Place/number was a simple code. Which, Quinn realized, would have been the reason Markoff had chosen it. The code was perfect for someone who wasn’t used to operating in the world of secrets to grasp quickly and understand. Someone like Jenny.
In the first sentence was the name of a location, Jamaica. That would be the key. Since Jamaica had seven letters, it was every seventh word
Before Quinn had a chance to decipher it, Blackmoore said, “He was letting me know that he’d found her. Apparently she’d heard something she wasn’t supposed to hear, and had gone into hiding before anyone could get to her. He wrote he was going to help her out, and that he might be contacting me again in case he needed me to look into anything for him.”
“But he never did,” Quinn said. “No.” Blackmoore located a message sent two days later. The sender’s ID
was not Markoff ’s. “From you?” Quinn asked. “Not me.” Blackmoore opened the message. Again there was a place name.
Miami this time. The message itself was short. “ ‘All safe,’ ” Blackmoore deciphered on the fly. “ ‘I wish you were still here. Hurry. Be careful. Love.’ ” The old man scrolled down. There was a response to the message.
It was from SailorXsuper9393. “Markoff,” Quinn said. The response was also short: “Everything’s okay. I’ll fix this. Love
back.” Quinn pulled back slightly. “The first message is from Jenny.” “So it would seem.” “Are there any others?” Quinn asked. “Yes,” Blackmoore said, obviously pleased with the question. He
searched through the message board until he came upon one that had been sent ten days ago from Jenny’s address. “There are actually three messages. This is the oldest, then one from last Friday, and the latest from this morning. The first two are basically the same. ‘Where are you?’ But no response from Markoff.”
“What about the message this morning?” Blackmoore found the message. The code key was Cape Cod.
Quinn decoded the message himself this time. “ ‘I’m coming to find you. Love,’ ” Quinn said out loud. “Yes,” Blackmoore said. “You never replied to any of her messages?” “Why should I? They weren’t meant for me.” “But Markoff ’s dead.”
“And I didn’t know that until you just told me.”
“Bullshit,” Quinn said. “Maybe you didn’t have any proof, but you had to believe it was probably true. You worked in the business too long to be that stupid.”
“What did you want me to tell her? I think your boyfriend is dead,
good luck?” “You could have tried to help her.” “How?” “Used your contacts. Done something.” “I think you’re overestimating my current state of influence.” Quinn could feel frustration building inside his chest. But after a
deep breath, he was able to push it back down. Blackmoore was showing him a way to contact Jenny, after all. That was the important thing.
“Do you know what she was running from?” “No idea.” “Something to do with her boss, maybe?” “That congressman?” Blackmoore asked. “Yes.” “Maybe. I don’t know. Markoff didn’t tell me. And I’m glad, be
cause I don’t care.” Quinn thought for a moment, then said, “I need to send her a re
ply.” “Not from my screen name.” “I’ll create my own.” “And not from my computer. I don’t want the message to be traced
back to me.” Quinn stared at the old man. “I find it hard to believe anything could get traced back here.” There was a hint of a smile on Blackmoore’s face. Finally he pushed back from the desk and relinquished his chair. “A new ID,” he said. “I’m not giving you the password to mine. And no more than five minutes.”
Quinn quickly composed what he wanted to say, then replied to Jenny’s last message with his new screen name. Hiding within a note about sailing off the coast of California was his true message:
It’s Quinn. Please, I need to talk to you. Respond earliest.
The place key he used was Coronado, the island where he had taken the picture of Jenny he had found on Markoff. He hoped it would make her realize it was really him.
“Touching,” Blackmoore said, looking over his shoulder. “And if she responds?”
“Then I help her.”
“I guess you’ll be joining Markoff soon enough.”
He tapped Quinn on the shoulder with the barrel of his gun. Quinn got the message and stood, then the old man started leading him toward the door.
“There’s something else I wanted to ask you,” Quinn said.
Blackmoore stopped just before the hallway and stared back at Quinn. “I’m done talking.”
Quinn reached into his pocket. As he did, Blackmoore tensed, raising the gun in his hand a few inches.
“Markoff left a message,” Quinn said as he pulled out his wallet.
The air grew still.
“You said he was dead.”
“He was still alive when he was locked in the container. At least long enough to scrawl something on the wall.”
“What?”
Quinn opened the wallet and removed a piece of paper with a copy of the message on it. He held it out to Blackmoore.
