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.
'Neukolln,' 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
