The Deceived

CHAPTER

QUINN AND NATE TOOK A CAB TO AN ITALIAN RESTAU-

rant a few miles away, in Richmond. There was better Italian food in North Beach, but the quality of the meal wasn’t as important as the privacy of the location. And there was no place better for a meeting than a restaurant that served mediocre food.

Richmond was a mix of the new and the old. Family businesses that had been in the neighborhood for years, next to boarded-up buildings awaiting renewal. On some blocks, the gentrification had already begun. But that wasn’t true for the block Angie’s Fine Italian Restaurante was located on. It was part of a 1970s-era strip mall. Its neighbors were an insurance broker to the left and a defunct tanning salon to the right. The sign for Easy Tan was still mounted above the front window, but the space itself was empty.

The front window of Angie’s was unadorned except for a layer of grunge that had gathered on the inside over years of disinterest, blurring the view. The only thing that could be made out was the neon “Open” sign, but even that had a hazy, ethereal cast to it.

As Quinn opened the front door, they were assaulted by the odor of garlic and tomato sauce—but cheap, like out of a can.

“I think I lost my appetite,” Nate said.

The promise of a less than stellar experience conveyed by the exterior continued inside. Almost all expense had been spared on the décor. A row of high-backed booths lined the walls on both sides, with an additional set running down the center of the room. The seats and backrests appeared to be covered in brown vinyl that was no doubt some amateur designer’s idea of faux leather.

The main dining room was empty. No customers. No employees.

Quinn pointed to a booth halfway down the left side. They walked over and sat, Quinn taking the side with the view of the front door.

Almost a full minute passed before they heard footsteps approaching from the back of the restaurant. Soon a woman wearing a flower pattern dress and a red apron was standing at the end of their table. She was at least in her mid-sixties, Quinn guessed. And the smile she wore looked like it came more from habit than from pleasure.

“Thought I heard someone come in,” she said. “Did you get menus?”

“No,” Nate said.

“Two seconds,” the woman said.

She walked over to a small counter next to the front door and picked up two menus off a large stack.

Once she had handed them out, she asked, “Can I get you something to drink first?”

“You have Moretti?” Quinn asked.

“Should have a few bottles left.”

“Same for me,” Nate said.

“I’ll be right back.” She left the way she had come.

Quinn moved his menu to the side without even looking at it.

“I guess I could get the spaghetti Bolognese,” Nate said, studying his menu. “They can’t mess that up too much, can they?”

The sound of the traffic outside increased briefly as the front door opened. Quinn shot a glance over, then stood a moment later when Orlando reached the table. Nate jumped up as soon as he realized who it was and gave her a hug.

“I’m sorry about your aunt,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I wish I could have been there this afternoon, but I was put on babysitting duty.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” She looked at Quinn. “You send her off?”

“All done.”

“Any problems?”

“No.”

Quinn moved out of the way so she could sit on his side of the booth.

“You’re going to make me sit on the inside?” she asked.

“Yes, I am,” Quinn said.

She rolled her eyes, then slipped in.

Before anyone could say anything else, the waitress returned. She was holding a tray with the beers. Only one was a bottle of Moretti. The other was a Red Stripe.

“Three of you now, huh?” the waitress said. “Only had the one Moretti.”

Quinn reached up, grabbed the Red Stripe, then handed it to Nate.

“So I guess this is yours,” she said, setting the Moretti in front of Quinn. She turned to Orlando. “Something for you, hon?”

“Pellegrino?” Orlando said.

“The only water I got comes with or without ice,” the woman said.

“I’ll take tea,” Orlando said. “Hot.”

The waitress lost a little bit of her fake smile as she sighed. “It’ll be a minute.”

“Take your time,” Orlando said.

When they were alone again, Quinn said, “I got a response.”

“From the message board?” Orlando asked.

“Yes.”

“Wait a minute,” Nate said. “I—”

“Genuine?” Orlando said, ignoring Nate.

“Seems to be. The code word was Los Angeles. When I worked it out, this is what I got.” Quinn pulled the piece of paper he’d written the message on and handed it to Orlando—the series of numbers followed by “4:00 p.m. GMT Saturday.”

“Excuse me,” Nate said. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“What are these numbers at the top?” Orlando asked. “A phone number?”

Quinn nodded. “That would be my guess.”

She set the paper on the table and pointed at the first few numbers. “Brazil?”

Quinn shook his head. He had tried the number on the ride over just to check it. “I thought so at first, but the number doesn’t work.”

“Maybe you screwed up one of the digits.”

“Thanks for the confidence.” Quinn turned the paper around. “Anyone have a pen?”

Orlando didn’t, but Nate pulled one out of his pocket and held it out. “I’ll let you use this if you tell me what’s going on.”

Quinn snatched the pen from him, then set to work on the numbers. He applied the Los Angeles code—eleven digits, including the space—to the number Jenny had sent him one more time. This time, instead of skipping words, he increased each digit by eleven, starting again at zero once he reached the number nine.

“She double-encoded it,” Orlando said.

As soon as he finished, he turned the paper around so Orlando could see it.

“Six-six-eight,” she said. “Bangkok cell phone.”

“Yes,” Quinn said.

“Hold on,” Nate said. “Can one of you please—”

This time Nate cut himself off as the waitress reappeared. When she reached their table, she set an empty cup on the table in front of Orlando and placed a small teapot next to it.

She looked around the table. “You all going to order now?”

“Not yet,” Quinn said.

“You are going to eat, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Maybe,” Quinn told her. “We’re not sure yet.”

This time the woman’s smile vanished completely. She turned without another word and headed back to the kitchen.

Nate leaned forward. “What message are you talking about?”

Quinn finally looked at his apprentice. “Jenny contacted me.”

“What?” Nate said, surprised.

Quinn gave him a quick description of how he’d used the message board to contact her, and of how he had just received her response.

“So she wants you to call tomorrow afternoon?” Nate said.

“GMT,” Orlando said.

“Right,” Nate said. He paused a moment. “So, nine in the morning for us.”

“Yes,” Quinn said.

“That’s great,” Nate said, a smile on his face. “Make sure she’s all right, tell her about Markoff, then you’re all done.”

“Do you really think she’s going to be all right?” Orlando asked. “Someone is obviously after her. Are you saying we should just let her hang out there on her own?”

The smile slipped from Nate’s face. “No,” he said. “Not really. I was just... just being a little hopeful.”

Quinn looked over at Orlando. “I want to record the call and see if we can trace it. You have what you need to do that?”

“Yes,” she said. “I have something that will work.”

“Then come over to the hotel around seven-thirty,” he said. “That should give you enough time to set up, right?”

As Orlando was about to answer, the front door to the restaurant opened again. Moving only his eyes, Quinn glanced at the new arrival. A man, six feet tall, in shape, no more than thirty-five years old, with hair trimmed short and neat. He wore a dark suit that looked just a little too nice for this part of town.

“Keep your eyes open. I’m going to check him out,” Quinn whispered. Maybe this guy was a customer, but there was no sense in taking a chance.

As he started to rise, Orlando put a hand on his thigh. “I’m the unknown,” she said. “I’ll do it.”

It was the right move. If the man was looking for anyone, it would be Quinn. He wouldn’t recognize Orlando. The solution didn’t make Quinn happy, but he nodded.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Orlando said just loud enough to be heard across the room. “Any of you want to join me?”

Reluctantly Quinn slid out of the booth so she could get up.

“Careful,” he whispered to her as she passed him.

Her quick smile told him to shut up.

He gingerly slipped his gun out from inside his jacket and placed it on his lap. From the corner of his eye, he watched the new arrival take several steps into the restaurant. The man picked up a menu off the counter and opened it. Unfortunately, he didn’t appear to have any interest in what was written inside. Instead, he used the menu as a prop so that he could scan the room unobserved. At least, Quinn thought, that’s what the guy believed.

Orlando worked her way around the center aisle of the booths, then headed toward the front door. She was playing it cool, her focus on the exit, never on the man. The new arrival watched her for a moment, then moved his attention back to the restaurant, scanning the empty booths.

A slight alteration in Orlando’s path put the man between her and the door. Just before she reached him, his gaze fell on Quinn and Nate. His eyes started to narrow, and a hand moved up a few inches toward the opening in his coat.

“Excuse me,” Orlando said.

“Huh?” the man said, glancing down at her. “Oh. Sorry.”

He moved to the side.

“Thanks,” she said, then slammed the palm of her hand into the bottom of his chin.