'Your clothes are going to be a problem,' Orlando said.
Quinn looked down. The jacket he was wearing was stained and ripped. Even the shirt underneath hadn't escaped damage. As for his pants, the left leg was soaked with blood from his wound.
'There's a sweater in the duffel bag,' Nate said.
Quinn had already noted the bag on the floor behind the driver's seat. He picked it up and put it on the seat beside him.
'What about pants?' he asked.
Nate shook his head. 'Sorry.'
Quinn removed his jacket and dumped it on the floor. He had to peel the shirt off slowly, as blood had begun to dry on his skin, creating a series of reddish brown lines and circles.
He used more napkins and water to clean off his torso, then opened the duffel bag. The sweater was on top. He removed it and pulled it over his head.
A few minutes later, Nate said, 'There it is.'
Quinn looked out the front window. Two blocks ahead was the St. Martin Hotel. There were police everywhere, and traffic was starting to slow to a crawl.
'Turn here,' Quinn said. 'See if we can get around back.'
'How are we supposed to get in?' Nate asked. 'There's too much security.'
'Just turn,' Quinn said.
Nate turned and drove for a few blocks before turning left again. The traffic was still slow, but it was moving.
'You really think Dahl brought the boxes here?' Nate asked.
'It's his only option,' Quinn said. 'Otherwise the plan is dead.' 'They could take them directly to Bosnia,' Nate countered. 'Maximum effect that way.'
'And the maximum chance HFA would be blamed for the attack. Release the bug here and they can expect a few ancillary outbreaks would occur in Bosniak populations outside of the Balkans. Even if bioterrorism is suspected, the finger would point at a much wider group of potential suspects.'
'But Jansen said the virus won't just infect the Bosniaks,' Nate said.
'I'm sure he is,' Orlando said.
Quinn pulled back slightly. There was more to it than just the money, he knew. He realized he'd been avoiding the subject since Nate had picked them up. But he couldn't avoid it any longer. Only as he started to speak, he couldn't find words to make it sound real. Finally he looked at Orlando. 'Do you still have your pictures of Garrett?'
She looked surprised, one hand unconsciously moving toward the pocket of her coat. 'Yes. Why?'
'Can I see them?'
Still perplexed, she reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and pulled out the small plastic wallet insert. She started to pull one of the pictures out.
'No,' Quinn said. 'Give me the whole thing.'
Reluctantly, she handed it over.
In total, there were three pictures of Garrett: two recent, the third from when he was a baby. But it was the fourth picture in the miniature album that interested Quinn.
He removed the picture and held it over the seat toward Nate.
'Look at this,' he said.
'Eh . . . I'm driving,' Nate said.
'What are you doing?' Orlando asked.
'Just glance at it,' Quinn said to Nate.
Nate took the picture in his right hand, then held it up near his face, his eyes still on the road. After a moment, he glanced down. But instead of taking a quick look, his eyes remained riveted on the photo.
'That's enough,' Quinn said, tapping him on the shoulder. 'Son of a bitch,' Nate said as he handed the photo back.
'What?' Orlando asked.
'That's him,' Nate said.
'That's who?' Orlando was beginning to sound angry.
'The guy I saw when they had me locked up in that hotel room. The older guy.' Nate looked quickly back at Orlando, then shifted his gaze to the rearview mirror so he could look at Quinn. 'Is that Dahl?'
Quinn held the photo out to Orlando, but she didn't take it. He knew she was well aware who was in the picture.
'I saw him, too,' Quinn said. 'He was in the BMW.' 'That's not possible,' she said, disbelief on her face.
