“So our terrorist friends are after this Marion woman,” Chercover guessed.
“They at least want to send her a message,” Peter said.
“But you don’t know where she is?”
Peter hesitated a mere half second. “There was a possible sighting in Montreal. I have people there now investigating.”
Chercover stared through the monitor.
“She might be a dead end,” Chercover said. “What we need to do is find out the rest of what Primus was going to tell us. That seems to me to be the most direct path, don’t you agree?”
“Good. Forget about the woman. She isn’t worth the effort.”
Peter could see Chercover’s arm move, then the screen went black.
Peter touched the control panel again, and the monitor slipped back into its home beneath the surface of the table.
He placed his right hand across his forehead and tried to rub away the anger that threatened to consume him. On his list of top ten items he hated most, being micromanaged by a client was right at the top. And when the client was right, it was even more maddening.
Such was the case with Chercover. Of course the girl wasn’t worth the trouble, not without more information. Peter could have Quinn search for her for weeks, but she might never be found. It was eye-on-the-prize time, and the prize was finding out the details Primus had yet to reveal.
Peter knew all this, but now whatever he did, it would seem like he was following Chercover’s directions, not his own instincts.
He found his cell phone and dialed Quinn back.
The line rang but a single time, then, “Peter?”
“Sorry,” Peter said. “I lost signal there for a little bit.”
“What were you going to say before?” Quinn asked.
“I don’t remember,” Peter said. He didn’t, and whatever it was didn’t matter anymore.
“We were talking about Marion Dupuis. You said it was probably the woman we were looking for. But… But what?”
“Not important. We’re going to drop her.”
“So you don’t want us to find her?”
“No. I have something else in mind.”
Quinn took a moment before he spoke. “I can hardly wait.”
“I’m going to have another go at our source. Try to set up a meeting to get all his information. It’s the only way we’ll find out what the hell is going on.” He paused. “I want you to take the meeting.”
“Of course you do.”
Peter remained quiet, giving Quinn a moment.
“I have one provision,” Quinn said.
“What?”
“I want the meeting to take place at a location I’m familiar with.”
“That makes sense to me.”
“Someplace public. I’m guessing he’ll want to meet me in New York. But that’s not going to work for me, not with my face still plastered over all the papers.”
“That’s getting cleared up,” Peter said. “Another day or two and no one will even remember the drawing.”
“You’d better be right.”
“Trust me on this.”
“Fine. But New York is still out. D.C. wouldn’t be good, either. Chicago would be better, or someplace like that.”
“I’ll try,” Peter said. “He might not go for it.”
“Then you take the meeting. Those are my terms.”
“Our deal was no questions,” Peter said.
“Our deal was not for open-ended jobs, either, Peter. You’re taking advantage of my trust on this one. So we do the meeting my way, or you do it yourself.”
“Are you going to stay in Montreal?”
The only response was the line disconnecting.
Peter did not receive word back from Primus until noon the next day. He was afraid Primus had cut all communication links. The emergency cell phone number, a number that was only supposed to be used once, was no longer in service. The only thing Peter had left was an anonymous email address that he hoped Primus was still checking.
Thankfully, it appeared he was.
Peter’s original message had read:
Request for meeting. Earliest possible.
The Field Museum. Chicago.
The response was equally brief:
Noon. Thursday.
Los Angeles, not Chicago. LACMA. Entrance.
Thursday was two days away. And the location would please Quinn. They were on.
CHAPTER 17
They had almost got her. the people who had wanted Iris, the people who had tried to trap her in New York, the people who she was now one hundred percent positive killed her family had come within seconds of trapping her in her parents’ house. She had thought for a moment that one of them, the man whose picture she’d seen on the news, was going to try and pull her out of her car as she drove away. But he had only stared at her as she drove off. Then, thinking at first she was free, a flash of lights swept across her rearview mirror as a car pulled from the curb and began following her.
“No! Leave us alone!” she had said as she pressed the gas pedal down.
In the back, Iris first laughed, then screamed in surprise as she slid along the upholstered seat. Marion looked back, aware she had not secured the child, but knowing she couldn’t stop now to do anything about it.
“Iris, sweetheart, give me your hand,” Marion said. She stretched her right arm back toward the girl, hoping Iris would understand. “Come on, please. Take my hand.”
After a moment, Iris reached out her small five-year-old hand and put it in Marion’s. Marion closed her own around it and pulled the child forward. Iris whimpered in fear, but allowed Marion to move her toward the gap between the front seats.
“All right, baby. Up here with me.”
She lifted Iris and tried to move her between the seats, but the girl’s feet got caught and wouldn’t come through.
“Lift your legs, honey.”
But Iris couldn’t figure out what Marion wanted. She just smiled, her loving, simple eyes oblivious to the danger around them. Marion had no choice but to pull the girl through as much as she could, then lay her headfirst on the passenger seat while she freed the girl’s legs.
Once she got Iris situated in the front seat, and the seatbelt fastened around the girl’s tiny form as best as
