[Quinn 02] - The Deceived

phone. He punched in Ne Win’s number and hit Send. “I was expecting your call,” Ne Win said. “You are still here, aren’t

you?” “Yes.” “So what is it you need?” “I know what the dealer setup at the Quayside is for,” Quinn said. “Really?” “It’s a diversion,” Quinn said. He gave Ne Win a quick version of

Jenny’s story about the upcoming assassination attempt on her boss. “Here’s what I think. Somewhere not too far from the Maxwell Food Centre, there’s going to be a dead body. The person will be ID’d as the man who killed the congressman. It won’t have been him, of course, but that won’t matter. The evidence will all point to him.

There’ll be something on the body, something that links the man to the weapons showroom at the Quayside Villas.” Quinn paused. “The hair.”

“What hair?”

“I found one hair in a desk drawer at the showroom. I’ll bet you anything it belongs to the fall guy.” Quinn took a breath. “That can be checked later. Once the police find the showroom, there’ll be something there that will eventually lead them to an extremist group, probably Islamic.”

“Assassination of an American official in Singapore would be bad for business. Especially if it looks like one of us did it.”

“I agree. If they put everything together, they’ll have a full-fledged jihadist conspiracy on their hands.” He paused. “But if there’s no body to find, there’s no link to the apartment.”

“And no link to any organization.” “Exactly right.” “So you want me to find the body,” Ne Win said. “Yes.” Quinn looked at his watch. “If they’re playing it smart, the

body won’t be moved into place for at least another thirty minutes.” “If they are playing it smart,” Ne Win said, “the body is still alive right now.”

The old man was right. To make it seem realistic, the red herring had to die in relatively the same time period as he would have if he were the real assassin.

“Can you find it?” Quinn asked. “It won’t be easy,” Ne Win said. “But we will try.” “If you do, be sure to remove all the evidence.” “Interesting. I seem to be doing your job today.” “Trust me, I wish it was the other way around.” There was a beep on the line, another call coming through. Quinn

moved the handset out far enough so he could see the display. A Singapore number. “Let me know if you find anything,” he said to Ne Win, then

switched the calls. “Hello?” “Is this Mr. Quinn?” The voice was vaguely familiar, female. “Who is this?” Quinn asked.

“Brianne Solomon. I work at the embassy. I’m Mr. Murray’s assistant.”

“Okay. Why are you calling me?”

“This is Mr. Quinn, correct?”

“Yes,” he said, his patience slipping rapidly. “What is it?”

Orlando had been scanning the neighborhood, looking for the kind of car Guerrero might have arrived in. But she looked back at Quinn and shook her head.

“Mr. Murray would like it if you would call him on his mobile phone.” She read off a number. “Do you need me to repeat it?”

“No. I got it.”

He disconnected the call, then punched in Murray’s number and hit Send.

“Quinn?” Murray’s voice came over the line the moment the connection was made.

“What is it, Kenneth?”

“You’re a son of a bitch, you know that? You got me in it again.” Murray sounded like he was outside somewhere. Quinn could hear traffic and distant voices. Murray, apparently concerned he might be overheard, was keeping his voice low.

“What happened?” Quinn asked.

“I took your warning to the appropriate person at the embassy.” Quinn assumed that was either the CIA resident or, more frequently in these post-9/11 days when they’d been given more international responsibilities, an agent from the FBI. “I played it off like I’d received an anonymous tip. Good thing, too. They said they’d received a similar warning. They said they’d checked it out. They said it was nothing.”

“They said they looked into it?” Quinn asked.

“I think the direct quote was, ‘There was nothing there, Mr. Murray. But thanks for bringing it to our attention.’”

“They’re lying,” Quinn said.

“Dammit, Quinn...Yeah, I know they’re lying,” Murray said. He sounded pissed off. “Normally they wouldn’t just dismiss something I told them like that. But if Homeland Security isn’t going to do anything about it, what the hell am I going to do?”

“Call the congressman directly. Stop him. He’ll listen to you.”

“I am able to figure a few things out on my own,” Murray said. “I already tried that. I called the Raffles Hotel, talked to one of his staff. Turns out the congressman’s schedule has changed quite a bit. The meeting at the Von Feldt Building has been moved someplace else, but the guy I talked to had no idea where. Said if I wanted to get ahold of him, then the next possibility would be the one p.m. stop at the Maxwell Food Centre.”

“Son of a bitch.” Quinn looked at Orlando. “Come on. He’s not here.”

They started running back toward the car.