The Silenced (5 page)

He waited until she had rounded the side of the building out of sight, then crept out from behind the signs. The woman only had two choices: return to the back of the building or head toward the main road. Of the two, the latter made the most sense.

Instead of following her, Quinn cut over to the other side of the building and made his way to the street, paralleling the path she would be taking on the far side.

He stopped at the corner, tight to the wall, and did a quick visual sweep. The areas in front of the warehouse and off to the right were deserted. The building next door, a dingy two-story monstrosity with more windows broken than intact, was dark and dead.

Quinn turned to the wall, then eased his head out just enough to clear the corner. In the distance, the lights of downtown glimmered against the night sky. Closer, but still about a hundred yards away, a solitary streetlamp provided the only illumination for blocks.

He searched for any sign of the woman, but all was still. He then focused on the far corner of the building and waited.

It wasn’t long before a shadow took a step away from the warehouse, paused, then took several more. He gave her a head start, then followed. She must have a car stashed somewhere. His goal now was to get a plate number. He stuck as close as possible to the empty buildings that lined the street, and kept a good fifty feet between himself and the woman as she walked along the curb.

About sixty feet shy of the feeble streetlight, she turned into a small warehouse parking lot. Quinn slowed, then dropped to a crouch and continued forward another twenty feet. There he used the bushes growing at the base of a useless chain-link fence as cover. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, accessed the camera, and switched to night vision mode.

Ahead he heard a car door open, then voices. One voice was muffled and indiscernible, while the other was clearer and female. The words they spoke weren’t from any of the several languages Quinn was either fluent in or familiar with. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have a pretty good idea what language they had used.

Russian. Or, at the very least, some derivative.

Quinn slid around the chain-link fence and shimmied in as close as he could get, then watched the woman climb into the car and pull the door closed. He took four pictures before they pulled away: one of the car, a close-up of the license plate, and one each of the young guy behind the wheel and the woman. The intruder.

Whoever she was, Quinn had never seen her before.

“I’M NOT A KILLER,” QUINN SAID.

He was walking toward Little Tokyo, a more populated part of downtown Los Angeles, where he’d be able to arrange for a taxi. Under his left arm he carried the folded-up coveralls he’d been wearing over his clothes at the warehouse. His first call had been to Nate to make sure everything was going as planned.

It was.

He’d then put in the call to David Wills.

“I know you’re not a killer, but aren’t you supposed to take care of loose ends?” Wills said, irritated. “Aren’t you supposed to make sure no one finds anything?”

“And she didn’t,” Quinn said. “We were finished by the time she entered the building.”

“Did she see you carry the body outside? Did she see the vehicle that took it away?”

Instead of answering, Quinn tried to change the focus. “Whoever she was, she had to have followed the ops team in. She waited for them to leave before nosing around.”

“So you’re saying she didn’t see you remove the body? Didn’t maybe take a picture of your vehicle’s license like you did of hers?”

“If she did, it’s not going to lead her anywhere.” As always, he and Nate had taken the proper precautions. “And in case you forgot, my standard procedure when something like this happens is to follow, identify, and report. It’s one of the conditions we discussed when we first started working together. Or don’t you recall that?”

“What if she was a police officer?”

“Even better reason not to shoot her,” Quinn said, then added, “She wasn’t police.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“Because the cops in L.A. don’t usually speak Russian.”

Silence. Then, “What do you mean?”

“I heard her say something to her partner.”

“In Russian?” The Englishman sounded troubled, but not surprised.

“If it wasn’t, it was pretty damn close. Does that mean something to you?”

“You’re sure she wasn’t waiting there the whole time?” Wills asked.

“Yes, David. I’m sure. I was the only one who knew about the location ahead of time. When I called your ops team, I was already there, and had done several area checks. We were clean at that point. The only possibility is that she followed the others. Unless you have some other theory.”

Wills said nothing.

“I don’t like the fact someone showed up on one of my jobs any more than you do,” Quinn said. “But I did everything according to my rules. I even got you pictures.” Around him traffic was starting to pick up. “Sorry you’re not happy, but that’s not my problem. Gotta go.”

“Wait,” Wills said. “Look, I apologize. You’re right. You did exactly what you should have. I’m just feeling a lot of pressure on this one. But that’s not an excuse.”

Quinn took a moment, letting his own agitation ebb. So far Wills had been a decent client, fair even. No sense in damaging a good relationship.

“It’s fine, David. It happens.”

“I seem to be staying just a step or two ahead on this one, when I’d rather it be a mile,” Wills said. “We need to talk about the next assignment.”

Quinn looked around. Though there were more cars on the street, he was still the only one on the sidewalk. “All right.”

“After what happened tonight, I don’t want to take any chances, so I’m moving up the next phase. I need you and your team on the East Coast by tomorrow morning.”

Quinn didn’t need to check his watch to know it was almost 10 p.m. “Not possible. By the time we could get to the airport, there won’t be any flights.”

“You won’t go commercial,” Wills said. “I’m chartering a plane for you. I’ll email the details within the next thirty minutes.”

“Where exactly are we going?”

“Maine.”

Petra had told Kolya to drive straight to the airport. After leaving the car in one of the long-term lots, they grabbed a free shuttle to the terminals, taking seats in the back as far from the handful of other passengers as possible. The bus was nearing Terminal 1 when her phone began to ring. She didn’t need to look at the display. Only Mikhail and Kolya had the number.

“Where the hell have you been?” she asked. She’d been trying to reach him for the last half hour with no luck.

“Busy,” he said.

Petra frowned. “We’re at the airport. Did you get us a flight or not?”

“Winters?” he asked.

“Dead.”

Mikhail paused for a moment, then, “Continental Airlines 634. You leave at eleven-thirty.”

“Okay,” Petra said. “Have a car meet us when we arrive. We’ll see you at the hotel.”

“You’re not flying to New York.”

That caused her a moment’s pause. “You’ve found him?”

“I’ve narrowed it down,” he said.

“Where?”

“You switch planes in Cleveland, Ohio, then fly on to Boston. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“You’d better be.”

THE PRIVATE JET COULD HAVE EASILY FIT TWENTY
passengers, but besides the two pilots up front and a single attendant, Nate and Quinn had the plane to themselves.

As soon as they were in the air, Quinn announced that he was going to get some sleep.

Nate knew this was more than just information; it was a suggestion that he do the same. With seats that reclined to a fully horizontal position, and the eyeshades and earplugs that had been on the seat cushions when they came aboard, sleep should have been easy.

Nate removed the prosthetic that served as his lower right leg, tilted his own seat back, and tried to get comfortable. But an ache in his missing ankle kept sleep from finding him. Phantom memories, the physical therapist had explained. “You’ll have them the rest of your life.”

Great
.

Like he often did, he began to wonder why he could remember his leg, but couldn’t remember the moment it had been crushed. It had happened in Singapore outside a hawker center. Arriving at the center with Quinn and Orlando—yes, he remembered that. Racing into position to back up his boss, that too. But the moment the car had intentionally rammed into him? Nothing.

When he woke up a day later in a private hospital, his right leg had already been amputated below the knee. Doctors and nurses had come in and out in no apparent pattern, some looking at his stump, some checking his charts, but few talking to him. The ones who did told him he would be fine. That artificial limbs had come a long way from the plastic and metal boat anchors they’d once been.

At the time Nate had barely listened. Part of it was the shock, but mostly it was the almost-certain knowledge that his career as a cleaner was over. What awaited him was a return to normal life, to a life devoid of the challenges and the excitement and the sense of truly being alive that he’d had as Quinn’s apprentice. When he realized this, he almost wished the car had killed him, because he knew the boredom he was facing surely would.

But then, two nights after the accident, Orlando came to see him. It was her second visit of the day. Earlier she’d come with Quinn, who’d hardly been able to say anything.

Pity
, that’s what Nate thought his boss was feeling. It had been enough to drive Nate deeper into depression.

As soon as Orlando walked back in, Nate looked to the door expecting Quinn to follow.

“I’m alone,” she said as she approached his bed. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

Nate nodded, the look on his face neutral. “Okay.”

On the table that hovered above his waist was his untouched dinner. He picked up the fork and pushed some of the rice around.

“I need to get back to Garrett,” she said. Her son was still living in Vietnam at that point.

“Sure, I get it.” He squeezed his eyes closed as pain spiked up his leg into his torso.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I could get the nurse. Get you some painkillers.”

“I’m fine!” His voice leaped from his throat, harsh and loud.

Neither of them said anything for several seconds.

“Sorry,” Nate said. “I just … I …”

“You should eat,” she said.

“I’m not hungry.”

“What are you talking about? This looks great.”

“You can eat it, then.”

She picked up the spoon from the tray and scooped up some vegetables, a piece of chicken, and some rice, then held them in the air. “You sure?”

“Be my guest.”

She slipped the food into her mouth, then smiled. “This isn’t bad.” She sat on the edge of his bed.

“I thought you were leaving?” he said.

“In a few minutes.”

He shrugged.

She filled up the spoon again, but this time held it out to him.

“I’m not hungry,” he told her.

“Just try it.”

“No.”

She moved the spoon to his lips. “Come on.”

“I said I’m not hu—”

She slipped the spoon into his mouth.

Having no choice, he started chewing the food. “I wouldn’t even let my mother do that.”

She filled the spoon again and held it back up.

“I can feed myself,” he said.

“Yeah, but will you?”

He scowled at her for a moment, then picked up the fork and stabbed a piece of chicken.

Smiling, Orlando redirected the spoon into her own mouth. “Could use a little spice. But this is a hospital, so I guess bland makes sense.”

They both chewed in silence for a moment.

Finally Nate said, “Where’s Quinn?”

“Back at the hotel.”

Probably either sleeping or having a beer in the bar
, Nate thought. Moving on, no doubt. Maybe even thinking about getting a new apprentice.

“He’s trying to arrange appointments for you back in California,” Orlando said, like she was reading his mind.

“Appointments?”

She helped herself to another spoonful. “Doctors. Physical therapy. Prosthesis fittings.”

“Oh. Great,” Nate said with no enthusiasm.

“Are you going to take another forkful, or am I going to have to feed you again?”

Reluctantly, he got some more food and put it in his mouth.

Orlando watched him eat for a moment. “Look. You can just take this, go home, and live out your life thinking what could have been, or—”

“Or?”
Nate said. “Seems to me there’s no ‘or.’ ”

“You’re still in shock. Your system is full of drugs.” She paused. “You lost your leg, for God’s sake. Of course that’s all you can see.” She worked a piece of broccoli away from everything else, then picked it up and popped it between her teeth. “But it’s not the only choice.”

“What then? I’m done being a cleaner.”

“Why? Because you don’t want it anymore?”

“No! I want it. I want it more than anything.”

“So what’s the problem?” she asked.

“I lost part of my leg. Or hadn’t you noticed?” he said. “Being a cleaner is a physical job. How the hell am I going to be able to keep up?”

“You’re good, Nate. You have the skills. You know that. Quinn knows that, too.”

“Quinn thinks I’m done. I could see it in his face when you guys were here earlier. He could barely look at me. He was like one of those people in the movies standing around the bed of someone dying. Great knowing you, good luck on the other side.”

“You’re right,” she said. “He does think you’re done. But he’s not feeling sorry for you.”

“What then? He’s already written me off?”

“Guilt,” she said. “He’s the one who had to make the decision to amputate your leg. And don’t forget, he’s the reason we’re here in Singapore in the first place. This wasn’t a job. This was a personal mission for him. And now he feels responsible.”

Nate looked away. “Well, you can tell him I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t have been here if I hadn’t wanted to be. That should get rid of his guilt.”

Orlando scooped up some more food and held it in the air between them. “You or me?”

Nate picked up his fork again. As he shoved it under the vegetables, he knocked a piece of chicken off the plate and onto the tray.

Orlando smiled. “It’s good that you’re angry.”

“Go to hell.”

“I mean it. You can use that.”

He put the food in his mouth, chewed it, then said, “Use it for what?”

“For your rehab. So that when you come back to work, you’ll be even better than before.”

“As a cleaner? I already told you I physically couldn’t do it anymore.”

“There’s no way you can know that. Prosthetic devices are pretty amazing these days.”

“So the doctors have told me,” Nate said.

“I was reading on the Internet today about a guy from South Africa who’s missing parts of
both
of his legs. But because of the prostheses he has, a couple years ago he almost made the Olympic team.”

“As what? A mascot?”

“Track and field. He’s a runner.”

That made him pause. “A runner?”

She nodded. “How much do you want this?”

“It’s all I want.”

“Then make it happen,” she said. “Work your ass off. Use the time to study and learn everything you can. Throw yourself into your rehab and your training.”

He wanted to believe her, but then he thought about his mentor. “Quinn won’t go for it.”

“He might think you won’t be able to do it, but he’ll give you the chance to prove him wrong.” She smiled. “And I might have a little influence over him.”

She stood up. “Are you going to finish eating everything?”

He smiled a little.

“Oh, progress,” she said.

“Have I told you to go to hell yet?”

“So are you going to finish?”

“I’m going to finish.”

She took a step toward the door, then turned back. “I’m not just talking about the food.”

“I know.”

A whole year had passed since his injury, and he had used the time well. He had done exactly as Orlando had suggested. He’d studied the subjects he was going to need for the job: learning how to fly a plane, perfecting the French he’d taken in high school, expanding his knowledge of chemistry, memorizing the makes and particulars of over a hundred types of trucks and cars, getting a start on Spanish and dozens of other topics large and small. He’d also pushed himself hard in his rehab, surprising his physical therapist and even himself.

Quinn had paid for everything, even purchasing a whole set of prosthetics that could be used under various conditions. First Nate relearned to walk, then to run. By the time Orlando had talked Quinn into taking him out on a job again, Nate was running several miles a day and hiking a couple of times a week in the hills that ran through the middle of Los Angeles.

Quinn’s skepticism had soon disappeared. And Nate’s own belief that he would one day become a full-fledged cleaner had returned.

“I told you you could do it,” Orlando said to him a few months earlier.

“Did you?” he said. “I don’t remember that.”

She eyed him critically. “You know, you’re still Quinn’s apprentice. I could make sure you get some pretty lousy assignments.”

“You really think you have that much influence over him?”

She huffed. “Excuse me?”

Nate smiled.

“Excuse me. Sir, excuse me.” The voice was female, both distant and close at the same time.

Nate pushed the eyeshades up. The flight attendant was leaning down next to him, haloed by sunlight seeping in through the windows.

Morning
, he thought. He’d fallen asleep after all.

He pulled the earplugs from his ears. “Yes?”

“Your friend thought you might like to have some breakfast before we land,” she said. “But you’ll have to eat fast. We’ll be on the ground in forty minutes.”

Nate glanced over to where Quinn had been sleeping. His mentor was now sitting upright, a plate of food on a table in front of him, a cup of coffee in his hand.

“I’ll have a cup of that. Black.” Nate paused. “Better make it two.”