feet inside.

“Come out,” Petra said.

The other woman remained where she was.

“You don’t want us to drag you out,” Petra said.

The woman swayed back and forth a few times, but still made no move to exit.

“Out now!”

The woman on the bed smiled as she shook her head once. “She can’t.”

“Why not?”

“See for yourself.”

“Mikhail,” Petra said, nodding at the open doorway.

Mikhail leaned forward so he could see inside. “What …?” The question was barely audible, meant for himself, but it concerned Petra. Something was not right.

She watched as he stepped into the bathroom, his gun falling to his side.

“Careful,” Petra snapped.

“It’s okay,” he said without turning around.

Mikhail flipped the bathroom light on, but his body blocked Petra’s view. He leaned forward for several seconds, then with a grunt stood back up. Now Petra could see the woman’s head.

What in God’s name?

The woman was wearing a gag. As Mikhail pulled her into the main room, Petra saw that, in addition, her hands were tied behind her back.

“You want me to take the gag off?” Mikhail asked Petra.

Petra looked at the Asian woman. “Who is she?”

“Like you’d believe me if I told you,” the woman said.

“Take it off,” Petra told Mikhail.

As soon as the gag was off, the woman coughed, then drew in a deep breath. “Thank you,” she croaked.

“Who are you?” Petra asked.

There was another fit of coughing.

“Your name.”

“Can you untie my hands?” the woman asked. “I think I’ve lost feeling in them.”

The Asian woman rolled her eyes.

“What is your name?” Petra said, growing annoyed.

“Annabel,” she said.

“Annabel what?”

“Why do you need to know that?”

“Put the gag back on,” Petra ordered.

Mikhail raised the cloth back to Annabel’s face.

“No. Wait,” Annabel said. “Taplin. My last name’s Taplin.”

Mikhail paused, glancing at Petra.

“I didn’t say stop.”

Annabel’s eyes widened as Mikhail tied the gag back over her mouth.

“Perhaps you’d like to tell us your name,” Petra said to the Asian woman.

Instead of answering, the woman stared at Petra, a knowing smile on her face. “You’re the one who was in Maine, aren’t you?” she said.

Petra tensed.

“And in Los Angeles, too. Right?”

Los Angeles?
Except for the watcher on the street, Petra didn’t think she’d been seen in Los Angeles.

“Who are you?” Petra asked.

“I might ask you the same question.”

Petra paused for a moment. There was something about this woman she liked. She got a serious no-bullshit vibe from her. “We are looking for someone we think you might work with.”

“And who would that be?”

“A man named Jonathan Quinn.”

“And I’m supposed to know him?”

“I know you do. You wouldn’t have known where I’ve been, otherwise.” Petra hesitated. “We need to talk to him.”

The woman smirked. “That’s all? Just a little chat?”

“Just talk.”

“Not kill him like you killed David Wills yesterday?”

“We didn’t kill Wills,” Petra said.

“You were there.”

“If I could have talked to him, I wouldn’t be looking for your friend now. But he was dead before I had a chance.”

“So you moved on to Quinn.”

“I have no one left.” Petra knew she sounded desperate, but she didn’t care.

The woman stared curiously at her for a moment. Petra almost felt like she saw sympathy in her eyes. Then the woman looked past Petra, toward the front door.

Petra turned her head to see what the woman had seen. Mikhail was keeping an eye on the other woman, but otherwise there was nothing—

Her gun was suddenly wrenched from her hand. She started to turn back around, but before she could she was flying backward into Mikhail. They both fell to the floor, Petra on top.

“Gun,” the woman said.

She was standing over them, Petra’s weapon in her hand pointing at Petra’s chest.

“Slowly,” the woman said. Mikhail’s gun flew up over his leg and landed on the floor near the woman’s feet.

Not taking her eyes off them, the woman crouched down and picked it up, then stood again. “Now, what exactly is it you want to talk to Quinn about?”

WHEN QUINN ARRIVED AT ST. PANCRAS STATION,
the inbound Eurostar was already disembarking. Hundreds of passengers were spilling out the doors from the passport control area into the main concourse and mixing with the hundreds of others making their way to and from the domestic trains, or passing through on their way to the Underground at the far end. Barely controlled chaos. If Nate had stuck to his training, he and Liz would have blended in with the departing crowd, being neither the first nor the last to leave. And sure enough, when the exiting crowd was at its height, Nate and Liz appeared.

The look on Nate’s face was all business as he surveyed their new surroundings, while Liz looked tense and tired. Quinn also noticed something else. Not only were they holding hands, but Liz’s other hand was wrapped around Nate’s forearm, keeping him close.

Nate made eye contact with his boss a moment later, but kept walking into the station with no acknowledgment.

Quinn let them pass, and continued to scan the crowd to see if anyone was interested in them. When he was confident their arrival had been unobserved, he joined the flow of exiting passengers.

A minute later he came up to Nate on the side opposite his sister.

“Here,” he whispered as he slipped two Oyster cards into Nate’s hand. “Underground. Piccadilly Line. Southbound.” He then picked up his pace and disappeared back into the crowd before his sister noticed him.

The waiting crowd on the Piccadilly southbound platform was large but off its rush-hour high. When Nate and Liz arrived, Quinn stayed visible just long enough for Nate to spot him, then he took a step back out of sight.

As soon as the next train eased to a stop, Quinn wormed his way through the other travelers and entered the opposite end of the same car Nate and Liz had stepped onto. Again he caught his apprentice’s eye. He held two fingers against the support pole, indicating they were only going two stops. At Holborn, Quinn made his way to the westbound Central Line, making sure that Nate never lost sight of him. From there it was a one-stop ride to Tottenham Court Road, then back outside into the gloomy morning.

Quinn waited, tucked into a shallow recess, until Nate and Liz exited, then he moved beside them and said, “This way.”

“Jake?” Liz said.

“Let’s not talk here.”

“How did you know this was where we were going?”

“Liz, please. Just a few minutes more,” he said, then led them to the apartment Orlando had rented on Charlotte Street.

The moment they were inside and the door was closed, Liz said, “Can we talk here? Or am I still supposed to stay quiet?”

“I’m sorry,” Quinn said. “We had to be careful. We couldn’t risk anyone overhearing us.”

“What the hell is going on?” she asked.

“Everything’s all right now,” Nate said. He reached out to touch her on the arm, but this time she pulled away.

“All right? Are you kidding me?” She looked at her brother. “Have you gotten yourself into some kind of trouble? Is that what’s going on?”

“We don’t have time for this right now,” Quinn said. “I have to get back to Orlando.”

“Orlando? Florida?”

Quinn shook his head. “Not the city. Claire.”

“Claire?” Liz said, surprised. “Your girlfriend? She’s mixed up in this, too?”

“We work together.”

“So she’s not your girlfriend?”

“No, she is,” Quinn said. “But we also work—Never mind. That isn’t important.” He was being drawn into a conversation he neither had time for nor wanted. “I needed to make sure you were safe. And now that you are, I have to go make sure you stay that way.”

“Safe? I had men searching through my apartment building for me. Nate got shot at. Julien’s dead, for God’s sake. I even had to come here using a fake passport. Where’s the ‘safe’ in any of that?”

“Listen to me,” Quinn said. “No one can get to you here. No one knows about this place except the three of us and Orlando.”

“You mean Claire,” Liz said, defiant.

“She prefers ‘Orlando.’ ”

“ ‘Claire’ is actually kind of nice,” Nate said.

“Shut up, Nate,” Quinn said.

“Don’t tell him to shut up,” Liz said.

Quinn took a deep breath and tried to say calm. “Liz, please. We can talk about all this later.”

“So you can tell me another lie? No thanks, Jake. You can live in whatever kind of world you’ve created. I don’t care. I don’t care if we never talk again. I don’t need you. I’m getting out of here.”

She started to turn toward the door, but he grabbed her by the arms. She tried to pull away, but he held on.

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“Like you’ve protected me all these years since you left home?” she yelled, tears welling in her eyes. “I just want you to disappear. I don’t need you.”

Quinn closed his eyes for a second, then looked at her again. “Until I make sure the threat is over, you need to stay here. After that, I promise, you never have to deal with me again.”

She stared at him, her shoulders moving up and down with each breath. “Fine,” she said. She tried to pull away again, but he didn’t let go. “Do you mind?”

“You’ll stay in this apartment until I tell you you can go?” he asked.

“I already said I would.”

“Even if we have to leave you here alone sometimes?”

Her eyes darted away from his. “Sure.”

“Liz, I’m serious. I might need Nate, and that means you’ll be here by yourself. But if you think you can use it as an opportunity to sneak out, then our deal is off, and you’ll never be rid of me. You understand?”

They stared at each other for several seconds. “I understand,” she finally said. “I assume it’s okay if I use the bathroom, or is that off-limits, too?”

He let go of her arms. “Down the hallway,” he said, pointing behind him.

She brushed past him and disappeared into the hallway. Once he heard the bathroom door shut, he turned to Nate.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” he said.

“What?” Nate asked.

“Get between me and my sister.”

“I was just trying to lighten the mood. I thought you were going to rip each other apart.”

“I don’t care what you were trying to do. Your job is to make sure Liz is safe, and that’s all!”

Nate’s eyes narrowed, his face hardening. “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing!” Tension filled the space between them for another moment, then, in a calmer voice, Nate asked, “Do you want to know what happened this morning?”

“Yes. Of course,” Quinn said. “What happened?”

Nate told him about the failed meeting with Julien and the subsequent encounter with the men Julien had been pretending to work with.

“How much does Liz know?” Quinn asked, shooting a glance toward the hallway, expecting his sister to reappear at any second.

“Only that Julien is dead, and that there were some gunshots. She doesn’t know I killed them. Not for sure, anyway.”

“About me, I mean.”

“She knows you don’t work in banking. And that I work for you. She asked a lot of questions, but I told her she would have to get details from you.”

“Okay. Good,” Quinn said. It was the best he could hope for. “Any other problems after your encounter this morning?”

Nate shook his head.

“I need to get back to Orlando,” Quinn said. “You stay here for now.”

“Have you found out who sent the men to Paris?”

“Not yet. But we’ve got a pretty good idea who he is.” He looked around the room like he’d set something down and couldn’t remember where it was. “There’s no food in the kitchen. You’ll have to go out and get some. But only you. Liz isn’t to leave.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll check in later.”

“Okay.”

Quinn took a few steps toward the front door, then stopped and looked back in the direction of the bathroom. Liz still hadn’t come out.

He started to open his mouth, then paused, and turned back to the front door. “Call me if there’s a problem.”

He pulled the door open and left.