The Collected

She looked over at him, her face blank. “Didn’t I already say that?”

“Yes, you did,” he conceded. “Who are they fronting for?”

She looked back at her screen. “That part, not so easy.”

“That’s what you’re trying to figure out now?”

“No. A little difficult from here. I have a friend looking into it.”

“So what’s that you’re working on?”

“I finally got some hits back on one of the bots I sent out.” Her bots were programs that wormed their way through the Internet, looking for whatever they’d been instructed to find.

“Concerning?”

“Senator Lopez.”

“And?

“And what my bot dug up might not mean anything,” she said. In a tone indicating Quinn should have already figured that out, she added, “Which is why I’m working on it.”

“What did it turn up?”

She took a deep breath, and turned to him again. “Sweetheart, let me figure out if this means anything, and if it does, you’ll be the first to know. Cool?”

Quinn held up his hands in surrender. “Cool.”

She looked unimpressed. “Can I get back to work now?”

“Be my guest.”

He leaned back in his chair, thinking he could get a couple minutes of shut-eye before they began their descent.

Just as he was drifting off, Orlando shook his arm and said, “Hey!”

He opened his eyes, sleep retreating as fast as it had come.

“What? Now you’re ready to talk?”

Her face scrunched up. “What are you talking about?”

“Lopez? I didn’t just dream all that, did I?”

“Don’t worry about Lopez right now.” She nodded her chin at her screen. “Just got an email from Crissy Franklin.”

Franklin was one of the people they’d contacted, trying to locate one of the ops on their potential-missing list.

“And?”

“She says Maurice Curson is unaccounted for.”

Quinn thought for a moment. “Curson? He wasn’t on our list.”

“We didn’t include him because he’s been out of the business for a few years.”

“Blackballed,” he said, remembering. Something had happened on one of Curson’s jobs that forced him out of the game.

“Apparently he’s been working private security since then,” Orlando said. “But Crissy says he recently got a gig, a real gig. He was supposed to be back a few days ago, but there’s been no sign of him.”

Quinn frowned. “The connection’s kind of iffy, don’t you think?”

“We should still put his name on our list.”

“If you think so,” Quinn said.

A bong sounded throughout the cabin. A flight attendant came on the intercom, telling them in Spanish that they were descending into Tampico, and that electrical devices needed to be turned off and stowed away.

As soon as they were on the ground, Quinn checked his phone. There was a message from Steve Howard asking him to call back via vid-chat ASAP. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any place private enough in the small terminal to see what he wanted, so they arranged for a car first, and made the call from inside the sedan.

Quinn held his phone out so that both Orlando and Daeng could see Howard’s face when it appeared.

“Sorry for the delay,” Quinn said. “What’s up?”

“I was finally able to get a look at the security footage from Peter’s building,” Howard said. “Unfortunately, there’s a chunk missing.”

“From when?”

“Seven days ago. Eleven p.m. to one a.m. I’ve checked all the days between that and when Misty came to the apartment, and also five days on the other side, but found nothing unusual.”

“So you think seven days ago is probably when he went missing?”

“It is when he went missing,” Howard said.

Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

“Peter’s building isn’t the only one with security cameras. I checked the others in the area, and hit the jackpot on a building same side of the street and a few doors down. One of their cameras is aimed just wide enough to catch the front of Peter’s building. Here, let me show you.”

Howard’s face disappeared as he pointed his camera phone at a laptop sitting on a table next to him. On the screen was a nighttime image of a street. The camera that had shot it obviously had a low-light setting, because despite the hour it was taken, it was easy to make out details.

“This was shot at 11:57 p.m. You see that station wagon?” A finger moved into view and pointed at a car parked along the left edge of the screen. “That’s right in front of Peter’s building. That’s where you should pay attention.”

The finger pulled out of the picture, and the image began to move, jerking for a moment as Howard played it at an increased speed, then slowing to normal as a van pulled up next to the station wagon. Four men exited, and the van drove away. The men walked purposefully toward Peter’s building and were soon out of frame.

Quinn’s jaw tightened as the picture paused.

“There’s an eight-minute span when nothing happens,” Howard said. “I’ve cut that out.”

The security footage started playing again. The street remained quiet for a few more moments before the van returned, pulling to a stop in the same spot as last time. It sat idling for several seconds, then the men exited the building, only their number had increased by one. Peter was propped between two of the men, his head drooping forward.

As disturbing as that was, the thing that stuck out the most to Quinn was the image of one of the four men with Peter, the same man Quinn had keyed in on when the group originally climbed out of the van. A bald man, the same size and shape as the man who’d been in Bangkok, whom both Burke and Moreno had confirmed was their contact.

He glanced at Orlando and Daeng and saw they’d made the connection, too.

The image stopped again and Howard reappeared. “I ran the van’s plates. Stolen, and so far not recovered. I could keep hunting around, but I think we’ve pretty much run out of leads here.”

“No, it would be a waste of time,” Quinn agreed. “Can you stand by in DC in case something else comes up?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thanks. Is Misty there with you?”

“I’m at her place right now,” Howard said. “But she’s in the other room. She didn’t want to see the footage again.” He paused, and added in a low voice, “She’s pretty upset.”

“Can you get her for me?”

“Sure.”

The image became a blur as Howard carried his phone through Misty’s apartment. A moment later, they could hear him say, “Quinn wants to talk to you.”

“Give me a moment,” Misty told him, her voice distant. The wait lasted nearly a minute, then, “Okay.”

The phone switched hands, and Misty, looking tired and scared, stared into the camera.

“I have a few more questions. Is that all right?” Quinn asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“When the Office was closed, all the records were either taken over by another agency or destroyed, correct?”

“Mostly we were ordered to destroy them. A few select files were transferred, mainly ongoing