The Deceived

CHAPTER

THEY HEADED TOWARD THE VON FELDT BUILDING IN

a Mercedes Nate appropriated a couple blocks away from the apartment. Nate was at the wheel, with Quinn in the front passenger seat. Jenny and Orlando sat in the back.

“Where did the tape come from?” Quinn asked.

“Gerry got it. I don’t know how, but he figured out what was going on. He told me he began recording Ms. Goodman’s conversations.”

“So she was the contact person for the assassin?”

“Yes.”

“And she didn’t find out about the recordings?” Orlando said.

“She must have,” Jenny said. “That’s why Gerry’s dead. I think he probably believed she was onto him, and that’s why he gave me the tape.”

“Why you?” Quinn asked.

“We were friendly. We occasionally had to work together to coordinate the congressman’s and his wife’s schedules. I guess he thought I could get it to my boss.”

“But you didn’t,” Quinn said.

“Congressman Guerrero was out of town for a couple of days when Gerry gave it to me. I was going to talk to him the minute he got back.” She paused. “But Gerry was killed the next day. That’s why I actually listened to the tape. As soon as I heard it, I knew that was the reason he was dead. I also knew I had to get out of there, or I’d be dead, too. I made an excuse, told the office I had a family emergency and needed to take a leave of absence. Then I disappeared.”

“Turn left,” Orlando said to Nate.

“Are you sure?” Nate asked.

“Yes. Left.”

Nate whipped the car to the left, barely making the light.

“Gerry said there were other tapes, too,” Jenny went on. “He had them stored someplace safe. He said he was going to get them and bring them to me.”

“He should have just called the police,” Nate said.

“I said the same thing to him,” she told him. “But he said he couldn’t. That there were others, and they could be anywhere. After Steven told me about LP, I realized that’s what Gerry meant.”

No one said anything for a moment.

“Did Gerry tell you anything else? Anything at all that might be helpful?”

Her eyes grew distant for a moment. “Only that Ms. Goodman talked to her one more time after the call on the tape he gave me. He’d taped that one, too, but had left it someplace safe. He said he was going to bring it to me the next day. But he never did.”

“Wait,” Quinn said. “Did you say ‘talked to her’?”

“Since you couldn’t listen to the tape, you don’t know,” Jenny said, realizing what he was asking. “The killer Ms. Goodman hired is a woman.”

Suddenly, missing pieces began to fall into place in Quinn’s mind.

“What is it?” Orlando asked. She was staring at him, her brow knitted in concern.

“Tasha,” Quinn said.

“Who’s Tasha?” Jenny asked.

“Tasha Douglas?”

Jenny looked back at him, her face blank. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

Quinn had been played. Deceived from the very beginning. Tasha had been using him to find Jenny. It was only because of his own wariness that he hadn’t led her all the way to her target.

“Hold on. Does that mean—” Nate began.

“Yes.” Quinn cut him off.

“Who are you talking about?” Jenny asked.

“Not now,” Quinn said.

He was running everything through his mind, playing it back and forth, and analyzing and reanalyzing. Tasha would have stayed behind in Houston to see if he would show up again. She had played the innocent, the friend desperate to find out where Jenny was. All the while, she was trying to figure out Quinn’s involvement and, once she did, trying to get him to lead her to Markoff ’s girlfriend. It was no coincidence she’d been watching him when he had investigated Jenny’s apartment. She had never lost sight of him, he was sure of that now. She had wanted him to see her. It was just another step in building her alternate identity. And again, when he had found her waiting for him outside Guerrero’s office building, it had all been planned.

There had been no call from her brother about someone breaking into her home back in Texas. The trashed hotel room in D.C. had been faked. She could have easily had her men stage the room while Quinn was in talking with Blackmoore. And then, of course, there was Blackmoore himself. She would have also had her men play the old spy runner a visit to find out what he knew.

And finally, after they had left her in California, she had continued to call him. Somehow she must have worked out a way to trace his sig-nal—a signal that was supposed to be untraceable.

Quinn’s jaw tensed as he remembered answering her call right before he was to meet up with Jenny at the Far East Square. He had even told Tasha he was about to see her “friend.” Her men must have been shadowing him, and with a word from their boss, they had moved in.

“There it is,” Nate said.

Though Quinn had been looking out the front window, he had seen nothing. Now, with his eyes refocused, he spotted the Von Feldt Building half a block away on the left.

“Where do you want me to go?” Nate asked.

There were no obvious diplomatic vehicles parked in front of the building. “Pull over there,” Quinn said, pointing to an open spot just past the building. Once the car was parked at the curb, Quinn opened his door. “I’m

going to look around.” “I’ll go with you,” Orlando said, already opening her door. “What about us?” Jenny asked. “Wait here. We won’t be long.” Orlando and Quinn walked down the sidewalk toward the high-

rise. “There’s got to be VIP parking, some kind of garage or something around here,” Quinn said.

“Quinn,” Orlando said, “Tasha is obviously a professional. She’s as good at what she does as you or I are at what we do. You didn’t expect to run into someone like her.”

“I should have never let that happen,” he said. “But Tasha hasn’t gotten to Jenny. You’ve done okay.” “I should have left her in D.C.” “It worked out all right. We know about her now. We know what

she is.” He frowned. “It was a mistake.” Before she could say anything more, he stopped and pulled out his

phone. He punched in Ne Win’s number and hit Send. “I was expecting your call,” Ne Win said. “You are still here, aren’t

you?” “Yes.” “So what is it you need?” “I know what the dealer setup at the Quayside is for,” Quinn said. “Really?” “It’s a diversion,” Quinn said. He gave Ne Win a quick version of

Jenny’s story about the upcoming assassination attempt on her boss. “Here’s what I think. Somewhere not too far from the Maxwell Food Centre, there’s going to be a dead body. The person will be ID’d as the man who killed the congressman. It won’t have been him, of course, but that won’t matter. The evidence will all point to him.

There’ll be something on the body, something that links the man to the weapons showroom at the Quayside Villas.” Quinn paused. “The hair.”

“What hair?”

“I found one hair in a desk drawer at the showroom. I’ll bet you anything it belongs to the fall guy.” Quinn took a breath. “That can be checked later. Once the police find the showroom, there’ll be something there that will eventually lead them to an extremist group, probably Islamic.”

“Assassination of an American official in Singapore would be bad for business. Especially if it looks like one of us did it.”

“I agree. If they put everything together, they’ll have a full-fledged jihadist conspiracy on their hands.” He paused. “But if there’s no body to find, there’s no link to the apartment.”

“And no link to any organization.” “Exactly right.” “So you want me to find the body,” Ne Win said. “Yes.” Quinn looked at his watch. “If they’re playing it smart, the

body won’t be moved into place for at least another thirty minutes.” “If they are playing it smart,” Ne Win said, “the body is still alive right now.”

The old man was right. To make it seem realistic, the red herring had to die in relatively the same time period as he would have if he were the real assassin.

“Can you find it?” Quinn asked. “It won’t be easy,” Ne Win said. “But we will try.” “If you do, be sure to remove all the evidence.” “Interesting. I seem to be doing your job today.” “Trust me, I wish it was the other way around.” There was a beep on the line, another call coming through. Quinn

moved the handset out far enough so he could see the display. A Singapore number. “Let me know if you find anything,” he said to Ne Win, then

switched the calls. “Hello?” “Is this Mr. Quinn?” The voice was vaguely familiar, female. “Who is this?” Quinn asked.

“Brianne Solomon. I work at the embassy. I’m Mr. Murray’s assistant.”

“Okay. Why are you calling me?”

“This is Mr. Quinn, correct?”

“Yes,” he said, his patience slipping rapidly. “What is it?”

Orlando had been scanning the neighborhood, looking for the kind of car Guerrero might have arrived in. But she looked back at Quinn and shook her head.

“Mr. Murray would like it if you would call him on his mobile phone.” She read off a number. “Do you need me to repeat it?”

“No. I got it.”

He disconnected the call, then punched in Murray’s number and hit Send.

“Quinn?” Murray’s voice came over the line the moment the connection was made.

“What is it, Kenneth?”

“You’re a son of a bitch, you know that? You got me in it again.” Murray sounded like he was outside somewhere. Quinn could hear traffic and distant voices. Murray, apparently concerned he might be overheard, was keeping his voice low.

“What happened?” Quinn asked.

“I took your warning to the appropriate person at the embassy.” Quinn assumed that was either the CIA resident or, more frequently in these post-9/11 days when they’d been given more international responsibilities, an agent from the FBI. “I played it off like I’d received an anonymous tip. Good thing, too. They said they’d received a similar warning. They said they’d checked it out. They said it was nothing.”

“They said they looked into it?” Quinn asked.

“I think the direct quote was, ‘There was nothing there, Mr. Murray. But thanks for bringing it to our attention.’”

“They’re lying,” Quinn said.

“Dammit, Quinn...Yeah, I know they’re lying,” Murray said. He sounded pissed off. “Normally they wouldn’t just dismiss something I told them like that. But if Homeland Security isn’t going to do anything about it, what the hell am I going to do?”

“Call the congressman directly. Stop him. He’ll listen to you.”

“I am able to figure a few things out on my own,” Murray said. “I already tried that. I called the Raffles Hotel, talked to one of his staff. Turns out the congressman’s schedule has changed quite a bit. The meeting at the Von Feldt Building has been moved someplace else, but the guy I talked to had no idea where. Said if I wanted to get ahold of him, then the next possibility would be the one p.m. stop at the Maxwell Food Centre.”

“Son of a bitch.” Quinn looked at Orlando. “Come on. He’s not here.”

They started running back toward the car.

“I asked the aide if he’d give me the congressman’s mobile number, but he wouldn’t,” Murray said. “Said he’d be happy to pass along any message.”

“Did you tell him it was an emergency?” Quinn asked.

“Of course I did.”

They reached the car and got in quickly.

“He’s not here,” Quinn told Nate.

Nate gave him a single nod, then pulled the car away from the curb and headed down the street. There was no need for Quinn to tell him where to go next.

But Murray was a different story. “You need to go to the Maxwell Food Centre,” Quinn said.

“What? Why?”

“You need to be there. You’re a representative of the U.S. government. I need you to cover my ass, and make sure that the right story gets out.”

“What do you mean ‘the right story gets out’?”

“The one you’re going to have to take on faith. But I promise you’re going to come out of this smelling good.”

“Like last time?” Murray asked.

“I’d say it worked out pretty well for you.”

“Fine,” Murray said.

Quinn disconnected the call.

“So what are we doing now?” Jenny asked.

Quinn looked back at her. “Now we try to keep your boss from getting killed.”