'They get anyone else?' Peter asked.
'No.'
'Who else are you working with?'
'That is not something you need to know.'
'I'm just trying to help.'
'Really?' Quinn said. 'That's good to hear, because I need some information.' 'What kind of information?' 'Anything relevant. Taggert. Jills.' Quinn paused.
'The Office's involvement. You've got to tell me everything.'
'What's that have to do with anything?'
'The disruption and the job in Colorado are tied together,' Quinn said. 'Come on. You've got to realize that.'
'I don't know what's going on.'
'Don't fuck with me, Peter. I've heard too many I-don't-knows lately. Tell me what's going on.' 'There's nothing to tell,' Peter said. Quinn clenched his teeth. 'You're not doing a
lot to win my trust.' 'Do you know for sure Borko was behind the disruption?'
'I'm sure enough,' Quinn said. 'His operation here leads me to believe he's tied into Taggert, too. Peter, we're wasting time.'
'I can't tell you.' Quinn took a deep breath. 'Let me throw another name at you,' Quinn said. 'Dahl.'
'Dahl?' Peter was obviously surprised. 'Where did you hear that? Did Gibson say something to you?'
Quinn paused. 'Why would Gibson have said anything?'
It was Peter's turn to go silent. When he finally did speak, his voice was laced with barely controlled anger. 'At each . . . incident of the disruption, there was a message. We didn't realize there was a pattern until yesterday. Each message was the same. A white business card stuffed into the victim's throat, far enough back so they couldn't be found without an autopsy.'
'You did autopsies?' Quinn asked. That wouldn't have been procedure. The cause of death would have been pretty obvious.
'We didn't,' Peter replied. 'But the local authorities got to one of our casualties before we could. Their M.E. found the card. Once we knew about it, we went back and checked the others.'
'What was the message?'
'It was only a single word. 'Dahl.' The son of a bitch wanted us to know who did it.'
'Gibson didn't have a card,' Quinn said.
'Maybe he got rid of it before you got him.'
'Not a chance.' It bothered Quinn that the attack on him deviated from the others in this way. Duke's words came back to him:
'I . . . don't know.' Peter sounded truly stumped. 'He's been around awhile, but as far as I can determine, we've never worked with him.' A pause. 'But I want him now. Find him and I'll give you triple bonus.'
'Then I need your help.'
Quinn could hear Peter exhale on the other side of the line. 'Okay. But I need to check something out first,' Peter said.
'Are you kidding?' 'I'll get back to you.' Before Quinn could say anything else, the line
went dead.
As soon as Orlando emerged from the bedroom, Quinn said, 'I want to contact your friend. See if he's found anything out yet.'
Her hair was damp and she was wearing one of the white robes the Mandola provided. 'The Mole? I don't have his number. He changes it every day.'
'Then how do you get ahold of him?' 'E-mail first, then he sends me the number.' 'Okay. We'll find a computer.' She sighed wearily. As she turned to walk back
into the bedroom, she said, 'Okay.' 'Wait,' Quinn told her. 'How much did you sleep
last night?' She looked back at him. 'Enough.' 'How much?' 'Maybe an hour.' 'Curled up in a ball in some doorway?' 'Something like that.' 'You stay here. I'll contact him,' Quinn said. 'He may not talk to you.' 'I'll be very persuasive. What's the e-mail
address?'
She gave it to him. 'You'll need the code, too. If he actually answers your message, you won't be able to understand anything without it.'
Quinn found an Internet cafe on Ku'damm called Easy Everything. He paid in advance for an hour of time, then sat down at one of the machines in the back of the store, where there would be less chance of someone looking over his shoulder.
