'The gun,' Quinn said.
The man opened his hand and allowed the pistol to fall over the edge of the building toward the sidewalk below. So this one wasn't one of Duke's incompetent recruits. He was obviously a pro.
'Am I staying up here?' the man asked coolly. 'Or may I come down?' 'You can relax right where you are,' Quinn told him. 'For the moment.' 'Now what? We just wait here until my friends arrive?' 'So they can kill us?' Quinn asked. 'I don't think so.' 'Why would we kill you? Those were not our instructions.' 'Right,' Orlando said.
'You don't believe me?'The man started to reach
into his pocket. 'Don't,' Quinn said. 'I'm just getting my phone.' Quinn thought about it for a moment. Then he
nodded. 'Slowly.'
'Bleiben Sie dran,'
the man said into the phone. He
held the instrument out to Quinn. 'Toss it to me,' Quinn said. The man did so. 'What?' Quinn said into the telephone. 'Quinn?' There was no mistaking the voice. 'Hello, Borko.' 'I understand you are entertaining a friend of
mine,' Borko said. 'And I believe you have one of mine. Where
is he?' 'How should I know?' Quinn hit the end-call button and tossed the
phone back to the man, who just barely managed to keep it from flying past him over the side of the building. 'I'm not interested in playing games.'
Immediately the phone rang. Before Quinn could stop him, the man answered, then held the phone out again. 'He wants to talk.'
'Tell him to go to hell.'
The man repeated Quinn's instructions. He listened for a moment, nodding, then looked at Quinn. 'He says to tell you Nate is still alive.'
When Quinn had the phone again, he said, 'Make it fast.'
'What Gregory just told you is true,' Borko said. 'Your friend Nate is one of my guests.'
'Then let him go.'
'Turn yourself in to us, and I will.'
'Why don't I believe you?'
Borko didn't reply immediately. 'You know,' he said, breaking the silence. 'You are a very talented individual. You've really surprised me.'
'Sorry I haven't made myself an easier target.'
'That's good. You are a challenge. Too bad we aren't working together.' 'That will never happen.' 'Never?' 'Believe it,' Quinn said. 'Let Nate go.' 'Are you going to let Gregory bring you in?' 'You know I'm not.' 'Then I think I might keep him for a little while
longer. Until I'm sure you won't be a problem.' Borko paused. 'If you won't turn yourself in, my advice to you is to get out of town. Forget about your friend. If that happens, once I am finished here, he will be free to go where he wants.'
'And my advice to you is to go fuck yourself.'
There was silence. Then Borko said, 'If you need a little more motivation to leave us alone, you should have your girlfriend call home.'
'What the hell does that mean?' Quinn asked, unable to keep himself from glancing at Orlando. But there was no answer. Borko had already hung up.
As Quinn closed the phone, he thought he heard something on the roof above them. Footsteps, still distant but getting closer.
Gregory smiled at Quinn. 'We seem to have
company.'
Gregory's hand moved quickly to his side. Suddenly there was a knife in his hand. Quinn wasn't sure whose bullet hit Gregory first, his or Orlando's. With a look of surprise, Borko's man sailed backward over the edge, arcing upward first, then plummeting into the darkness below.
Chapter 27
They moved through the suite, down the main hallway, and into the west stairwell. There they took the stairs down to the first floor, one floor above ground level. Slipping into the corridor, Quinn spotted four firemen at the far end of the hallway. He motioned for Orlando to wait in the stairwell, then he strode toward the men.
'Who are you?' one of them called out in German, challenging him. They were all roughly the same size, within an inch or two of Quinn's own height, and fully outfitted in fire gear.
'What have you found?' Quinn said, sounding like it was his right to ask.
Another of the firemen spoke up. 'Nothing.'
'It could be a false alarm,' Quinn said. 'But we need to be certain, yes? Two of you come with me. The other two keep looking to make sure you haven't missed anyone.'
'Who are you?' the first one asked again.
'Criminal Investigations. Whoever pulled that alarm did it deliberately. I need to find him and find out why. I suggest we get moving.'
'Yes, sir. Absolutely,' the first fireman said. 'I will stay with you.'
'So will I,' the man next to him said.
The other two moved off down the hallway. Quinn led the volunteers back to the west stairwell.
Quinn and Orlando discarded the firemen's gear behind the IMAX theater at Potsdamer Platz. The outfits would undoubtedly be found and reunited with their owners once the men explained how they got knocked out and stripped of their clothes.
The gear had provided Quinn and Orlando with the perfect cover. And even though the outfit Orlando wore was several sizes too big, no one had noticed a couple more firemen walking out of the Mandola.
They walked nearly a mile before Quinn felt it was safe to hail a taxi. 'Where can I take you?' the driver asked, once they had climbed into the back.
'Neukölln,' Quinn said.
They found a vacant store on Karl Marx Strasse, less than a mile from the water plant on Schandauer Strasse. Using his lock picks, Quinn was able to open the back door.
'No one's been here for a while,' Orlando said.
She was right, Quinn noted. There was a fine layer of dust over everything, disturbed only by the footprints they had created when they entered.
Quinn passed through the short hallway into the modest showroom that made up the front half of the store. It was occupied only by a few empty display cases and a cardboard box full of trash. The
windows were covered with white paint, preventing anyone outside from looking in. Suddenly a dim light came on from somewhere behind him.
'Did you do that?' Quinn called out.
'In here,' Orlando said from the back of the building.
Quinn retraced his steps and found her in a room off the hallway. There was a single low-wattage bulb glowing from a fixture in the ceiling. Orlando flipped a switch and the light went off. Another flip and it was back on.
'It's the only one that works,' she said.
The room they were in had once served as either a storage room or a large office. It was at least fifteen feet across and ten wide.
'We can set up in here,' she said. 'Get a few sleeping bags, maybe some air mattresses. Just like home.'
The mention of home made Quinn pause.
'On the other side of the hall there's a bathroom,' Orlando went on. 'I checked the water. It's still running. It's only cold, though.'
'Orlando,' Quinn said.
She looked over at him. 'What?'
He glanced at the floor, buying himself an additional moment to collect his thoughts. 'Borko said something to me,' he began. 'It's probably just a bluff.'
She was staring at him now, her eyes unblinking. 'What did he say?' 'He said if we needed any more reason to back down, I should tell you to . . .' Quinn paused. 'What? Tell me what?'
'Tell you to call home.'
Her gaze passed through him for a moment, her face blank. When she took a step toward him, her movement was so sudden it surprised Quinn.
'Give me your phone,' she said.
'He was probably lying.'
She reached for his jacket, grabbing at one of his pockets. 'Give it to me!' 'Wait,' he said, pushing her back. 'It's not there. I'll get it for you.'
He pulled off his backpack, set it on the floor, and kneeled beside it. From one of the smaller zippered pouches he removed his phone. Before he could even move, she grabbed it out of his hand.
Within seconds she had it open and a number already punched in. She waited with the phone pressed against her ear for nearly a minute, then disconnected the call and input another number. This time someone answered.
She spoke rapidly in Vietnamese, and though Quinn couldn't understand what was being said, he could tell by the rising anxiety in her voice that it couldn't be good. When she finally finished, the hand holding the phone fell to her side and her eyes closed.
'Tell me,' Quinn said.
She opened her mouth, but instead of speaking she sucked in a convulsive breath. When she opened her eyes, they were watery but no tears escaped.
'What is it?' he asked.
She tried to speak, her mouth moving, but nothing coming out. Her body began to shake, and the tears finally began to stream down her cheeks.
'Garrett,' she finally said, her voice a forced whisper. 'He's gone.'
It took a while, but Quinn finally got the whole story. It was Mr. Vo, Orlando's assistant at the relief agency, she'd talked to. Apparently he had tried calling Orlando several times, but because her phone was one of the items she'd left during her escape, he hadn't been able to reach her. Trinh, the nanny, was in the hospital. Mr. Vo said she had been beaten badly. A concussion, broken leg, cuts, and bruises. No one knew exactly what had happened. Trinh had been in and out of consciousness, then had been drugged to allow her body to heal. What she had been able to say was that it had been at least two men – one Asian and one Caucasian. It had been in a park while Garrett played. When she awoke, she was in the hospital and Garrett was gone.
The only clue came in the form of a simple business card slipped carefully into Trinh's pocket as she lay bleeding on the grass. Like those left on the victims of the disruption, there was but a single word on it. Instead of pronouncing the word, Mr. Vo had carefully spelled it out so that he wouldn't get it wrong. 'D-a-h-l,' he had said.
Quinn's head began to spin as he processed this. Dahl? In Vietnam? Why? And was it even possible? The idea was almost too bizarre to accept. But the card was proof. Just as with the disruption, he wanted them to know who was responsible.
'We have to find Borko,' Orlando said. 'Right now. We'll force him to take us to Dahl.'
'We don't even know if Dahl is in Germany,' Quinn said.
'I don't care. We have to go. We have to find Garrett.' She was frantic now, her eyes darting around the room. Her body moved from side to side, her hands touching her arms, her shoulders, her face. But her feet remained rooted to the floor, paralyzed with indecision.
Quinn took a deep breath, hoping she would do the same. He needed her to calm down and think more rationally. He tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off. 'We will find him,' he said, keeping his voice soft and even. 'But think it through. It's not even dawn yet. We don't know where Borko is, or even what Dahl looks like.'
'We can't just sit here.'
'Yes,' Quinn said. 'We can.' This time he put a hand on each of her shoulders and held on as she attempted to remove them. 'Orlando, we have to be smart about this. Rushing will hurt more than help. That's probably what they're hoping for anyway.'
'No,' she said, trying to twist away from him. 'They have my son!'
He pulled her to him, putting his arms around her and holding her tight as she fought him. Slowly, she began to stop pulling away. She leaned her head against his chest. There was no sobbing, though, just the deep, rapid breathing of panic and anger.
'Listen to me,' Quinn said. 'Gathering information, then operating from a position of strength. This is what we do.'
She looked up at him. 'You just want us to do nothing and wait?'
'Wait, yes. Do nothing?' He shook his head. 'No way.'
Neither of them said anything for over a minute. Finally, Orlando pushed herself away from him. But it was gentler; the fight had temporarily gone from her.
'God knows what they're doing to Garrett right now,' she said. 'We should get help. You can use your contacts at the Agency.'
"They won't do anything to him,' Quinn said. 'Garrett's too valuable. They'll only do anything if Dahl thinks we're becoming too much of a problem. That's why we can't call anyone. You know that. Garrett's best chance is with us. No one else.'
Her shoulders sagged, and he knew she realized he was right.
'I promise,' he said, 'the moment an opportunity to get Garrett comes up, one where we have a chance of succeeding, we'll take it. Until then we do things step-by-step. Okay?'
She didn't answer.
Quinn reached into his backpack and pulled out the small first-aid kit he carried. It was no more than a cloth bag with a zipper on top, about the size of an average eyeglass case. From inside he removed a small packet, opened it, and dumped two pills into his palm – sleeping pills. He held them out to her. 'I want you to take these.'
Her eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. 'No.'
'Take them,' Quinn said. 'You're not going to be able to help your son unless you're sharp. And you won't be sharp unless you get some sleep.'
'I said no.'
'Orlando. Please. He needs your help, and I need your help. But not when you're like this.' 'I don't want to,' she said, but her voice was low, not fighting him, just telling him. 'I know,' he said, still holding the pills out to her.
Finally she reached out and took them from his hand. She stared at them and then, without saying anything else, put them in her mouth and dry-swallowed them.
'We'll get him back. I swear to you we will.'
Without a word, she turned away and moved over to the wall, then sat down with her back against it. From inside her coat she pulled out something small and rectangular. She held it in her hand, staring at it until her eyes finally closed.
Once she was asleep, Quinn sat on the floor beside her. He looked over to see what she held so tightly in her hand. It was a plastic wallet insert, the kind that would hold several pictures. It was starting to slip out of her hand, so he gingerly picked it up with the intention of setting it on the floor beside her. Instead, he glanced down at the photo she'd been looking at. Garrett. He could have guessed as much. Most of the other pictures in the miniature album were of Garrett, too. Only the last one was different. A cropped image of the same photo sitting on the altar in Vietnam. Durrie.