But before Nate even moved, Orlando said, “It’s almost time for the meet.”
“It’s canceled,” Quinn said.
“It’s not, and you know it. Besides, that other guy I saw might be getting into position to kill Primus. You can’t let that happen.”
“It’s Peter’s problem.”
“And we’re working for Peter, so it’s our problem. You’re just concerned about me. If I was anyone else, the op would still go on.”
“Hell yes, I’m concerned about you!”
“Does Nate know where to take me?”
Before Quinn could say anything, Nate said, “The Westwood facility?”
Quinn pressed his lips together, then nodded.
“Then I’ll be fine,” Orlando said. “But not if you keep arguing. I only have so much blood.”
Quinn stared at her, then took a step back, his hand still on the open passenger door. Orlando was pissing him off, but she was right. “I’ll call ahead.”
Orlando smiled as best as she could. “Be careful.”
Quinn looked at Nate. “Keep me informed.”
“I will,” his apprentice said, then climbed behind the wheel.
Quinn watched until they were out of sight before turning back and reentering the park.
Time was becoming his enemy more than anything else. The meet was only ten minutes away, and he still hadn’t found the second man.
Maybe he’d seen his partner go down, and had decided the situation was too hot to hang around. But for a professional, the loss of a team member shouldn’t have mattered. The mission would take precedence. And given the circumstances, it was best to assume the guy was a pro.
Quinn checked his watch once more. Eight minutes to go. Just enough time to check the central court again. He headed toward the ramp at the west end of the lake leading up to the central court level, but he slowed before he got there.
There was another way up from this side, one few members of the public used. To the right of the ramp was an asphalt path lined by grass and bushes, and squeezed between the lower level of the Bing Building on the left and the lower level of the Japanese art pavilion on the right. It only went about one hundred feet in, then stopped. And there, surrounded by tall bushes, was the alternate route up, a metal staircase that curved around itself until it reached the central court.
Quinn veered down the path, ready to pull out his gun at the first sign of trouble.
There were windows along the ground level of the Bing Building. Most were covered with shades, but a few were uncovered enough to see the offices beyond. As he neared the end of the pathway, he noticed a chain strung across the staircase. There was a sign mounted on a metal stand posted in front of it. The intent was clear enough. The stairway was closed.
He progressed only a few feet farther when he heard a door to his left open. Instinctively his hand moved under his sports coat, his fingers wrapping around the butt of his pistol. But he didn’t pull the weapon out, holding position until he could assess the threat.
A security guard emerged from the building and started walking toward him.
“Excuse me, sir,” the man said. “Can I help you?”
“I was just going to take the stairs up,” Quinn said as he returned his hand to his side.
“I’m sorry, sir. The stairs aren’t open to the public today. If you’ll just return the way you came and take the ramp up, that’s the quickest way from here.”
“It used to be open, though, didn’t it?” Quinn asked. “I remember taking it in the past.”
“It’s closed today, sir.”
Quinn smiled. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
“No problem. Have a good day.”
The guard stayed where he was as Quinn turned and began retracing his steps along the pathway. That was a good thing. In fact it was very possible it had been the only thing that kept Quinn alive. For in the bushes near the base of the stairs, Quinn had seen him. The man in the suit.
He had somehow gotten past the security guard’s gaze, and was lying in wait. All he would need to do was to slip under the chain barrier and climb up the stairs at the appropriate time to catch Quinn and Primus together.
Only now Quinn knew he was there. And the suit had to assume the same.
Quinn walked rapidly back into the central court, then glanced at his watch. 11:57 a.m.
He only had three minutes until the meet time, and he had failed to neutralize the suit. Not good.
There was a tiny voice in the back of his mind that said maybe the men in the suits had been with Primus. His protection team.
Quinn would just be collateral damage. A necessary hit, but a nameless body representing those Primus was working with. It would be Primus who was the big prize. With him gone, the pipeline of information would be sealed.
