attendees were in a column on the left. In the column next to it was the name of the group, if any, they were with. And finally, there was a column with either a
“What does the letter at the end denote?” Quinn asked.
Darla glanced up, surprised that Quinn had moved in so close. “Ah...
“Of course,” Quinn said.
The woman went quickly through the list, obviously uncomfortable with Quinn’s gaze, but apparently too polite to tell him to back away.
“I count nine people,” Darla said.
“Nine? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. Not your problem. I just have to get ahold of my boss and see what the deal is. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Quinn turned back toward his table, the names of five women who were listed as only tentative to attend etched in his mind.
After they finished their meal, they spent several hours scoping out the shopping center both inside and out. They met up with Orlando a block down from the shopping center’s entrance thirty minutes before the party was to begin.
“Are you set?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Third place I called. Wendy Hsiao. She’s apparently in Sydney on business.”
“ID?”
Orlando pulled a blue card out of her small purse. It was a Singapore National Registration Identity Card— NRIC. It had Orlando’s picture and Wendy Hsiao’s name. “Ne Win’s source cranked it out in an hour and a half. Don’t think it’ll pass any computer checking, but it should do nicely as a visual ID.”
“Good, once the guests start arriving, you and I will move inside the mall,” Quinn said, looking at Orlando. “Nate, I want you out here on the street. Jenny doesn’t know what you look like, so you won’t
scare her off.”
“Sure,” Nate said.
“I want you to get inside the party right away,” Quinn said to Orlando. “You’ll be backup in case Jenny gets past us.”
Per Quinn’s instructions, she’d come dressed for the reception. She was wearing a sleeveless black ankle- length dress with lavender highlights, a mandarin collar, and a back that dipped three quarters of the way down her spine. She was beyond beautiful.
“Got it,” she said.
“Where will you be?” Nate asked.
“Outside the restaurant, at the other end of the atrium,” Quinn said. “Everyone got their comm gear?”
They both nodded.
“Good. Let’s go.”
By 7 p.m., the party inside Rivera’s was filling up. But as at the gallery show in Georgetown, the congressman hadn’t arrived yet.
Several times a minute, Quinn glanced toward the elevator at the back side of the center. He knew from their recon earlier it led down to a subterranean parking garage. Since several of Guerrero’s House colleagues who were also on this trip had arrived that way, it was a pretty fair guess the congressman would be doing the same.
Quinn’s gaze moved to the restaurant. Orlando had disappeared inside fifteen minutes earlier, her ID working perfectly.
“Anything?” Quinn said.
“Clear here,” Nate reported.
“Same. No sign.” Orlando’s voice was barely a whisper, the noise of the party around her nearly drowning her out.
Movement to his right drew Quinn’s attention back toward the elevator. A new group had arrived. Three men. They exited the elevator, but stopped only a few feet away, waiting.
“A couple of our friends from the Far East Square are here,” Quinn said.
He recognized two of the men from the chase the night before.
“Heading my way?” Orlando asked. “Not yet.” The elevator door opened again, and out stepped Blondie, fol
lowed almost immediately by Congressman Guerrero and his wife. The three who had been waiting suddenly became alert. Two fell in behind the congressman and his wife, while the other joined Blondie in front as the group began walking toward the restaurant.
“Shit,” Nate said. “What?” Quinn asked. “I think she just passed me.” “Jenny? You were supposed to stop her.” “I’m not one hundred percent sure. I think it’s her. If it is, she’s
