Shadow of Betrayal

CHAPTER 16

“Quinn?” Peter said. “Goddammit. Quinn, are you there?”

The line was dead. The cause was right there on his display screen. No Sig — no signal.

He was on a private jet flying back to Washington, D.C., from New York. Usually the onboard equipment had no problem connecting his signal to the nearest ground station, but on occasion there were moments when it would fail.

Even as he was looking at his phone, the signal strength went from nothing to back to full. He started to redial Quinn, then stopped.

Quinn would want instructions on what to do next, but Peter wasn’t sure. The woman sounded like a lead, but was it worth the extra effort to locate her again? Her connection could have been random, and the information she might have weak at best. Or maybe she was the missing link, the key to knowing what the terrorists had in mind. Hell, not only what, but who the sons of bitches were.

Too many fucking unknowns, Peter thought. Who? What? When? There were no answers to any of these questions. All he had was the word of Primus, and five dead men: the DDNI, Peter’s two men, and Primus’s team in Ireland.

At least Tasha was pulling out of it. The last report he’d heard, she’d regained consciousness for a few minutes. She’d been groggy, and in no condition to talk. But she was alive.

The door in the front of the cabin opened. One of the officers stepped out from the cockpit and walked over to Peter.

“Sir. There’s a sat-vid call for you,” he said. “Would you like me to connect it?”

“I can get it,” Peter said.

“Yes, sir. It’ll be on channel two.”

The officer returned to the cockpit, closing the door behind him.

In front of Peter’s chair was a table connected to the wall of the plane. Rectangular, utilitarian, with a wide pedestal base that was as long as the table. On top was a recess hidden under a cover, unnoticeable if you didn’t know it was there.

Peter touched the cover at exactly the right spot. It slid to the side, revealing a touch-screen interface underneath. With a tap in the center, the screen lit up. With another touch, a thirteen-inch flat screen monitor rose out of the table.

Peter selected channel two. There was a momentary pause before an image came onto the screen. A man sitting in what looked to be an office.

Chercover.

Peter wasn’t surprised. He had assumed it would be either him or his minion Furuta. Both had been a pain in his ass since the DDNI had disappeared. They had stepped in once it was obvious Deputy Director Jackson was missing, and had wanted to be kept up-to-date on everything that was happening.

“Did you find the girl?” Chercover said.

“We know who she is.”

“So you don’t have her yet.”

“It’s not that easy, and you know it.”

Silence for several seconds. “You’re on this project not by my choice. Remember that.”

Peter tried to rein in his temper, but he knew he was less than successful. He could keep anger out of his voice if he really wanted to, but almost never off his face.

Goddamn video phones.

“We are making pro—” he started to say.

“Who is the girl?” Chercover asked, cutting him off.

Peter took a moment to remember all that Quinn had told him. “Her name is Marion Dupuis. Works for the UN, most recently in West Africa. Earlier this week her parents and her sister were killed by a gas leak in their home. We don’t think the leak was an accident.”

“So our terrorist friends are after this Marion woman,” Chercover guessed.

“They at least want to send her a message,” Peter said.

“But you don’t know where she is?”

Peter hesitated a mere half second. “There was a possible sighting in Montreal. I have people there now investigating.”

Chercover stared through the monitor.

“She might be a dead end,” Chercover said. “What we need to do is find out the rest of what Primus was going to tell us. That seems to me to be the most direct path, don’t you agree?”

And yet you’re the fucker who told me to go after her in the first place, Peter thought, but only said, “Of course.”

“Good. Forget about the woman. She isn’t worth the effort.”

Peter could see Chercover’s arm move, then the screen went black.

Peter touched the control panel again, and the monitor slipped back into its home beneath the surface of the table.

He placed his right hand across his forehead and tried to rub away the anger that threatened to consume him. On his list of top ten items he hated most, being micromanaged by a client was right at the top. And when the client was right, it was even more maddening.

Such was the case with Chercover. Of course the girl wasn’t worth the trouble, not without more information. Peter could have Quinn search for her for weeks, but she might never be found. It was eye-on-the-prize time, and the prize was finding out the details Primus had yet to reveal.

Peter knew all this, but now whatever he did, it would seem like he was following Chercover’s directions, not his own instincts.

He found his cell phone and dialed Quinn back.

The line rang but a single time, then, “Peter?”

“Sorry,” Peter said. “I lost signal there for a little bit.”

“What were you going to say before?” Quinn asked.

“I don’t remember,” Peter said. He didn’t, and whatever it was didn’t matter anymore.

“We were talking about Marion Dupuis. You said it was probably the woman we were looking for. But… But what?”

“Not important. We’re going to drop her.”

“So you don’t want us to find her?”

“No. I have something else in mind.”

Quinn took a moment before he spoke. “I can hardly wait.”

“I’m going to have another go at our source. Try to set up a meeting to get all his information. It’s the only way we’ll find out what the hell is going on.” He paused. “I want you to take the meeting.”

“Of course you do.”

Peter remained quiet, giving Quinn a moment.

“I have one provision,” Quinn said.

“What?”

“I want the meeting to take place at a location I’m familiar with.”

“That makes sense to me.”

“Someplace public. I’m guessing he’ll want to meet me in New York. But that’s not going to work for me, not with my face still plastered over all the papers.”

“That’s getting cleared up,” Peter said. “Another day or two and no one will even remember the drawing.”

“You’d better be right.”

“Trust me on this.”

“Fine. But New York is still out. D.C. wouldn’t be good, either. Chicago would be better, or someplace like that.”

“I’ll try,” Peter said. “He might not go for it.”

“Then you take the meeting. Those are my terms.”

“Our deal was no questions,” Peter said.

“Our deal was not for open-ended jobs, either, Peter. You’re taking advantage of my trust on this one. So we do the meeting my way, or you do it yourself.”

“Are you going to stay in Montreal?”

The only response was the line disconnecting.

Peter did not receive word back from Primus until noon the next day. He was afraid Primus had cut all communication links. The emergency cell phone number, a number that was only supposed to be used once, was no longer in service. The only thing Peter had left was an anonymous email address that he hoped Primus was still checking.

Thankfully, it appeared he was.

Peter’s original message had read:

The response was equally brief:

Thursday was two days away. And the location would please Quinn. They were on.