He paused before answering. “Two reasons,” he said. “This is the last place anyone would ever look for me. And I needed to find someone I could trust, someone who could help me.”
“What about your friends?”
Again he took a moment before answering. “I don’t exactly have a long list to choose from.”
“You didn’t come alone,” she said. Not a question, but a statement.
“Nate,” Quinn said. “My apprentice. If I’d left him, he’d probably be dead by now.”
She took a deep breath, and, for the first time, her face softened, if only just a little. “Same old Quinn, then.”
Quinn shrugged.
She looked at him, then shook her head. “Son of a bitch,” she said under her breath. “Get on before I change my mind.”
Quinn wanted to smile, but he kept his face neutral and climbed onto the back of the Vespa.
She took him to her apartment. It was a large, Western-style place in an area occupied by many foreign workers. She didn’t offer him a tour. Quinn knew he was still on probation, so the living room was all he had to judge things by. It was a comfortable space, with a long, overstuffed couch and two matching brown chairs. Nearly every inch of wall space was lined with bookcases crammed full of texts. On one shelf he recognized a brushed-metal container. It was the only thing in the room he’d seen before, but he made no mention of it.
She told him to take a seat on the couch, then disappeared into another room for a moment before returning with two bottles of water.
“Tell me,” Orlando said as she handed him a bottle, then sat in one of the chairs. “Everything.”
So Quinn did. He left nothing out; there was no reason to. If he was going to get her help, she’d need to know it all anyway.
It took almost an hour. When he was through, she said, “Sounds like you’ve been having fun.”
“Yeah. A real joyride,” he said.
“And you think it’s all connected? Colorado, the Office, Gibson, the disruption?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you have the bracelet with you?” she asked.
Quinn reached into his pocket and gently pulled out a small plastic bag that had been secured with a couple of rubber bands.
He started to hand it to her, but she told him to wait. She got up and walked into the hallway that led to the rest of the apartment. When she returned, she was carrying two sets of rubber gloves. She offered one set to Quinn.
“I think it’s safe,” he said, but he took the gloves anyway.
Once Orlando had hers on, she reached out and took the plastic bag from Quinn. Slowly she removed the rubber band and opened the package. From inside, she carefully removed the bracelet.
“Not real silver,” she said.
“No,” Quinn agreed.
“These designs are interesting.”
“They looked familiar to me. Not like I’d seen these exact designs before, but something similar.”
“They’re German,” Orlando said. “Old heraldry from three, maybe four hundred years ago.”
“You sure?”
She glanced at him for a moment, then looked back at the bracelet. “Yes. I’m sure.” She examined the designs on the bracelet for a few more seconds, stopping on a square that had been partially damaged by the fire.
“Is this some sort of inscription?” she asked.
“What?”
She held the bracelet out to him, pointing at a spot on the half-burnt surface of the square. At first he didn’t see anything, but then she turned it slightly so that the light caught the spot she was talking about. There was a thin line toward the bottom of the square, running along the edge. It was blackened by soot that had lodged in the grooves, helping it to blend in with the rest of the tarnished metal. Quinn couldn’t remember seeing it before, but if he had, he’d probably thought it was just a scratch. Now that he looked closer, though, he knew Orlando’s instincts were correct. It wasn’t a scratch, but writing of some sort. Only it was so small, they’d need a magnifying glass or possibly even a microscope to read it.
“Maybe it’s just the artist’s mark,” Quinn suggested.
“Could be,” Orlando said, clearly not buying that explanation. She took the bracelet back from him, then turned her attention to the square near the hasp. Quinn had used another rubber band to keep the two pieces together. “I assume this is the container?”
“Yes.”
Again, she carefully unwound the rubber band. Once it was off, she removed the top of the square, revealing the glass beneath. She looked at it for almost five minutes before she finally said something.
“You’re right. I think it’s a slide for a microscope.”
“Do you know anyone who could check it?” Quinn asked. “Someone you can trust?”
“The damage to the slide might make things difficult. If the sample itself has been compromised, they may not be able to get a fix on it.”
“So you do have someone.”
She didn’t answer him right away. Instead she stared down at the slide. “I have someone. But I have to send it out. They’re not local.”
“It won’t do me any good just sitting in my pocket,” Quinn said.
Orlando rewrapped the square, then put the bracelet back in the bag and rewound the rubber band around it. “I’ll get it out first thing in the morning.”
“Thanks,” he said. “See if they can check that inscription, too.”
Orlando said nothing, but the look she gave him said, Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course I’ll have them check.
Quinn suddenly had the urge to yawn. He tried to stifle it, but was only half successful. It was just a little after 7:30 p.m., but his body wasn’t going to let him stay awake much longer. He was beginning to feel a second yawn coming on when he heard a noise from deeper in the apartment. “What was that?” he asked, sitting up, alert.
Orlando turned and called out, “Trinh?”
A moment later a young Vietnamese woman appeared in the doorway leading toward the rest of the apartment. Orlando said something to her in Vietnamese. The girl responded, then disappeared the way she had come.
“Housekeeper?” Quinn asked.
“Of a sort.” Orlando stood up, then looked down at Quinn for a moment, apparently contemplating something. “Come on,” she finally said.
She led him into the hallway, stopping at a door halfway down. It was partially closed, so she pushed it open. The room was dimly lit. Trinh was there, sitting in a chair, mending a shirt. She looked up and bowed slightly as Orlando and Quinn entered, then returned to her work.
It took Quinn’s eyes a moment longer to fully adjust to the low light. When they did, he noticed something he should have realized was there from the beginning. To the girl’s left, on a small bed, low to the floor, was a sleeping child.
Orlando walked across the room and knelt down next to the bed. She kissed the child lightly on the forehead, then stood and led Quinn back into the hallway.
“What’s he doing here?” Quinn asked.
“He’s my son,” Orlando said.
“Yeah, I know. But I thought he was with your aunt in San Francisco.”
“My aunt is getting too old to care for him. Her health isn’t what it should be.”
“Is it safe, though? To have him with you?”
She was silent for a moment. Then said, “He’s all I have left.”
CHAPTER 11
Quinn awoke before the sun. Reaching over to the nightstand, he felt around until he found his watch. Four-thirty a.m.
Sighing, he rolled onto his back. After several minutes of staring into the darkness, he tried closing his eyes again, hoping that maybe he could eke out a little more sleep. But the rest of his body wasn’t cooperating. His day had begun, whether he liked it or not.