The Silenced

Chapter 38

They decided to watch the hotel room in shifts, Mikhail going first. Petra, in the meantime, would pick up where they’d left off with the Russian immigrant community. She wanted to check something first, so she gave the cabbie the name of the street Wills’s office was on. There was the chance someone the Englishman had worked with might still be around. If so, Petra thought she might be able to isolate them and find out if he knew how to find Quinn or, even better, the Ghost.

But as the taxi drove by the building, she realized that she was out of luck.

“At the corner all right, ma’am?” her driver asked, the taxi already slowing.

“No,” Petra said. “I’ve changed my mind. Take me to Oxford Circus.”

The cab picked up speed. If the driver was at all curious about the change in direction, he didn’t look it.

Standing outside the entrance to Wills’s building were three uniformed police officers and a group of several men in well-cut suits, talking in a tight circle. Wills’s death had generated a strong response. And if Quinn was even close to being as smart as she thought he was, he wouldn’t be within ten blocks of the building.

Another dead end.

Her phone buzzed.

“Hello?” she said.

“Get back to the hotel,” Mikhail said.

“Why? What happened?”

“Someone’s in the room.”

Petra put her hand over the phone, then leaned toward the front of the cab. “Forget Oxford Circus,” she said. “Belgrave Road. The Silvain Hotel.”

Petra met Mikhail as she neared the elevators at the Silvain. “Two women. They’re in the room now,” he said.

“You’re sure?”

“There are only two ways out. The elevator or these stairs. I’ve been keeping tabs on both. I also did a walk-by five minutes ago and could hear voices inside.”

“No sign of Quinn?”

“None.”

Petra considered their options. “Let’s keep up the surveillance. We don’t make a move until Quinn shows up.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“He will.”

He looked at her, concern in his eyes. “Petra. Shelby still might not be Quinn.”

She frowned, then sighed. “All right. If he’s not here in a few hours, we’ll reassess.” She paused. “Let’s take a look at his floor again. Then I’ll relieve you for a while.”

Mikhail led her up the staircase. At the landing, he opened the door just wide enough to peek into the hall. Petra could feel him tense.

“What?” she asked.

“The door to the room is open a few inches,” he said.

“Do you think they’re gone?”

“We would have heard them or seen them,” Mikhail said, but he didn’t sound confident. “Stay here.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just walk by and check if I can see anything.”

She put a hand on his arm. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll go all the way to the other end, wait for a few minutes, then come back. I’ll just be somebody who’s staying on this floor.”

She released him. Mikhail opened the door wide enough to slip into the hallway. Petra caught the door before it closed all the way, and peered through the crack as he walked away from her. The door to the room was still partially open, like someone had gone through it but hadn’t made sure to close it.

Five feet.

Four.

Three.

Two.

All was quiet.

Mikhail neared the door. As he turned his head to take a quick look, it whipped open.

He jerked back in surprise as a tiny, dark-haired woman rushed out and rammed her head into his abdomen. He flew into the wall opposite the door and slipped to the floor.

The woman leaned over him, her fist drawn back ready to deliver another blow. Without a thought, Petra raced into the hallway, pointing her pistol at Mikhail’s attacker.

“Don’t touch him,” she said in English.

The woman froze.

“Take a step back.”

The woman did as Petra commanded. Only she didn’t stop with one. Three quick steps took her back inside her room.

Petra sprinted for the door, jamming her foot in the closing gap, then she tried to shove it inward with her shoulder. The door didn’t budge as the women worked against each other. Suddenly Mikhail was at Petra’s side, adding his weight to hers.

Combined they were too much, and the door began to inch inward. All at once the force on the other side disappeared, and the door swung open with a bang. The woman had given up trying to keep them out, and was sprinting across the room toward the window.

Petra rushed forward, gun first. “Don’t try it,” she said.

The woman froze.

As Petra took another step forward she could hear Mikhail close the door behind her. “We only want to talk, but if you go through that window, you’re dead. Now turn around. Slowly.”

The woman did.

She was Asian, though which specific nationality Petra couldn’t tell. She couldn’t have been much more than five feet tall, and if she had an ounce of fat on her, Petra would have been surprised.

“Where’s your partner?” Petra asked.

The woman looked unsure of what she meant. “My partner?” Her accent was American.

“The person you arrived with,” Petra said.

The woman seemed to consider her answer, like she was calculating the odds of what response would best favor her. She then pointed at the closed bathroom door to Petra’s right. “She’s in there.”

Petra moved to a spot near the wall where she could see both the woman and the bathroom door. “Sit down,” she ordered the woman.

The woman shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed.

Petra shot a glance at Mikhail and nodded at the bathroom. “Check it,” she told him in Russian. When she looked back, the woman on the bed was staring at her, a curious look on her face. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” the woman said.

Mikhail approached the door, stopping against the wall just shy of the jamb. It was hinged on the other side and would open into the room.

After a brief hesitation, he reached out with his free hand, pushed the levered handle down, then gave it a jerk. As the door swung open, he fell back against the wall, his gun trained toward the opening.

Though there was no light on inside, enough spilled in from the bedroom so that Petra could see someone hunched low a few feet inside.

“Come out,” Petra said.

The other woman remained where she was.

“You don’t want us to drag you out,” Petra said.

The woman swayed back and forth a few times, but still made no move to exit.

“Out now!”

The woman on the bed smiled as she shook her head once. “She can’t.”

“Why not?”

“See for yourself.”

“Mikhail,” Petra said, nodding at the open doorway.

Mikhail leaned forward so he could see inside. “What …?” The question was barely audible, meant for himself, but it concerned Petra. Something was not right.

She watched as he stepped into the bathroom, his gun falling to his side.

“Careful,” Petra snapped.

“It’s okay,” he said without turning around.

Mikhail flipped the bathroom light on, but his body blocked Petra’s view. He leaned forward for several seconds, then with a grunt stood back up. Now Petra could see the woman’s head.

What in God’s name?

The woman was wearing a gag. As Mikhail pulled her into the main room, Petra saw that, in addition, her hands were tied behind her back.

“You want me to take the gag off?” Mikhail asked Petra.

Petra looked at the Asian woman. “Who is she?”

“Like you’d believe me if I told you,” the woman said.

“Take it off,” Petra told Mikhail.

As soon as the gag was off, the woman coughed, then drew in a deep breath. “Thank you,” she croaked.

“Who are you?” Petra asked.

There was another fit of coughing.

“Your name.”

“Can you untie my hands?” the woman asked. “I think I’ve lost feeling in them.”

The Asian woman rolled her eyes.

“What is your name?” Petra said, growing annoyed.

“Annabel,” she said.

“Annabel what?”

“Why do you need to know that?”

“Put the gag back on,” Petra ordered.

Mikhail raised the cloth back to Annabel’s face.

“No. Wait,” Annabel said. “Taplin. My last name’s Taplin.”

Mikhail paused, glancing at Petra.

“I didn’t say stop.”

Annabel’s eyes widened as Mikhail tied the gag back over her mouth.

“Perhaps you’d like to tell us your name,” Petra said to the Asian woman.

Instead of answering, the woman stared at Petra, a knowing smile on her face. “You’re the one who was in Maine, aren’t you?” she said.

Petra tensed.

“And in Los Angeles, too. Right?”

Los Angeles? Except for the watcher on the street, Petra didn’t think she’d been seen in Los Angeles.

“Who are you?” Petra asked.

“I might ask you the same question.”

Petra paused for a moment. There was something about this woman she liked. She got a serious no-bullshit vibe from her. “We are looking for someone we think you might work with.”

“And who would that be?”

“A man named Jonathan Quinn.”

“And I’m supposed to know him?”

“I know you do. You wouldn’t have known where I’ve been, otherwise.” Petra hesitated. “We need to talk to him.”

The woman smirked. “That’s all? Just a little chat?”

“Just talk.”

“Not kill him like you killed David Wills yesterday?”

“We didn’t kill Wills,” Petra said.

“You were there.”

“If I could have talked to him, I wouldn’t be looking for your friend now. But he was dead before I had a chance.”

“So you moved on to Quinn.”

“I have no one left.” Petra knew she sounded desperate, but she didn’t care.

The woman stared curiously at her for a moment. Petra almost felt like she saw sympathy in her eyes. Then the woman looked past Petra, toward the front door.

Petra turned her head to see what the woman had seen. Mikhail was keeping an eye on the other woman, but otherwise there was nothing—

Her gun was suddenly wrenched from her hand. She started to turn back around, but before she could she was flying backward into Mikhail. They both fell to the floor, Petra on top.

“Gun,” the woman said.

She was standing over them, Petra’s weapon in her hand pointing at Petra’s chest.

“Slowly,” the woman said. Mikhail’s gun flew up over his leg and landed on the floor near the woman’s feet.

Not taking her eyes off them, the woman crouched down and picked it up, then stood again. “Now, what exactly is it you want to talk to Quinn about?”