His appearance changed, he pulled onto the road, and called Julien.
“Update?”
“Her plane landed five minutes ago. Just waiting for her to come out.”
“And the spotter?”
“Same place as before.”
“Has he shown any interest in you?”
“No.”
Per their plan, neither man hung up. From this point forward, they would stay on the phone.
When Quinn was within four minutes of the airport, Julien whispered, “I see her.” There was a bit of surprise in his voice, even longing.
“Go. Now,” Quinn said.
He could hear Julien moving through the airport crowd. Thirty-five seconds later, there was a faint grunt, and the Frenchman said, “Excuse me, ma’am. I didn’t mean to bump into you. Are you all right?”
A pause, then a whisper. “Julien?”
“Did I hurt you?”
Recovering, Mila said in a normal voice, “Uh, no. No, I’m fine.”
“I do apologize,” Julien told her, then his voice dropped. “Black town car. Driver with black hat, sunglasses, and a beard. It’s Quinn.”
“Quinn?”
“Just get in the car.” In a louder voice, he said, “If you will excuse me, then. Have a good day.”
“Thank you,” she said. “You, too.”
Perhaps if Quinn had been standing there, the scene would have looked normal, but from the audio alone, it sounded like Mila could have already blown it.
“What’s she doing?” he asked.
“Heading for the door,” Julien replied.
“And the spotter?”
“He sees her.”
“Still not paying attention to you?”
“No.”
“All right. You know what to do.”
Arriving at the terminal, Quinn pulled to an empty stop near the curb, hopped out, and moved around to the other side of the car. Mila, who was standing on the sidewalk just outside the door, caught sight of him and walked over.
“Ms. Reese?” Quinn asked as she neared, using the name she was traveling under for this assignment.
“Yes.”
“Any bags?”
“No, just this,” Mila said, touching her carry-on.
“Very good.”
He opened the back door, and she climbed inside. As he walked around the car to the driver’s side, his gaze swung toward the terminal. Even if Julien hadn’t given him a description of the spotter, he would have easily picked out Kovacs’s man. The guy was trying hard not to stare at the town car, but only half succeeding.
That’s because the car was not part of Jergins’s plan. Mila had been instructed to take a taxi to the hotel to prevent drawing undue attention.
But here she was, being picked up by a town car that had obviously been arranged ahead of time. Once the spotter checked in-something that would undoubtedly happen in the next sixty seconds-Jergins would try to figure out which company the car had come from, and when Mila could have arranged it. If he made it far enough down the list, he would call a company named W. White Town Cars amp; Limos, and be informed that, “Yes, we do have a car picking up a Ms. Reese at the airport, arranged by a Mr. Peters.”
Quinn knew the chance of Jergins calling W. White was slim, but if he did, the name Peters would throw him another curve, making the team leader wonder if Peter was the one who’d made the arrangements. This would buy even more time.
As Quinn climbed in, he caught a glimpse of Julien farther back, watching the spotter. He put the car in drive and pulled from the curb.
“Excuse me,” Mila said. “I was wondering how long the drive is.”
“You can relax,” Quinn said. “The car’s not bugged.”
She immediately leaned forward so that her head was almost poking over the back of his seat. “What the hell’s going on?”
“I said not bugged. I didn’t say no one was watching.”
She scooted back a little, but not all the way. “Quinn, what is it? What happened?”
He took a quick look at her in the rearview mirror, checked for tails, then returned his gaze to the road. Before he could speak, his phone buzzed.
He looked at the display. Jergins. “Julien?” he said. The call to the Frenchman was still active.
“ Oui?”
“Putting you on hold.”
“ D’accord.”
Quinn glanced at Mila again. “Absolute quiet.” As soon as she nodded, he switched the calls. “This is Quinn.”
“It’s Jergins. There’s been a complication.”
“What complication?”
“There was a town car waiting for her.”
“So no taxi?”
“No.”
“When did she arrange that?” Quinn asked.
“No idea, but I don’t like it. The plan’s still in effect, but be aware we might have to improvise.”
“Any chance of an abort?”
“Unless the president himself calls with a pardon, I’m mission go.”
“All right.”
“Just sit tight,” Jergins said. “I’ll keep you posted.”
Quinn disconnected the call and switched back to Julien. “Are you there?”
“I’m here,” Julien said. Tense.
“What’s going on?”
“He’s got you.”
Quinn’s eyes immediately shot to the rearview. “Which one?”
There were almost two dozen cars behind him, nearly half of them taxis. Most of the rest were no doubt rentals full of people planning to hit it big in the casinos.
“Silver Audi A3,” Julien said. “About forty meters behind you.”
Quinn adjusted his gaze. Though the sun was just dipping below the horizon, he found the car, and made out the spotter behind the wheel.
“And you?” he asked.
“Behind him, another thirty.”
“Don’t let him see you.”
“I think his attention is more on what’s in front of him than behind.”
“Just be careful, all right? And let me know if something changes.”
Quinn fell silent, concentrating on the road.
After several seconds, Mila said, “Can you talk now?”
Might be easier if I don’t, Quinn thought, but said, “They’re planning to kill you.”
“Who’s planning to kill me?” she asked, her tone instantly leery.
“There’s no package. No courier run. This was a termination from the beginning. Seconds after you enter the room at Planet Hollywood, you’d be dead.”
