The Silenced

two dozen less than it was back in Los Angeles. To Quinn it was now officially too cold. The cabbie had fiddled with a few knobs, but from what Quinn could tell the temperature hadn’t changed. He pulled his collar tight to his neck and looked out at the gray morning.

During the flight over he kept his eyes shut, hoping sleep would overtake him, but his mind only let him catch a moment here and there. By the time they landed, the only thing the attempt had been able to accomplish was to keep Nate from asking him questions. All his apprentice knew was that their destination had changed. Quinn had told him nothing else.

In the taxi, Nate tried again to find out what was going on. But Quinn cut him off with “Not yet.” Yes, he was going to have to tell Nate something, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet. The thing he was most focused on was that he was going to have to see his sister. And no matter which scenario he played out in his mind, none ended with Liz happy to see him.

He had toyed with the idea of not letting her know he was there at all. He and Nate could set up a perimeter surveillance that might work well enough. They could shadow her, bug her apartment when she was away, plant a GPS chip in her purse or shoes to keep track of her no matter where she went. It would be tricky, but not impossible. Still, relying on a blip on a screen was not a comforting idea.

He knew he was going to have to bite the bullet and approach her directly. That still didn’t guarantee success. She might give him two minutes, or an hour. She might give him nothing, and then where would he be?

He would have to be careful in his approach, telling her just enough of the truth to get her cooperation. She already thought he was in international banking, so he could use that. Maybe he could tell her he was being targeted by a criminal organization that had a grudge with his bank. Maybe their problems were with Quinn specifically, and he feared the trouble might spread to her since she was in Europe.

Quinn frowned, then shook his head. The idea was ludicrous and convoluted. If it were true, why wouldn’t the police be involved? That would be the first question out of Liz’s mouth. She would poke holes in Quinn’s story he wouldn’t be able to plug fast enough.

He played a few more scenarios through his mind, but none proved any better. He needed something different, something believable. But what?

The cab stopped at the curb.

“Le Sorbonne,” the driver said.

On the other side of the intersection was the tan, stone, block-long Sorbonne, the world-renowned Paris university.

“Merci,” Quinn said as he handed the driver enough euros to cover the trip.

“Can you tell me what’s going on now?” Nate asked once they were on the sidewalk.

Quinn stared at the Sorbonne for several seconds, knowing it was time. But how much to tell? Everything, a voice in his head said. Orlando’s voice. “Come on.”

They turned right at Rue des Ecoles, walking on the opposite side of the street from the main entrance to the school. He eyed the people going in and out the front doors on the off chance Liz would be among them. No such luck. A short block down and to the right was a small park. Quinn led Nate inside.

The park was enclosed by an iron fence lined with bushes and trees that made it almost impossible for anyone on the outside to see in. Much of the vegetation was showing its fall colors. Scattered around the park were granite statues and a few benches.

In addition to Nate and Quinn, there were only three other people present. Two were reading books, while the third, an older gentleman, seemed interested in some birds on the path. None were threats.

Quinn motioned to a bench in a deserted corner. They sat. It was over a minute, though, before he finally spoke. “What I’m going to tell you goes no further than between you and me.”

“How’s that different from anything else?”

“This isn’t anything else. This isn’t about a job.”

“Orlando?” Nate asked, unable to keep the worry from his voice.

“No. She’s fine.”

“Okay. Then, what is it?”

Quinn stared at Nate, his face hard. “I have your word, your blood oath, that you will never tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

“Of course you have my word. You shouldn’t even have to ask that,” Nate said. “What the hell is going on?”

Quinn took a moment, knowing he was about to break his most important taboo. “My personal life may have been … compromised.”

It took a second, then Nate said, “Oh, God. How far back?”

“All the way,” Quinn said.

Nate digested the information, then asked, “Is that why we’re in Paris and not London?”

Again, Quinn hesitated. He couldn’t help it. It was a reflex he’d honed over many years. Finally, he nodded. “You remember a couple of weeks ago, when I was out of town?”

“Sure.”

“I was attending my father’s funeral.”

“I’m sorry,” Nate said. “I had no idea.”

“How could you? I didn’t tell you.”

“I really am sorry.”

“We weren’t close,” Quinn said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“So the funeral has something to do with us being here?”

“Only in the sense that you need to know about it.”

Again, Nate looked confused.

“You’re going to meet someone who was there, and if she mentions it I don’t want you to be surprised.”

“All right. That makes sense. Who is it?”

“Her name is Liz,” Quinn said. “She’s … my sister.”

Nate stared at Quinn, surprised.

“She’s studying at the Sorbonne,” Quinn explained. “We’re here because she might be in danger. I want to make sure that doesn’t happen.” He paused. “But to do that, I need your help.”

Nate didn’t even hesitate. “Whatever you need, I’m there.”

“Thanks.”

“Is there anyone else you’re worried about?”

Quinn hesitated. Again, this was sacred ground. But he had no choice. “My mother. Orlando’s with her right now.”

“Whoa,” Nate said, shaking his head. It was a lot to take in. But like the professional he’d become, he seemed to quickly adjust and move on. “What do you need me to do?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure yet. Liz and I, we aren’t exactly on the best of terms.”

“I sense a pattern. Does your mother hate you, too?”

Quinn shot him a withering look.

“I’m sorry,” Nate said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s complicated,” Quinn said. “And no, my mother doesn’t hate me.”

“Well, that’ll save you some therapy at least.… Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that either.”

In the distance, the old man who had been watching the birds started walking down the path toward their bench. His gait was slow, almost a shuffle.

“Does your sister know what you do?” Nate asked.

“Of course not,” Quinn said. “Wait. Does anyone in your past know what you do?”

“No.”

“I’m serious, Nate. Have you told anyone what you do? Have you even hinted about it?”

“No. No one.”

“You’re sure?”