same high. In the middle was a life-size statue of the Buddha.
But instead of stopping in front, Orlando walked around and behind the altar. Quinn followed. In the back, there were over a dozen people praying before a second, smaller altar. Again, there was the Buddha, this one the size of a small child. Lining the front of the altar were several round pots of sand, each stuffed with dozens of incense sticks. Many were withered and used, while others glowed as thin spirals of smoke rose from their tips toward the ceiling like ethereal tails pointed at heaven, only to dissipate and become just another part of the perpetual haze.
Surrounding the Buddha statue were shelves lined with photographs of the recently and not-sorecently departed. Orlando found a spot to the far left, then kneeled and began to pray. Instead of bowing her head, her eyes were glued to one of the pictures on the shelves. Quinn, careful not to disturb her, moved around until he had a better view of what she was looking at.
It was a picture of a man. But unlike the other photos, the man was Caucasian. The glass covering the image was so dirty with smoke residue from the constantly burning incense, most people probably didn't even notice.
As Quinn stared at the picture, a surge of conflicting emotions churned inside him. The picture was of Durrie. It was probably taken only a few years before his death. Durrie's hair was almost as gray as it had been on the job that had gotten him killed, but he was smiling and he seemed relaxed.
Quinn tore his eyes away and went back outside before Orlando finished praying. He bought a soda from an old man who'd set up shop at the bottom of the steps, then found a bit of shade near the base of the stairs.
He tried not to think about how the picture of Durrie had affected him. But there was no ignoring it. Guilt. Sadness. Hatred. Hatred for a man who had deserted a son he never knew. Hatred for a man who had taught Quinn how to survive and thrive, and yet was unable to follow his own lessons. But most of all, hatred for a man who had left Orlando heartbroken, damaged, and alone.
A short time later, his soda still unopened, Orlando rejoined him. 'Thank you,' she said.
'How often do you come?' he asked.
She looked up at him. 'Every day.'
Quinn wanted to say,
Chapter 13
There were two new e-mail messages waiting for Quinn when he arrived back at his hotel room. The first was from Duke.
Files uploaded as requested. P1s respond earliest.
P4J
The second was from Peter.
Call me.
Before calling Peter, Quinn navigated through cyberspace until he arrived at the location where he'd instructed Duke to upload the information. It took less than thirty seconds to retrieve the file. As the download proceeded, the computer automatically ran the file through a series of virus protection programs. Once Quinn was satisfied nothing nasty was waiting for him, he disconnected the link.
As he expected, the document was a job brief.
According to the information, Duke needed Quinn's help in monitoring some unusual activities going on in Berlin. What those unusual activities were, Duke didn't specify. Though the brief did say a combination of audio, video, and direct observation methods would probably be needed at several locations throughout the city.
Duke still wasn't sure who was behind the activities, but his best guess was JLK, a big player in the German underworld. If that was true, it could also mean the involvement of English, Spanish, or Russian undesirables.
How JLK fit into Peter's problems was even less clear. Had the Office done something to piss the Germans off? If they had, Quinn hadn't heard about it. Of course, as Peter was fond of pointing out, Office business was not Quinn's business.
Quinn reached for his phone.
'Problems?' Peter asked.
Quinn stood at the window of his hotel room looking down on the square below, his phone pressed against his ear. 'Other than the fact that I had to kill someone in my own living room and make an unscheduled trip out of town? No. Everything's fine.'
'I didn't realize killing people was something you were interested in.'
'It's not,' Quinn said.
'Might open some new opportunities for you.'
'I'm not looking for new opportunities.' Quinn paused. 'Duke contacted me.' 'Good. When are you leaving?' 'Who said I was going anywhere?'
Peter was silent for a moment. 'I need you to do this for me.' 'I thought you were the one who told me to disappear,' Quinn said.
'Duke has evidence that the activity he's seeing could be tied into the disruption. Into the attempt on your life.'
'Could be, Peter. Not
Again silence. 'It's the best lead we've had.'
'Okay. Then send someone else.'
