There was the sound of a slide release being pulled back on a gun. Almost immediately there was more shuffling and grunting coming from inside the trunk.
'That's better,' Orlando said.
When the trunk closed again, there were only two people standing behind the car – Orlando and Nate.
As the two climbed back in, Orlando threw something over the seat at Quinn. It was one of the long, dark overcoats the cops had been wearing. Once Quinn put it on, it would cover most of his pants, making him more presentable.
'I got these, too,' she said, holding up two utility belts complete with radios, guns, and tools of the cops' trade. Not surprisingly, the handcuffs were missing from each belt.
'IDs?' he asked.
Orlando nodded.
Nate put the car in gear and continued down into the garage. Soon they were on a ramp leading downward into the building. Fifty feet in, the road forked. To the right it veered sharply downward, spiraling farther below the surface toward what Quinn guessed was the employee parking area. The left fork kept going straight for another twenty-five feet, ending at a small parking area to the left and a raised loading dock straight ahead.
There was a single truck backed up to the dock. A linen supplier. Two men were rolling a big basket of towels out of the hotel and into the cargo area of the truck.
Quinn quickly shifted his attention to the small parking area off to the left. There were five cars there: two Fords, a Peugeot, and two BMWs. One of the BMWs was a silver two-door coupe. But the other was midnight blue.
'Stop,' Quinn said.
As Nate stopped their car, Quinn took a harder look at the parked BMW. The windows were tinted all the way around, front and back included.
'That's his car.'
Quinn opened his door and started to swing his legs around to get out, but the pain shooting up from his thigh stopped him.
'Wait,' Nate said. 'Let me check.'
As Nate opened his door, Orlando tapped him on the arm, then handed him an ID and one of the guns.
Nate approached the car cautiously, but it was soon apparent no one was inside.
'What now?' Nate called out.
'See if the boxes are still in the back,' Quinn said. Nate started trying all the doors.
'Nate,' Quinn said. Once his apprentice was looking over at him, Quinn mimed using his gun as a hammer.
Nate glanced over his shoulder toward the loading dock. The two men who had been rolling out the towels were just disappearing back into the hotel.
Instead of just smashing the gun into the window, Nate removed his jacket first, placing it over the glass. He had to hit the window three times before it broke, but the sound was muffled. Quinn smiled. Nate was getting it.
The tinting held the shattered safety glass together, so Nate just had to fold it in on itself and push it into the car.
'You're sure it was him?' Orlando asked Quinn. Her voice was quiet but demanding.
Quinn kept his eyes on Nate. 'Yes.'
Orlando was silent for a moment. 'That son of a bitch was alive the whole time,' she said to herself.
Nate got the trunk open on the other car and checked inside. Quinn could see the answer on his face before he even came back.
'No boxes,' Nate said.
'Then we need to find them,' Quinn said.
'How are we going to get inside?' Nate asked.
'Nate,' Quinn said, 'we are inside.'
Chapter 41
Quinn had Nate park their car directly behind the BMW, bumpers touching. There was just enough room left for traffic to still get by. In front of the car was a cement wall. If Durrie and Tucker came back for their vehicle, they'd have a hell of a time getting it out.
As Quinn suspected, security at the St. Martin Hotel was localized. Attendees were not high-level enough to interrupt the regular flow of the hotel's business. If heads of state had been attending, the place would have been locked down tight. But because the majority of the conference goers were college professors or other civilian professionals, the perceived threat level would be reduced and, therefore, the security would be designed to fit the situation.
But Quinn knew that didn't mean it was going to be easy.
The St. Martin seemed to be a series of service corridors. At least that was the impression Quinn got as they made their way through the bowels of the hotel. These were the passageways that allowed all the work needed to
