“I think you misunderstood me. We’re not meeting at Victoria Station,” Quinn told him.
“I’m done playing your games. Come get her and give me my property.”
“Step three. You should write this down. Fifty-one point seven—”
“What the hell is this?” the Ghost said.
“Figure it out,” Quinn told him, then gave him the rest of the GPS coordinates. “You should be able to get there in an hour. I’ll give you fifty minutes. And if you do anything to my sister, I will expose you, Mr.
He hung up the phone.
“Well?” he asked Mikhail.
The Russian was sitting across from him, listening to his own phone. “They’re still at Victoria,” he told Quinn. “Wait … they are on the move again.…” There was a pause of several seconds. “Heading … toward … point three.” Mikhail said something in Russian, then to Quinn, “Definitely heading toward point three.”
“Okay,” Quinn said. “It looks like we’re on.”
Chapter 47
The house was twenty miles northeast of the city, outside Chelmsford, near a little town called Sandon. It was down a rural road lined with fields and the occasional home. The house belonged to a Dr. Ryan O’Sullivan and his Russian wife, Ilya, both friends of Nova’s. When Quinn had scouted it with Orlando and Petra that afternoon, his only question had been where the doctor and his family were.
“Nova says the husband and wife are out of the country at a medical convention, and that the children are away at boarding schools in Ireland,” Petra told him.
“Any chance someone will show up unexpectedly?” Orlando asked.
“He says zero.”
Quinn took another look around. “All right. This will do.”
At the front of the property was a small pond that served as home to a pair of black swans. Quinn had seen them that afternoon, but the only movement on the water now was the frenetic dappling caused by the rain from the storm.
The house at the back of the property was two stories in front with two single-story wings that ran further back on each side. Though Nova had supplied a key, Quinn had no intention of entering. Their business would be dealt with out front, between the house and the pond.
The closest neighbors were a good four acres away to either side, separated by rows of trees and brush. Behind the house, nothing but a tree-ringed field.
When they arrived, Orlando was waiting for them. Her job had been to make sure no one had shown up.
Petra parked the van in front of the house, visible from the road, then Quinn and the two Russians joined Orlando under the carport on the south end of the house.
“How is he?” he asked Orlando, still thinking about Nate.
“Not great, but he’s hanging in there.”
Quinn took a deep breath. In all his years in the business, he had never been seriously shot or lost a limb. In Nate’s short time, he’d experienced both. And, Quinn realized, both times had been on projects that were Quinn initiated. Which meant there was no way to rationalize either injury as just being part of the job.
They were Quinn’s fault. He was responsible.
Orlando placed a hand on his back. “He’s a fighter,” she said. “He’s going to be fine.”
Something buzzed nearby.
Mikhail pulled his phone out of his pocket. He listened for a moment, then said, “Five minutes away.”
Quinn nodded. “Tell Nova to drop the hammer now.”
While Mikhail passed on the instructions, Quinn turned to Petra and Orlando.
“We should get into position,” he said.
Petra and Mikhail headed off to the right, past the van. Orlando gave Quinn’s hand a squeeze, then ran along the edge of the driveway opposite the pond.
Three minutes later, Quinn saw headlights in the distance down Meyers Lane. They were proceeding slowly. He moved out from the cover of the carport to a spot in the middle of the driveway a dozen feet away from the van, then turned so he faced the road, and waited as the rain soaked his head and jacket.
A large tree at the northeast corner of the property momentarily obscured the car, then it reappeared along the road just on the other side of the pond. Even with the stormy conditions, Quinn could see it was a Mercedes sedan. It slowed to a near stop fifteen feet shy of the driveway’s entrance, then began crawling forward, finally turning onto the driveway. When it stopped again, it was two car lengths away from Quinn.
Quinn’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out knowing what would be on the display: BLOCKED.
He accepted the call and held the phone up to his ear, but said nothing.
“You weren’t alone. Where are the others?”
“What others?” Quinn asked.
“You think I didn’t have you watched? Where are they?”
Quinn raised his arm. A second later Petra and Mikhail stepped out from around the van.
“Show me your weapons,” Palavin said.
“That’s not necessary,” Quinn told him.
“Show them or your sister is dead.”
“How do I know you didn’t kill her already?”
There was the sound of a slap, then Quinn could hear Liz yelp. “Your weapons,” Palavin repeated.
Quinn pulled a pistol out of his jacket, and held it out so those in the car could see it.
“Drop it on the ground.”
Quinn did so.
“Now your friends.”
Quinn paused, then turned and nodded at Petra and Mikhail. They repeated Quinn’s actions, their pistols joining his in the mud.
“Happy?” Quinn asked.
“Where is the package?” Palavin said.
“In the van.”
“Get it.”
Quinn walked over to the van. As he reached for the door Palavin said, “Tell me now if there is anyone inside.”
“Other than Trevor Robb?” Quinn asked. When Palavin didn’t respond, Quinn said, “No one.”
“Open it.”
Quinn opened the door. The two bags he and Orlando had carried out of the Grant Building were visible just inside.
“That’s him?” the Ghost asked.
“What’s left,” Quinn said.
“Bring the bags over and set them beside the car on the driver’s side.”
“Let my sister out first,” Quinn said.
“I don’t think so.”
“Look. The bags are right here. If you really had someone watching me, then you know these are the same bags I brought out of the building.”
“I know nothing of the kind,” Palavin said. “You’ve had plenty of time to replace what was inside with anything. Bring the bags over.”
“The deal was an exchange. That means we both get something at the same time.”
Quinn heard movement on the other end, then Palavin’s voice, muffled and unintelligible.
The two front doors opened, and the driver and the front passenger got out. The driver was about Quinn’s
