“Something else,” she said. “What?” “LP.” “You know what it is?” “I know it has a few people scared. Nobody on our level knew
what I was talking about. But a few higher up did. They didn’t come
out and say it, but I could tell.” “Did they give you anything?” She shook her head. “No. But I was thinking. If these people
know, maybe Peter does, too.” Quinn thought for a moment. “He might not tell me anything either.” “Could be worth a try, though,” she said. “He’s probably still at work.”
Quinn looked at his watch: 8:35 a.m. The twelve-hour difference meant it was 8:35 p.m. the previous evening back in New York. From Quinn’s experience, Peter seldom went home before 10.
“I’m not renegotiating our deal,” Peter said, once he knew it was Quinn on the line. “I’m not calling to renegotiate,” Quinn told him. “I have a ques
tion.” “Okay, so ask.” “Peter, have you ever heard the initials
“Five minutes.” The phone went dead. “What’s wrong?” Orlando asked. “He knows something, but he didn’t want to tell me.” “So he hung up?” Quinn frowned. “Said he would call me back in five minutes.” They looked at each other, neither voicing what they both knew
that meant. Instead, they remained silent, waiting as the seconds
ticked slowly off the clock. It was almost five minutes exactly when the phone rang again. Quinn answered immediately. “Yes?” “Where did you hear that?” Peter asked. The sound over the phone line had changed. Not Peter’s voice so
much as the ambient sound around him. Before it was hushed, like he was in a box. But now Quinn could hear other sounds in the distance. It confirmed what he and Orlando already knew. Peter had left his office and was probably using his personal secured cell phone for the call.
“I told you, it was in a message,” Quinn said. “What message?” “Is that really important?” “Jesus, Quinn. Just tell me how the hell you heard about LP.” Quinn hesitated, then said, “Markoff.” “Markoff?” Peter paused. “CIA Markoff?” “Yes.” “Why the hell would he mention LP?” Peter asked. “He’s out of
the game, isn’t he?” “He’s dead.” That stopped Peter. “I think this LP, whatever it is, had something to do with it,”
Quinn said. “So what if they did?” “It’s important to me.” Peter said nothing for a moment, then, “Why?” “Because Markoff was a friend of mine. Because I think they may have been the ones who killed him. Because if they are, then they’re the ones trying to kill his girlfriend right now. I’m not going to let that happen.”
“You don’t want to go up against these guys.”
“Who are they?”
Again silence.
“The straight answer is I don’t know exactly,” Peter finally said. “Let’s just say they want things to run their way. And the way they try to do it is from within.”
“What do you mean? Try to run what?”
“Ultimately? Everything.”
“So they’re some kind of organization?” Quinn asked.
“I guess you could call them that.”
“Who’s in charge?”
“That’s what no one knows. There’s no working list of probable members. They could be anybody.”
“What does it mean? LP?”
“All we know is they go by LP,” Peter said. “What it means...who knows? It probably isn’t important anyway.”
Quinn thought for a moment. “Why did you leave your office to call me back? You think you’ve been infiltrated?”
He could sense Peter’s hesitation. “I don’t think so,” the head of the Office said. “But no reason to take a chance. Look, Quinn. I’ve told you more than I probably should have. All I’ll say is, if you think LP is involved, it’s best if you leave it alone. Trust me on this.”
Quinn started to ask another question, but Peter was no longer there.
Orlando was looking at him as he set the phone down. “What did he say?” she asked.
“He’s almost as scared as Blackmoore,” he said. He then repeated what Peter had told him.
“He could have been a little more helpful,” Orlando said.
“No kidding,” Quinn agreed. “It’s not much. In fact, he was basically telling me to just let it go.”
“Do you want to let it go?”
Quinn frowned at her. “Since when do I let anything Peter tells me scare me off?”
Though Singapore was a place in a constant state of renewal, it had changed little in the eighteen months since Quinn’s previous visit. That time, the job he had been hired for had turned into nothing, a situation that occurred about thirty percent of the time. He’d be moved into place before a particular action was to occur, then, if things went wrong, he jumped in to clean up the mess. Sometimes, though, things went right, and he’d get an all-
