The Silenced

everything you need to carry this out. The names, the photograph. It’s the best lead we’ve ever had. Finish it, Petra. Finish it.”

Names, yes, but not the name. If she had that, finish it was exactly what she’d do. But she needed that damn name, the name the Ghost called himself now. Only so far all she had was a trail of useless bodies.

Petra looked at the picture again. Fourteen people, but only two who meant anything, the two young men standing at opposite ends of the bar. They almost looked like twins, but they weren’t. The one on the right was the one she was looking for, but it was the one on the left who was the key. Learn his name and everything would fall into place. But his identity had been so thoroughly erased that only a small group of people had known who he was. A small group that had become a handful, then that handful had been reduced to …? How many? Three? Two?

They had been so close with Moody. But in the end he, too, had given them nothing.

Petra lay down on the bed and pulled the thin blanket that had been left with the mattress over her shoulders. Tomorrow she had to be sharp. She needed to turn off her mind and sleep.

But so many things were still swirling inside. The Ghost. Dombrovski. Stepka.

And, of course, Andrei.

“I miss you,” she whispered. “I miss you so much.”

Chapter 19

Liz Oliver’s apartment was located near the heart of the Latin Quarter, within walking distance of the Sorbonne. It was in one of the thousands of stone apartment buildings that lined Parisian streets. Solid, tasteful, and very European. It had been two years since Quinn had last been in the building.

The apartment had come as a free perk of Liz’s scholarship. It was a far better place than what most students lived in. The letter from the foundation had explained the only requirement that came with the use of the apartment was that she could take on no roommates, the thinking being this would help her concentrate on her studies. Quinn had written the requirement himself, because, unknown to Liz, he was the foundation.

The ground level of the building housed a variety of shops: a shoe store, a used-book store, a small greengrocer, the prerequisite patisserie, and a cafe at the corner that even in the cool of fall had customers sitting at tables on the sidewalk. Above the businesses were five floors of apartments.

It being midmorning on a weekday, Quinn was all but certain his sister would not be home. He couldn’t recall her exact schedule, but he knew that she was usually out of the building by 9 a.m. and, more often than not, didn’t return until well after dark.

The residential entrance was a set of double wooden doors located between the shoe store and the greengrocer. Windows in the upper halves of each door looked in on an empty lobby. Mounted next to the door were a list of residents and an intercom. Liz’s name was in the middle of the second column.

Quinn thought about pushing the one for her place, but decided against it. If she was home, it would be better if he knocked on her door than if he rang her on the intercom. Harder to turn me away if we’re face-to-face. At least that’s what he told himself.

“Someone’s coming,” Nate whispered.

Quinn heard it, too. Footsteps, somewhere on the other side of the door. He peeked through the window, but saw no one, then motioned Nate to take a few steps back. Once they were far enough away, they began talking like two friends passing the time.

A few seconds later, the door swung open and an older woman stepped out. The moment she passed, Nate eased over and caught the door before it closed, then he and Quinn casually walked inside.

The lobby was fifteen feet wide by another twenty-five deep. It was clean, bright, and recently painted. There was a carpeted staircase to the right, an elevator just beyond it, and an opening near the back of the lobby that led to a rear hallway.

“Stairs or elevator?” Nate said.

“Stairs,” Quinn said. They started to climb.

“How far up?”

“One shy of the top.”

“How do you want to play this?”

“She should be in class, so she’s probably not home. We’ll keep it to a drive-by right now,” Quinn said. “Besides, I think you need a shower and a change of clothes before you meet her.”

“Thanks, boss. That’s sweet,” Nate said. “You’re not smelling so pleasant yourself.”

“Yeah, but she already hates me.”

* * *

The landing on Liz’s floor opened into a carpeted hallway that led through the center of the building. On either side were the entrances to the apartments. Three doors per side, six apartments per floor. The apartments on the right looked out on the street, and those on the left faced whatever was behind the building. At the far end of the hallway, another door led to the emergency staircase.

“What’s her number?” Nate asked.

“Twenty-one. Middle one on the right.”

Quinn glanced at Liz’s door as they started to pass it, then stopped abruptly and knelt down. He moved in close, his attention on the doorknob and lock.

“What is it?” Nate asked.

Instead of answering, he pointed at the metal plate surrounding the lock. There was a scratch on it. To the trained eye it was like a neon sign.

Nate nodded. He wet his finger, then touched the carpet on the floor below the lock. When he brought it back up, Quinn could see two tiny metal shavings.

“Fresh,” Nate mouthed.

Perhaps Liz had caused the damage with her key, but Quinn didn’t think so. The groove was too narrow, like it was made by a wire.

Or a pick.

The base of Quinn’s neck began to tingle in apprehension.

He started to reach for the handle, but Nate touched him on the shoulder and shook his head. His apprentice then eased his backpack onto the floor and unzipped one of the sections just wide enough so he could reach in.

From inside, he pulled out two pairs of thin rubber gloves and handed one to Quinn.

Quinn donned the gloves, then tried to turn the knob. The door was unlocked.

“I’m going in,” he whispered. “You stay here.”

Nate didn’t look happy, but said nothing.

Painfully aware that neither of them was armed, Quinn pushed the door open a few inches, then paused to listen.

There was a sound from deep in the apartment. Quinn pointed at his ear, then at the opening, telling Nate someone was inside. Standing up, he pushed the door open several more inches and slipped through the gap.

A small entryway led into a living room. He eased to the end of the foyer and peered around the corner. The living room contained a mishmash of furniture. A cloth-covered couch, a matching chair, an ornate coffee table, and two bookcases filled but not overstuffed.

Quinn glanced at the metal-framed windows, half covered by white sheer curtains. Through them he could see the building across the street.

Everything within his view looked normal. So normal, in fact, that he began to doubt himself. Perhaps Liz had made the sound. Perhaps there was another explanation for the scratch. Perhaps she had left her door unlocked by accident, or maybe she was expecting someone. Perhaps she was only seconds away from walking into the living