The Silenced

Chapter 33

“I don’t think she’s going to show,” Quinn said.

Orlando touched him on his thigh. “Let’s give it another hour. If we don’t see her by then, we’ll come back in the morning.”

Quinn grimaced, but didn’t get up. He knew she was right. It was just that he was having a hard time reining in his impatience. Something that seldom happened.

They were sitting by the front window of the Queen Anne Pub. From there, they had a direct view of the office building across the street where Wright Bains Securities was located. It was six stories of glass, steel, and stone, surrounded on three sides by similar generic, soul-sucking structures. The kind of place a secret division of MI6 would choose. There were two ways in: a glass door main entrance at the center of the building, and a less-flashy steel door off to the left. From Quinn and Orlando’s position, they could see both.

With Wills dead, Taplin was Quinn’s best chance at getting information. His biggest fear had been that she was still in New York. But Orlando was able to learn that a U.K. citizen named Annabel Taplin had returned to London the night before. Which meant there was a very good chance she had returned to work that morning.

When they got there, it was already lunchtime. Quinn had hoped they might spot her going out to eat with some of her colleagues, but no luck. And, as the afternoon turned to evening with no sign of Annabel among those heading home for the day, he began to wonder if she had come in at all.

Orlando picked up the cup of coffee she’d been drinking and took another sip. Quinn, who had been nursing the same beer for over an hour, reached for his glass, but then decided against it. Instead, he pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Toilet,” he said, walking away.

“Thanks for the information,” Orlando called after him.

He headed across the pub and down a small hallway to the public toilets. He didn’t really need to use them; he just couldn’t stand sitting around any longer.

The men’s room was a single stall and one urinal. Tucked in behind the door was a sink with a mirror above it. It had obviously become a tradition to put stickers on the walls and mirror, most touting bands.

Quinn turned on the cold water, then wiped some of it across his face. He felt the need to do something. Anything. This waiting was killing him. Usually he could be on a stakeout for days before he’d feel the need to get things moving. But never before had it been his own family who was being threatened.

He stared at himself in an open spot on the mirror between a sticker for the Arctic Monkeys and a throwback for Stiff Little Fingers, but didn’t like what was looking back. There was something in his eyes that he had never seen.

Fear.

He couldn’t deny it. It was staring right back at him.

Fear that he wasn’t in control of what was going on. Fear that he wouldn’t be able to make the problem go away. And most of all, fear that because he’d put his family in the line of fire, something would happen to them.

He had to make this right. And once he did, he could never again assume that Liz and his mother were safe. For so long he’d been able to keep their existence a secret, but that secret was gone now, gone forever.

Quinn grabbed a towel and dried his face. What all this meant about his future was something he was going to have to deal with once he’d taken care of his current nightmare. He was nowhere near in the right frame of mind to think about it now.

His phone began to vibrate. It was Nate.

Finally.

He hit Accept, then headed back into the pub.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“We’re safe,” Nate said. “We found a room near—”

“Hold on,” Quinn said, cutting him off.

Orlando was no longer sitting down. She was standing near the door, waving him to hurry over. He took the phone from this ear, then pushed his way through the growing crowd.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The woman on the sidewalk across the street. About thirty feet left of the main entrance. Is that her?”

Quinn followed her gaze. Though the sun had gone down, the streetlamps provided more than enough light to see.

“It’s her,” he said. “Go.”

Orlando headed out of the pub.

“Sorry,” he said into the phone. “Where are you?”

“A small hotel near Sacré Coeur.”

Outside the pub, Quinn could see Orlando cross the street and fall in about a half block behind Annabel. The MI6 woman had no idea who Orlando was, so the plan they had worked out was for Orlando to follow her, and Quinn to follow Orlando a couple of blocks back, using the GPS tracker in his phone. That way there would be no chance Taplin would spot him.

“Did they check your ID?”

“Of course not,” Nate said, his tone a little pissed off. “We wouldn’t be here if they did.”

Quinn grimaced. That was basic training stuff. A dumb question to ask, but his objectivity was a little blurred at the moment. “How’s Liz?”

There was a pause, then when Nate spoke again his voice was lower. “She’s a little freaked out. But that’s understandable. I’m actually surprised she’s still functioning at all.… She has been asking a lot of questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“About you. About what you do … what I do.”

“What have you told her?”

“I said that she needs to ask you.”

That was something else he was going to have to deal with, Quinn realized. Liz was going to want to know what was going on. His mother, too, for that matter. “You did the right thing,” he said as he started for the door.

“What if she keeps pushing?”

“Tell her what you already told her.”

“I’m not sure if that’s going to be enough.”

Quinn stepped outside. Orlando was no longer in sight. He started down the sidewalk in the direction he had seen her go. “Is she giving you trouble?”

“Not yet,” Nate said. “But I can see it coming. Don’t forget, she is your sister. She’s not stupid.”

No, she wasn’t stupid. “Then use your best judgment. Tell her what you need to tell her, but nothing more.”

“I’m not going to lie to her. I need her to cooperate with me, and she won’t if she thinks I’m just handing her another line.”

“Okay. No lies,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Quinn stopped as he neared the end of the block. There was no way to know which direction Orlando and Annabel had gone. He was going to have to use the tracker on his phone. “I want you to get her out of Paris,” Quinn said.

“I thought you might. Where do you want us to go?”

Good question. What Quinn really wanted was for her to be close, but London might be just as dangerous for her as Paris. Still …

“Bring her to England. Don’t take the Chunnel. Get a car and drive to Belgium. You can get a ferry in Ostend. We’ll get some rush docs for her. I think Orlando knows someone there who can probably do them for you tonight. I’ll have her let you know where and when to pick them up. Then I want you out of Paris by morning.”

“I’ll make sure we’re up early and moving.”

“And Nate …”

“I know. Take care of Liz.”

Quinn hesitated. “Yes. But also yourself.”

After almost losing them in the Underground, Quinn caught up to Orlando not far from Russell Square Station.

“She went in there,” Orlando said, nodding down the street at a tan, three-story brick structure that had been designed to look like a series of row houses.

“Apartments?” Quinn asked.

“Yes. The index next to the front door lists twenty-four residents.”

“Must go back a little ways. Doesn’t look like that many from here.”

“Unfortunately, yes. I was hoping I’d see a light go on in one of the rooms when she went in.” She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“What about her name? Isn’t she listed?”

“There’s no Taplin.”

“Do you think she might have spotted you, and used this place to throw you off?”

“I wondered about that,” Orlando said. “But I don’t think so. She was exhausted, even fell asleep for a few minutes on the train. I don’t think she noticed much of anything.”

“Could have been faking it,” Quinn suggested.

“She wasn’t.”

Quinn looked back down the street. “Well, we can’t go door-to-door.”

“Yeah. Bad idea.”

“And if she was that tired, she’s probably in for the evening.”

“I’d agree with that, too.”

Quinn turned to her, his eyes narrowed. “Then, what do you think we should do?”

She took another look at the building, then said, “Nothing’s going to happen tonight. Let’s come back early tomorrow and pick her up when she leaves for work.”

Quinn frowned.

“You could use some sleep yourself,” she said.

“I’m fine.”

“No. You’re not.”

He stared at the building a moment longer, knowing she was right but wishing there was more he could do. He rubbed a hand across his eyes. The weight of it all seemed to be increasing every second.

“You’re not alone,” Orlando said softly as she put an arm around him. “This is our family in trouble, not just yours. And if we want to help them, we need to be sharp.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her, saying nothing.

“Okay?” she asked.

He said nothing for a moment, then he nodded once. “Okay.”