[Quinn 02] - The Deceived Page 28

  She opened the text document.

  A Kamarudin SR-98

  “Kamarudin. Sounds like a name,” Nate said.

  “It is,” Orlando said. “But I didn’t get any unusual hits on it.”

  “Could be an alias,” Quinn told them. “It’s the ‘SR-98’ that’s interesting to me.” He had heard the numbers before. He knew they denoted a weapon, but he was having a hard time bringing up an image of it. “Rifle,” he said, half remembering.

  “Sniper rifle,” she corrected. “British. Used by the military in the UK, Australia...” She paused and looked up at Quinn. “And even Singapore.”

  “So it would be easy to obtain.”

  “That would be my guess,” she said. “But it’s weird, you know? Why would this one file still be retrievable? It would seem to me this would be something they’d do a secure dump on, make sure it was written over. There are no other deleted files like it.”

  “Maybe they just missed it,” Nate offered.

  “It’s a possibility,” she said, then glanced at Quinn. “But even more than before, I think you’re right. It’s just too perfect.”

  “Like a setup,” Quinn said.

  “Yes. Only for what?”

  Quinn leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his still-damp hair. “I don’t like it. I don’t like any of this.” He took in a quick, deep breath, then forced the air out of his lungs. “I don’t care what Jenny wants. We’re going to find her, and we’re going to get her the hell out of here. End of story.”

  “But we don’t know where she is,” Nate said.

  For a moment, it seemed as if Quinn was just as tired as he had been when he had fallen asleep a few hours before. He closed his eyes and tried to think of an option, some way to get Jenny to agree to give up whatever mission she thought she was on and go someplace safe. But he knew if he just contacted her, there would be no way he could talk her into coming with him. She had already made that clear enough.

  “I think I might know what we can do,” Orlando said.

  Quinn opened his eyes and looked at her.

  “We know she’s interested in Congressman Guerrero, and given the chance, she’ll try to contact him.”

  “Why would she do that?” Nate asked. “He’s trying to kill her.”

  “That’s not what she believes. She said she had to warn him. She wouldn’t warn someone she thought was trying to kill her,” Quinn said.

  “Right,” Orlando said. “So I was thinking we could use that to our advantage.” She looked down at her computer and pulled up a file that had been open but hidden. “I was able to get a copy of the congress-man’s itinerary. Most of the time, he’s scheduled to be in private meetings. But he does have a couple of public appearances. Tomorrow he’s scheduled to visit a hawker center in the afternoon”—the Singapore version of an outdoor food court—“and then spend some time shopping before leaving to go back to the States in the evening. But tonight there’s a reception for the American congressional committee at a restaurant on Orchard Road called Rivera’s. Technically, the party isn’t open to the public, but the restaurant is in a shopping center.”

  “Easy access,” Quinn said, starting to see where she was going with this.

  She nodded. “I was thinking you could contact her on the Sandy Side message board and tell her about the reception. Maybe even tell her where a good place to spot the congressman might be.”

  “Isn’t that defeating the purpose?” Nate said. “I thought we were trying to keep her away from Guerrero.”

  “He’s just the bait,” Orlando told him. “We have to lure her out of wherever she is. But then we get to her before she has a chance to approach the congressman.”

  “Sounds risky,” Nate said.

  “You have a better idea?” Quinn asked.

  Both Quinn and Orlando looked at Nate, waiting.

  “No,” Nate finally said.

  Unfortunately, neither did Quinn.

  Rivera’s was part of a new upscale shopping complex on Orchard Road. It was located on the second-floor atrium and took up the majority of the east side of the building. The location was no doubt highly desirable. Quinn guessed rent for that much space would have to be considerable.

  If it had been located in Los Angeles, it would have been one of those restaurants celebrities dined at to be seen. Upscale, expensive, and trendy. It would have also probably been hot for a year, then just as suddenly forgotten as newer and even trendier places opened up. But this was Singapore, not L.A. Perhaps here it would have a fighting chance to survive.

  Quinn and Nate were dressed in dark suits, both to conceal the weapons they were carrying and, if necessary, to blend into the crowd at the reception later. They arrived at the restaurant early so they could eat a late lunch and do a little recon. As they were being seated, the waiter told them the restaurant would be closing in an hour, his tone friendly but firm. Without actually saying it, his meaning was clear. Be done or leave without finishing.

  There was a bar near the entrance, and to the right the main seating area. Beyond the dining room were the kitchen and restrooms. With the exception of the décor—dark but warm—it wasn’t much different than any other restaurant. The same basic rules applied.

  In truth, Quinn hoped they’d get to Jenny before she ever reached the restaurant. If she got inside, where the congressman would undoubtedly have his men with him, it could get really messy. That was the last thing Quinn wanted. But being prepared was ingrained in him. So familiarizing himself with the location only made sense.

  Not long after their food was brought to them, two women and a man entered the restaurant. The man wore a gray business suit, while the women were in dresses suitable for a party. The man carried a clipboard in one hand and a thick package in the other. The older of the two women seemed to be in charge. She was the only one doing the talking, while the other two simply nodded.

  After a couple of minutes, they separated, the man and the younger woman staying near the front door, while their boss headed for the kitchen.

  “I’ll be right back,” Quinn said to Nate.

  He got up and headed toward the two near the front. They were standing near a small table just off to the side of the entrance. The man had opened the package and was pulling out several items.

  “Excuse me,” Quinn said as he reached them. “My name is Tim Foster, I was supposed to meet with someone who’s organizing tonight’s reception. You don’t know where I might find them, do you?”

  The woman smiled. “You’ve found us. I’m Darla Wong, and this is my associate Dean Gaboury. How can we help you?”

  “Oh, this is great. I’m sorry. I thought you worked for the restaurant,” he said. “I’m part of Congressman Guerrero’s advance team. I just want to make sure everything’s okay. We never actually received any hard-copy invitations.”

  “Everyone is on the list,” the woman said. “No invitations necessary.”

  “Great. And you’ve got all of us, right? I believe there are eleven people in the congressman’s group.”

  “Let me check. Dean, can I have the list please?”

  Gaboury handed the clipboard to his colleague. “We updated the list this morning,” the man said. He had a slight Australian accent. “I’m sure everyone’s there.”

  As Darla began looking at the list, Quinn moved around so he could glance over her shoulder. The name of the attendees were in a column on the left. In the column next to it was the name of the group, if any, they were with. And finally, there was a column with either a C or a T in it.

  “What does the letter at the end denote?” Quinn asked.

  Darla glanced up, surprised that Quinn had moved in so close. “Ah... C is for ‘confirmed,’ and T is for ‘tentative.’ ”

  “Of course,” Quinn said.

  The woman went quickly through the list, obviously uncomfortable with Quinn’s gaze, but apparently too polite to tell him to back away.

  “I count nine peopl
e,” Darla said.

  “Nine? Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Not your problem. I just have to get ahold of my boss and see what the deal is. Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  Quinn turned back toward his table, the names of five women who were listed as only tentative to attend etched in his mind.

  After they finished their meal, they spent several hours scoping out the shopping center both inside and out. They met up with Orlando a block down from the shopping center’s entrance thirty minutes before the party was to begin.

  “Are you set?” he asked her.

  She nodded. “Third place I called. Wendy Hsiao. She’s apparently in Sydney on business.”

  “ID?”

  Orlando pulled a blue card out of her small purse. It was a Singapore National Registration Identity Card—NRIC. It had Orlando’s picture and Wendy Hsiao’s name. “Ne Win’s source cranked it out in an hour and a half. Don’t think it’ll pass any computer checking, but it should do nicely as a visual ID.”

  “Good, once the guests start arriving, you and I will move inside the mall,” Quinn said, looking at Orlando. “Nate, I want you out here on the street. Jenny doesn’t know what you look like, so you won’t

  scare her off.”

  “Sure,” Nate said.

  “I want you to get inside the party right away,” Quinn said to Orlando. “You’ll be backup in case Jenny gets past us.”

  Per Quinn’s instructions, she’d come dressed for the reception. She was wearing a sleeveless black ankle-length dress with lavender highlights, a mandarin collar, and a back that dipped three quarters of the way down her spine. She was beyond beautiful.

  “Got it,” she said.

  “Where will you be?” Nate asked.

  “Outside the restaurant, at the other end of the atrium,” Quinn said. “Everyone got their comm gear?”

  They both nodded.

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  By 7 p.m., the party inside Rivera’s was filling up. But as at the gallery show in Georgetown, the congressman hadn’t arrived yet.

  Several times a minute, Quinn glanced toward the elevator at the back side of the center. He knew from their recon earlier it led down to a subterranean parking garage. Since several of Guerrero’s House colleagues who were also on this trip had arrived that way, it was a pretty fair guess the congressman would be doing the same.

  Quinn’s gaze moved to the restaurant. Orlando had disappeared inside fifteen minutes earlier, her ID working perfectly.

  “Anything?” Quinn said.

  “Clear here,” Nate reported.

  “Same. No sign.” Orlando’s voice was barely a whisper, the noise of the party around her nearly drowning her out.

  Movement to his right drew Quinn’s attention back toward the elevator. A new group had arrived. Three men. They exited the elevator, but stopped only a few feet away, waiting.

  “A couple of our friends from the Far East Square are here,” Quinn said.

  He recognized two of the men from the chase the night before.

  “Heading my way?” Orlando asked. “Not yet.” The elevator door opened again, and out stepped Blondie, fol

  lowed almost immediately by Congressman Guerrero and his wife. The three who had been waiting suddenly became alert. Two fell in behind the congressman and his wife, while the other joined Blondie in front as the group began walking toward the restaurant.

  “Shit,” Nate said. “What?” Quinn asked. “I think she just passed me.” “Jenny? You were supposed to stop her.” “I’m not one hundred percent sure. I think it’s her. If it is, she’s

  wearing a wig.” “Where is she?” “She just entered the complex. Hold on.” Quinn could hear Nate moving quickly up the front stairs into the

  shopping center. “I see her,” Nate said. “She’s heading toward the escalators. Blue dress. Brown wig, hair below her shoulders.” Quinn stood up and moved around the atrium balcony toward the

  escalator that would bring the woman up to the second floor. “What do you want me to do?” Nate asked. Quinn said, “Stay down there in case this isn’t her.” The escalator let out on the south side of the floor. There were over

  a dozen people riding up it as Quinn neared. Most were dressed in suits and fashionable dresses, ready for a party.

  He leaned over the atrium railing just enough to take in the entire escalator. The woman Nate had seen was only a quarter of the way up. Unfortunately, she was turned away, looking toward the restaurant and not at Quinn. Her height was right, and so was her build, but that wasn’t enough for a positive ID.

  Quinn pulled back. “Is it her?” Orlando asked, her voice a whisper in his ear. “Don’t know,” he said. He’d seen enough of the escalator to get the timing right. Just be

  fore it was the woman’s turn to exit, he moved forward, his head down.

  As she stepped onto the second-floor balcony, Quinn bumped into

  her, putting a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Wasn’t watching.” “Don’t worry about it,” she said, her voice familiar. Jenny didn’t even look at him. Her attention was focused on the

  restaurant. Quinn started to tighten his grip on her arm, but she pulled away from him and began moving quickly across the tiled patio floor.

  Ahead, the congressman and his party had just reached the entrance to the restaurant. Jenny must have noticed this also and was making a beeline for Guerrero.

  “She’s heading for the restaurant,” Quinn said. “Front door.” “On my way,” Orlando said. Several people had gotten in between Quinn and Jenny. He

  wanted to sprint after her, but that would attract too much attention.

  The last thing they needed was to alert Guerrero’s security. “Orlando, where are you?” Quinn asked. “Almost there.” “She’s going to get to the door before I can reach her,” he said. There was a man standing behind a podium near the front door,

  checking guest names on a list. Jenny must have caught his attention as she quickly approached the entrance. He snapped a small walkietalkie off a clip on his belt and started to say something into it.

  Suddenly he lurched forward, bending over the podium and losing his grip on his radio. As he straightened back up, Orlando moved around him, her hand on her mouth as if she was extremely embarrassed. She said a few words to him, her eyes conveying her apologies.

  Jenny was only a dozen feet away now. But she had spotted

  Orlando and had stopped. She took a few steps back, and walked right into Quinn. As she turned around, he put a hand on each of her arms, holding

  her tight. “Quinn?” she said, surprised. “We have to get you out of here,” he said. “No,” she said. “Let me go. I have to see the congressman.” “You do that and you’re dead.”

  She shook her head. “You’re wrong. I have to see him.”

  She tried to pull away, but he held on tight.

  “You realize that some of those men with him were the same guys who were trying to grab you yesterday at the Far East Square?”

  “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “He wouldn’t have to,” Quinn said. “They’d do it for him.”

  “Not once I talk to him. He won’t let that happen.”

  Orlando came up behind Jenny. “We really need to leave now,” she said.

  Quinn looked toward the restaurant entrance. While almost everyone was moving into the reception, there was one man coming out.

  Blondie.

  He had a pack of cigarettes in one hand and was shaking one of the sticks out. Quinn tried to move to the side so that Jenny and Orlando were between him and Blondie, but it was too late. The man spotted them.

  “Come on!” Quinn said as he began pulling Jenny and accelerating toward the escalator.

  She ran beside him, no longer resisting.

  A group was just exiting the up escalator. Quinn maneuvered Jenny around them, then all but sho
ved her onto the down escalator.

  “Run,” he said to her. He grabbed his collar and held it out so that his transmitter was only inches from his mouth. “We need a ride. Now!”

  Nate answered over the radio immediately. “I’m on it.”

  “To the right,” Quinn said to Jenny as she reached the bottom.

  When he hit the last step, he took off after her, chancing a quick look over his shoulder as he did.

  Orlando was getting off the escalator, while Blondie was just starting down at the top.

  The pack of cigarettes was gone, but while he tried to conceal it, his hand wasn’t empty.

  “Armed!” Quinn said, just loud enough for Orlando to hear.

  But it was the wrong thing to say. Jenny heard it, too, and looked back toward the escalator.

  “Keep moving,” Quinn said.

  There was the spit of a suppressor behind him.

  Jenny fell to the ground.

  There were only a few people in the first-floor courtyard of the shopping center. All their eyes were on Quinn and Jenny, and had not seen the gun in Blondie’s hand go off. The only thing they’d seen was Jenny fall down.

  One couple started toward her to see if they could help, but Quinn raced over ahead and got there first.

  There was another spit, then a bullet flew past Quinn’s hip, slamming into the tile floor. The woman who had been approaching suddenly screamed. Quinn pulled out his gun, swiveled, and pointed it in Blondie’s direction.

  He started to squeeze his trigger, but stopped. The man had crouched down behind the metal railing of the escalator. There were several innocents nearby, suddenly aware of the danger and trying to get away. A shot would be too risky.

  Quinn spotted Orlando crouched near where the escalator let off, less than ten feet from Guerrero’s man. She waved for him to keep moving. But he leaned down, put his gun on the floor, and slid it across to her.

  As she reached out to grab it, Blondie stood up, his gun coming around to aim past Quinn at Jenny.

  Quinn dove toward her, not so much to shield her body as to get her moving.

  “Up, up,” he said as he lifted her to her feet.

  Thwack.