person on her list, was dead. Chang, McKitrick, Thomas, Winters, the others before them. And now Moody.
His death was the hardest to take. They had found him alive. They had even talked to him. He knew people in the photograph. But the final step, identifying the two strikingly similar young men standing at opposite ends of the bar, had not been completed.
With Moody dead, the trail to the Ghost had disappeared. That was unless Stepka could pinpoint who the Ghost had hired to do the killings. If he failed, the Ghost would live up to his nickname and fade away. Forever lost, and forever unaccountable.
She knew she should wait for Stepka to get back to her, but doing so would make her crazy. She turned on her side and grabbed her phone.
“What?” Stepka said as he picked up.
“It’s Petra.”
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”
“I want to know what you’ve learned.”
“I told you I’d call as soon as I had something,” he said.
“And when do you think that might be?”
“Twenty-four hours. Maybe forty-eight. Or it’s possible I won’t find out at all.”
“Twenty-four hours is too long,” she said, ignoring his other possibilities. “We can’t lose this opportunity. If you don’t figure out who’s been blocking our way, we’re done. We
“As I said before, I’m doing everything I can.”
“You must have something. At least a hint of information.”
Stepka remained silent for several seconds. “I’ve been able to narrow those potentially involved down to six groups.”
Petra straightened up. Six was a lot, but it was better than the dead end she was staring at.
“Who are they?”
“Petra, please. One more day and the information will be considerably more solid.”
“Mikhail and I are sitting here with nothing. No information. No idea where to go or who to talk to. If you don’t give me something, then the time we spend until you do will be completely wasted.”
“But what I have might be wrong. If so, your time would be wasted anyway.”
“But it’s a chance,” she said. “If you’re right, it may give us the edge we need. And if you’re wrong, we’re no worse off.”
There was a pause, then, “I don’t have individual names, yet. But there is a pattern.”
“What pattern?”
“Of the six potential groups, one operates out of Prague, and one out of Paris. But the other four all work out of London.”
She let the new information sink in. “And you’re sure it’s one of these groups?”
“I’m not sure about anything,” he said, irritated. “I told you I have nothing solid.”
“Thank you. This helps. Let me know as soon as you have something more.”
“It won’t be for a while, so go back to sleep.”
But she didn’t go back to sleep. Instead she called Mikhail in his room, waking him up.
“Take a shower and get dressed,” she said.
“We’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“London.”
The text from Wills said he’d arrive at the Grand Hyatt Hotel between twelve and twelve-thirty. So Quinn and Nate arrived a few minutes before eleven.
The hotel was at the corner of Forty-second Street and Lexington Avenue, midtown Manhattan, its black glass tower standing in stark contrast to the stone edifice of Grand Central Terminal next door.
Quinn and Nate entered through the revolving doors, staggering their entrance so that it didn’t seem like they were together. An escalator took them up to the large open lobby. There, Nate headed toward check-in, while Quinn turned right toward the elevators at the rear of the room.
Though there were many people in the lobby, the size of the room made it seem almost empty. Here and there couples and small groups clustered together, while others sat on the couches and chairs reading or talking or just passing the time.
Each person in the room received either an X or a check in Quinn’s mind. An X meant they could be ignored. A check meant follow-up might be required. By the time he reached the far end of the elevators, he had accumulated twenty-one Xs and two checks.
One of the checks was a woman standing alone off to the left. She was Caucasian, mid-thirties, and had dirty-blonde hair. She was dressed in a gray pantsuit and was holding a briefcase in her left hand. She also seemed to be trying very hard not to look at Quinn.
The second check was for a man seated on a chair near the elevators. He appeared to be around the same age as the woman, but was dressed more casually: dark green polo shirt and blue jeans. What earned him the extra attention was that he had a look that screamed operative. Good shape, hair not too long and not too short, and eyes that took in everything without seeming to do so.
Quinn moved into the seating area and leaned against one of the circular pillars that held up the second-floor atrium. From this position, he could see both the man and the woman. After a few moments, the man picked up a newspaper and started to read. The woman held her position, still not looking at Quinn.
It would make sense. If he were Wills, Quinn would have had people scouting the meet by now. Only with everything that had been going down, Quinn couldn’t dismiss the possibility that one or both of them might be with the people who’d shown up at the Moody operation.
He pulled out his phone and brought up the text he’d received from Wills. He selected Reply, then wrote:
U send advance team to Hyatt? If yes, how many?
He touched Send, then glanced toward the far end of the lobby. He expected to see Nate, but there was no sign of his apprentice. As Quinn scanned the large room, his phone vibrated. He thought it would be a reply from Wills, but the text was from Nate.
Look up
Quinn glanced up at the atrium that ringed the lobby, and spotted Nate a second later standing a few feet back from the railing that stretched between the columns.
It was a good position. Great, considering that Quinn was stationed at the opposite corner, one floor down. Together they had the whole lobby covered.
Quinn texted Nate back:
Anything?
Nate’s reply came twenty seconds later.
Man sitting near elevators w/paper. Woman at stairs south of you.
Nate had seen them, too.
Quinn’s phone buzzed again. Wills this time.
