“And what if the evidence pointed at the killer working for Islamic extremists?”
Nate’s eyes widened. “We’d...go right back to the mindset the country had after September eleventh.”
“Perhaps not to that extent, but definitely on the way there,” she said.
Jenny was about to say something else, but Quinn stopped her.
“They’re changing the dynamic,” he said, not a question, but in his mind a fact. “The more we draw back within ourselves as a country, the harder time the President’s going to have getting reelected.”
“You’re missing one thing,” Jenny said.
“What?”
“Once Congressman Guerrero is dead, his wife is going to take his place in the election.”
No one said a word for several seconds.
“Oh my God. She’s playing Corazon Aquino,” Orlando said. “I mean, Aquino wasn’t the one who killed her husband, and he wasn’t running for office at the time, but in effect her political career was launched because of his death.”
“I don’t think the congressman’s wife is in the same league as Corazon Aquino,” Quinn said.
“Maybe not,” Orlando said. “But she’s a white woman...a white
Quinn tried to picture Jody Goodman as the next President of the United States. It was hard, but not impossible.
“The assassination is supposed to happen here in Singapore, isn’t it?” Quinn asked.
“Yes,” Jenny said. “That’s why I’ve been trying to talk to him, to tell him.”
“He leaves for the States tonight,” Orlando said.
“And that’s why there’s no time to wait for the tape to be fixed,” Jenny said. “All I know is that it’s supposed to be at some sort of public place. Something on his itinerary.”
Orlando moved quickly back to her computer. After a moment, she looked up. “The Maxwell Food Centre,” she said. “It’s the only public outing he has left on his schedule. He’s supposed to be there at one p.m.”
Quinn looked at his watch. It was 11:10 a.m. “Where is he now?” he asked.
Orlando looked back at the computer. “He should be finishing up a meeting at the U.S. embassy. Then he heads to another meeting at the Von Feldt Building near Chinatown before heading over to Maxwell.”
“He’s at the embassy right now?” Quinn asked.
“Yes.”
“Nate,” Quinn said. “Get dressed, then get us a car. Orlando, gather up the gear.” He looked at Jenny.
“I’m coming with you,” she said.
As much as he would have liked to leave her in the apartment, she might be the only one who could convince the congressman if it came to that.
“Ask Nate for one of his clean T-shirts.”
While everyone was getting ready, Quinn made a phone call to the embassy.
“Kenneth Murray, please,” he said once his call was answered.
He was put on hold for a few seconds, then the line began ringing again.
“Kenneth Murray’s office.” It was a woman’s voice, soft and young. If Quinn knew Murray, her looks would match her voice.
“I need to speak to Mr. Murray,” Quinn said.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s on a conference call. Can I take a message?”
“I need him now,” Quinn said.
“I’m sorry, sir. But he’s unavail—”
“Tell him it’s Quinn.”
“That won’t change anything.”
“Do it. Please.”
He could hear her exhale an angry breath. “One moment.”
While he was on hold, Nate reentered the living room dressed in a dark blue T-shirt and jeans.
“Hurry,” Quinn said.
Nate nodded, then left the apartment. Stress was the great focuser for Quinn’s apprentice. It would be one of his major strengths in a few years when he went out on his own.
There was a click on the line. Then a voice, very tentative, said, “This...is Murray.”
“Kenneth, I need your help now.”
