[Quinn 04] - The Silenced

“He’s there, but she had no information on his status.”

“How the hell did Palavin know?” Quinn asked.

“A spotter at the train station?” she suggested.

“I would have seen them.”

“Did Liz still have her phone?” They both knew if she did, it would have been a simple matter for someone with the right resources to track it.

“Nate got rid of it in Paris,” he told her.

“A homing device in her clothes?”

“The only one who could have put one there was Julien. And there’s no way he did.”

“So how?” she asked. “They were spotted somewhere? That seems pretty random. Palavin wouldn’t have known where they were headed after Paris, and I doubt he had the resources to—”

“The passport,” Quinn said.

“What?”

“The passport you arranged for them to pick up in Paris before they left. Did you have your contact install a GPS clip?”

“Of course. In case we needed to track them.”

Quinn looked at her without saying anything, the suggestion that the GPS IDs might have been compromised clear on his face.

“Not possible,” she said. “I’ve used Michael Loge many times. He wouldn’t give that information away.”

“For the right amount of cash, some people will give anything away.”

Orlando drifted off for a second, then brought her phone up and made a call. It was soon apparent the person on the other end wasn’t answering. She frowned, accessed another number, and called it.

“Christophe, it’s Orlando,” she said. “I’m trying to get ahold of Michael, but he’s not answering. Have you heard—” She paused, listening. “When? … How did it—No, no. It’s okay. Merci.” She hung up.

“What?” Quinn asked.

“Loge is dead. Shot, two hours ago.”

They found a small area off the main lobby of University College Hospital’s Accident and Emergency Department. There were gray plastic chairs along one wall, all empty at the moment. Orlando sat down and pulled her laptop out of her backpack. Once she was up and running, it took her less than a minute to hack into the hospital’s computer system.

“Can you get us inside?” Quinn asked.

Orlando shook her head. “It wouldn’t matter. He’s in surgery.”

Quinn felt a sudden rush of relief. “Then he’s still alive. Does it say where he was hit?”

She studied the screen. “The chest,” she said. “Upper left side.”

Not his heart, though, Quinn thought. If that had been where he’d been hit, Nate would have been in the morgue, not surgery.

Orlando looked at her laptop a moment longer, then closed it and stuffed it back in her bag. “I’ll make a few calls. Make sure he gets the help he needs. The only other thing we can do is wait.”

Quinn stood up. “No. No waiting.”

“Stick to the plan?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll have to modify it,” she said.

“Not much.”

She stood up and slipped her hand into his. “Then, we’d better get to work.”

AT 9:15 P.M. THE NIGHT GUARD APPEARED FROM around the corner of the Alexander Grant Building on his exterior rounds.

“East side. Street’s clear,” Mikhail said over the receiver in Quinn’s ear.

“West side. Same.” Petra this time.

Quinn and Orlando were standing in the same alcove Quinn had hidden in on his initial stakeout two nights prior. They were decked out in gray janitorial uniforms, matching light utility jackets, and black caps. Each had a backpack slung over their shoulder.

Once the guard had passed their position, Quinn gave Orlando a nod.

Silently she crossed the street and moved in behind the guard. The first indication he gave that he knew anyone was there was when Orlando’s hand slapped down a chloroform-soaked washcloth over his mouth and nose. He started to struggle, but that lasted only a few seconds before he lost consciousness.

Quinn crossed the street as Orlando eased the man to the ground.