[Quinn 02] - The Deceived Read online

  There was a sigh on the other end. “Data tape player might take a little while. I’ll call when you can pick it up.”

  “We need it as soon as you can get it. So instead of calling, have one of your men bring it to the apartment.”

  “You are big trouble, you know that?” Ne Win said.

  “You should have thought about that before you sent me the container with Markoff ’s body in it.”

  “I never said I sent you container.”

  “So you’ll get the recorder over to the apartment?” Quinn asked, getting back to business.

  “Yes, yes. I take care of it.”

  “And the power? You can take care of that, too?”

  There was a long pause. “Take care of that, too. My man call you when they are ready. His name Lok.”

  “Okay. We’ll be in position in...” Quinn looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes. It would be great if it could happen right around then.”

  “You are big trouble.”

  The line went dead.

  Quinn and Nate stood in the fourth-floor hallway of the Quayside Villas, near the entrance to the stairs. Each had a backpack on his back, and they both wore latex gloves. If someone chose that moment to step out their door and saw them, there would be no mistaking Quinn and Nate as a couple of residents hanging out in the corridor. But like before, the building was quiet, asleep. Their presence had been unobserved.

  In Quinn’s hand was his phone. It was also silent.

  “Maybe your friend couldn’t make it happen,” Nate said.

  “Patience,” Quinn said.

  Another minute passed.

  “Perhaps we should go back,” Nate said. “Do it tomorrow night. You know, give the old guy more time to arrange things.”

  This time, Quinn said nothing.

  Another minute. “What if one of the security guards sho—” The soft hum of Quinn’s cell phone vibrating in his hand cut Nate

  off. Quinn raised the phone to his ear. “Yes.” “Mr. Quinn?” “Yes. Who is this?” “Lok.” Ne Win’s man. He sounded around the same age as Nate

  and had a slight British accent. “We’re ready when you are.” “We’re ready now,” Quinn said. One second. Two. Three. Suddenly all the lights in the hallway went out. Though there was

  no window nearby to check, Quinn knew the power outage extended farther than just the corridor, encompassing several blocks on the north side of the river.

  “We’re dark here,” Quinn said. “One hour’s the most I can guarantee,” Lok said. “That’s plenty.” Quinn disconnected the call, then switched his phone to thermal

  camera mode. The faint blue glow from the screen illuminated his face

  but little else. “Anything?” Nate asked. “No,” Quinn said. He closed his phone, then pulled out the small

  set of night vision binoculars he’d let Nate use on their last visit. “Wait here.”

  Quinn anticipated that one of the residents would come out to check if power was also lost in the hall, but as he made his way toward 04-21 no one had stepped out to join him. Either they were all asleep, or they assumed the entire building was in a blackout.

  When he reached room 04-20, he stopped. He pulled out his phone again and aimed the lens at the wall of room 04-21. Nothing. All was dark. No power and no people, either.

  He quickly returned down the hallway where he’d left Nate. “Empty,” he whispered. “Let’s go up.” Quinn was working under the assumption that because the door

  to 04-21 was impassable, there must be another way. And since the room directly above it—05-21—was owned by another phony corporation, perhaps that was the way in.

  The layout of the fifth floor was exactly the same as the fourth. As was the lack of light.

  With Nate’s hand on his back, Quinn led the way down the corridor. When the door to 05-21 came into view, he said, “Same as below. Sconce directly across from the door.” He reactivated his cell phone, then handed it to Nate. “Check it out.”

  Nate accessed the thermal image function, then turned the device toward the ornament.

  “I’m picking up two power sources. Probably batteries,” he said.

  “Two?” Quinn said.

  “One toward the bottom and one near the top.”

  Quinn trained the night vision binoculars on the sconce. There was a hole at the bottom just like the one downstairs. So that had to be a camera. But there was no corresponding hole near the top.

  Camera first, he thought.

  As Nate scanned the apartment, Quinn slipped his backpack off his shoulders and removed a small rectangular box from inside.

  “Dark,” Nate said after a moment. “The apartment’s empty.”

  “Good,” Quinn said.

  He flipped the switch on the side of the box, then a small video screen mounted on the device came to life. He scrolled through a menu until he came to a function labeled sgnl srch. He selected it, was presented with another set of options, selected dig vid, then waited as the device cycled through potential transmission frequencies.

  Forty-five seconds later, a dark, murky image filled the monitor. He’d tapped into the feed from the camera in the sconce.

  “Here,” Quinn said, handing Nate the monitor.

  From his pocket, he pulled out a disk about the diameter of a quarter, and half an inch thick. He removed the protective covering off the sticky rubber base, then crept along the wall until he was only a few feet away from the sconce. He touched a tiny switch on the side of the disk, then pressed the object against the wall. He held his hand underneath for a moment, making sure it wasn’t going to fall off.

  “That did it,” Nate said. He was looking at the small monitor.

  The disk was a jammer. Until it was turned off, the camera would only be generating garbage.

  Quinn moved in close to the sconce and pulled out his flashlight.

  “Was that other source on this side of the sconce or the other?” he asked.

  “The other,” Nate said.

  Quinn moved quickly to the opposite side, passing directly in front of the camera lens. He trained his light along the edge of the sconce and worked his way to the top. There was nothing obvious.

  Keeping his motion steady and careful, he reached up into the central vase and worked his fingers down along the stems of the flowers. Less than an inch down, he hit a bump. It was about an inch wide, and rounded over the top like a blemish. It was a shape he knew.

  He worked his fingers around it and gave it a tug. It resisted for a moment, then pulled free of the wall. It appeared that it had been held in place by a magnetic backing. He could feel it wanting to reattach itself as he moved it up the side of the vase with his fingertips. Once he was free of the sconce, he slipped his prize into his palm.

  It was black and no more than half an inch thick at its highest point. It was exactly what he’d expected. But just to confirm, he pulled out the tracking device and held it next to the bump.

  1.0000.

  They had found the source of Markoff ’s beacon.

  In essence, it was a mobile phone, without the ability to receive or transmit sound. It used the digital airways merely to let others who knew its ID code know it was there. And aided by the fact that the device was basically passive, the specialized battery could last for over a month.

  There was no question now. This was where Markoff had been leading them.

  “Do you think he ever got inside?” Nate asked.

  “No idea.”

  Quinn put the beacon and the box that had tracked it down into his bag. Neither was needed any longer.

  Not wanting to waste any more time, he moved quickly to the door and examined its locks. He aimed the beam of his flashlight directly into each slot. Unlike the keyholes on the door to room 04-21, these were not faked.

  Quinn held his hand out, and Nate gave him the monitor back. Returning to the main menu, Quinn ran through the options until he’d selected sec sys—Security System. He moved the
detector along the doorjambs, across the top and the bottom. When he was through, he looked at the display screen. sys det—inact.

  “There’s something there,” he said. “But it’s not on.” “So we go in?” Nate asked. “Yes.” “Can I do it?” “Fine,” Quinn said. “Just be quick.” From his own backpack, Nate removed a set of lock picks and set

  to work first on the deadbolt, then on the lock in the handle of the door. After a moment, he looked up. “Done,” he said. Quinn glanced at the detector. The display still read sec sys—

  inact. He gave Nate a nod. His apprentice smiled, then turned the han

  dle and pushed on the door until it cleared the jamb. “I’ll go first,” Quinn said. He returned the monitor to his bag, then pulled out a palm-size

  flashlight and turned it on. As he entered the room, he swung his

  flashlight in a wide arc, looking for any type of booby trap. “Clear,” he said. Nate entered, then shut the door behind him. “Check the bedrooms,” Quinn told his apprentice. “I’ll look out

  here.”

  Quinn did a quick sweep of the living room, then moved on to the dining area and the kitchen. The couch, the tables, the chairs, the appliances in the kitchen all spoke of someone who liked to live comfortably. Only it was a sham. A fine layer of dust had settled over everything. In the kitchen, the cabinets were all empty. The same went for the refrigerator.

  As Quinn reentered the living room, Nate emerged quickly from the hallway. “I think I found something,” Nate said.

  It was in the closet of the smaller bedroom. The only thing that indicated there might be something odd was a metal strip that ran up the center of the back wall.

  Nate had already flipped up the tan carpet that had covered the closet floor. Underneath, where Quinn would have expected concrete, there was wood. He tapped the flooring and was greeted with a hollow echo.

  “It looks like it flips up here,” Nate said.

  He slipped his fingers into a groove along the edge closest to them, then began to lift the base of the closet up. It seemed to be hinging along the back wall. As soon as Quinn could get his fingers underneath, he helped Nate to push the floor all the way up.

  There was a metal fastener attached to the underside, very near the top. That explained the metal support bar on the back of the closet. Quinn flipped the fastener over the edge of the trapdoor and snapped it into a slot on the bar.

  In the void that had been the closet floor, there was a steep metal staircase—almost a ladder—leading down into the darkness.

  “Somebody’s spent a lot of time and money on this,” Nate said, then looked at Quinn. “Shall we?”

  Quinn moved the flashlight over the makeshift stairwell. It seemed to be exactly what it looked like.

  “Keep your eyes open,” he said.

  Nate nodded, then stepped onto the staircase and began descending into apartment 04-21. Quinn followed right behind.

  As expected, the stairs ended in the closet of another bedroom. But unlike the bedroom upstairs, this one had no furniture inside. Instead, it seemed to be some sort of storage room. There were dozens of cardboard boxes and wooden crates stacked neatly along the wall, filling up nearly half the room.

  Quinn ran his flashlight over them, but there were no markings indicating what might be inside. Nate walked over and put a hand on a box at the top of a stack. He pushed, but the box barely moved.

  “Heavy,” he said.

  Quinn looked at his watch. Only ten minutes had passed. Though plenty of time remained, they still needed to hurry. He wanted to be out of the building and miles away by the time the power came back on.

  “Leave them for now,” Quinn said, then pointed toward the main part of the apartment. “Check for heat signatures again.”

  Nate moved the phone in a wide arc, taking in the entire apartment beyond.

  “Clear,” Nate said.

  They stepped out of the bedroom and into the hallway. Quinn motioned for Nate to wait, then moved to his left to check the master bedroom. More boxes. Bigger than those in the other room, but also unmarked.

  He retraced his steps and headed toward the main part of the apartment, this time with Nate following. As they neared the end of the hall, they slowed. The flashlight revealed little of the living room beyond, only the side of some bookcases along the wall.

  “Check again,” he said to Nate.

  Nate scanned the room ahead of them. “Still nothing.”

  Quinn took a single step into the living room, then moved his flashlight slowly through the space. As the light revealed more and more of the room’s contents, the skin at the base of his neck began to tingle.

  CHAPTER

  “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?” NATE SAID.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Quinn ordered.

  Despite the fact they were both still wearing their gloves, he didn’t want to do a thing until he’d had a moment to process what they’d discovered.

  The bookcases they had seen from the hallway weren’t bookcases at all. They were display cabinets. Identical display cabinets. Five feet wide and enclosed by glass doors allowing the contents to be viewed but not touched. They lined the entire room, filling every inch of wall space, even covering the window at the far end and the spot where the front door should have been.

  That explained the phony locks, Quinn thought. The door in the public hallway was just for show.

  In the middle of the room were several glass-topped tables. More display cases, Quinn guessed. There was an exception, though. The table near the entrance to the kitchen appeared to be a desk. On top, a small lamp and a laptop computer.

  Quinn slowly stepped toward the nearest cabinet. They were made of brushed metal, dulled to a silver gray. Stylish, expensive, and sturdy. Quinn aimed his light through the glass door, examining the contents.

  Pistols. Each displayed in profile against black cloth that covered the back of the cabinet. Beside each gun was a small plaque with the make, model number, and other vital statistics of the corresponding piece. There were a dozen in this cabinet alone. A couple of Taurus pistols and nearly the whole Glock family.

  Quinn moved on to the next cabinet. More pistols. SIGs this time. A few Smith & Wessons and two Walthers.

  “Is this a private museum?” Nate asked.

  “No,” Quinn said. “A showroom.”

  “Showroom? You’re kidding, right?”

  Quinn shook his head.

  “You mean they’re...”

  There was no reason for Quinn to finish Nate’s sentence. It was obvious what this was—a sample room for an arms dealer. But not the typical street-level variety. Whoever this room belonged to had to be filling some major orders.

  “Take pictures of everything. Both wide and detailed. But don’t touch,” Quinn said.

  “You already told me that.”

  “I’m telling you again.”

  A little further down the wall, Quinn found cabinets full of rifles: sniper, assault, even a few specialized target weapons. Those short enough were displayed horizontally.

  Quinn leaned down to examine the latch on one of the glass doors. It didn’t appear to be locked. That made sense. Any customer that was brought into the room would have been accompanied by several of the dealer’s security team.

  Still, Quinn couldn’t help feeling the whole setup felt wrong for some reason. Like it was almost too perfect.

  “Check these out,” Nate said.

  Quinn turned. His apprentice was standing near one of the display case tables in the center of the room. Quinn walked over.

  Knives. Dozens of them, in all shapes and sizes.

  “That one’s even more interesting,” Nate said, pointing at a table to his right.

  Quinn looked over. Detonators, switches, timing devices. All the gear you would need to make a successful bomb, except for the bomb material itself. That wouldn’t be on the display-room floor. You’d have to ask for it.

  “You get all the cases?�
� Quinn asked.

  “Halfway done.”

  “Finish up.” Quinn looked at his watch. Nearly twenty minutes had passed while they checked out the room. “We need to get out of here.”

  “What about the computer?” Nate asked, nodding toward the laptop.

  “I’ll check it.”

  Quinn walked over to the makeshift desk. The computer and the lamp were the only items on top. No papers, no pens, nothing else. There were two drawers built into the table just below its lip, both closed.

  Quinn moved his backpack around so he’d have access. From inside, he removed a small screwdriver, then carefully slipped the blade end through the handle of one of the drawers and pulled it open.

  There was a pad of paper tucked into the corner of the drawer. Several pages had been torn off, leaving about three-quarters of the pad left. The page on top was blank, though he detected several faint indentations. Whoever had written on the pad last had left a trace of what they’d written behind. Quinn leaned down to see if he could get a better look without touching anything.

  It looked like numbers. There was definitely a 5 and, if he squeezed his eyes just right, a couple of 8s. Another looked like either a + or a partial 4. A phone number? He had the feeling it wasn’t, but there was really no way to tell.

  Quinn stared at the paper for a few more seconds, trying to pull more of the message out, but nothing else came. He frowned. If he took the paper back to the hotel, they would probably be able to figure out what the number was. But would the paper be missed? He wanted this incursion to go undetected. He couldn’t risk it, so reluctantly he closed the drawer and opened the one next to it.

  This one contained only a few pens and a box of 9mm ammo. He was just about to close it when the beam of his flashlight caught something partially tucked under the box of ammo.

  He leaned in for a better look.

  It was a hair, dark brown with a gentle curve. Without lifting the box, it was impossible to tell how long it was. Odd that it would be there like that.

  He left it untouched, too, and pushed the drawer closed.