[Quinn 02] - The Deceived

stronger than this. Coming?”

“Whatever you want,” Quinn said.

Orlando’s definition of something stronger turned out to be a double espresso at the Starbucks stand in the Safeway grocery store on Market Street. Once they had their drinks, she led him back outside.

“Walk?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said.

They headed north along Market, their pace slow.

“How are you doing?” Quinn said. It was a stupid question, but he didn’t know what else to ask.

“Okay, I guess,” she said. She sighed, then tried to smile. “I knew my aunt was sick. That’s why I came out to visit. I just didn’t realize how close she was to the end.” She raised her espresso to her lips and took a drink. “If I’d known, I would have brought Garrett with me. She really wanted to see him.”

“You left Garrett at home?” The boy was only six years old.

She nodded. “Mr. Vo and his wife are watching him. He’s fine.”

Mr. Vo worked for Orlando at the Tri-Continent Relief Agency she ran in Ho Chi Minh City. He was a good man, and was devoted to helping Orlando.

“You did the best you could for your aunt. You know that, right?” he said.

Her half smile turned to one of regret. “I don’t want to talk about it. That’s all I’ve done for the last three days.”

“Sure.” Silence for a couple of moments, then he said, “We can talk about football.”

She almost laughed. “Why were you in D.C.?” she said.

“Nate tell you that?”

She said nothing, skilled at protecting her sources.

“Just work. Not important,” he told her.

“Sounded like it was more than just work.”

Quinn paused as he was about to take a drink. “What did he tell you?”

“Relax,” she said. “He didn’t tell me anything. Just that you were away on business, but I could tell there was something more. I did ask him. But he didn’t give you up.”

Quinn took a sip of his coffee, then said, “Markoff ’s dead.”

Orlando stopped walking, surprised. “When?”

“Sometime in the last week or two.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. Other than Markoff himself, and apparently Derek Blackmoore, Orlando was the only one who knew about Quinn’s connection to his old friend, about Finland, and about the debt Quinn had felt since then. “How did it happen?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Quinn said.

As they started walking again, Quinn told her what had been happening. He told her how he’d had to dispose of his friend’s body, about his search for Jenny, about Houston and D.C., and the congressman and Tasha and Blackmoore.

“Do the initials ‘LP’ mean anything to you?” he asked, once he’d finished his story.

She concentrated for a moment, her eyes staring off into the distance. “I don’t know. Doesn’t immediately ring any bells.”

“Yeah. Means nothing to me, either. But it sure seemed to scare the hell out of Blackmoore.”

Neither said anything for a moment. Then Orlando asked, “What about Jenny? You have no idea where she is?”

Quinn shook his head. “I can tell you where she’s not. That’s wherever Markoff had left her. I think she’s gone in search of him.”

“But where would that be?”

“Nate said the ship he came in on had sailed out of Shanghai.”

Orlando looked unconvinced. “Give me your phone,” she said.

He handed it to her, activating it first so she could use it. He then watched as she accessed the Internet and navigated through the web until she arrived at some sort of database.

“Name of the ship?”

“The Riegle 3,” he said.

She punched in the name, then stared at the screen for several seconds. “It’s out of Shanghai, but that’s not the last port it visited before coming to L.A.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t go getting all mad at Nate,” she said. “Do you know what databases he used?”

“He didn’t say. Probably DSIT. I’ve shown him that one before.”