“You know I will,” Quinn said.
“By helping, I don’t mean moving in. You get me?”
Quinn froze momentarily. “I—”
“Shut up,” Durrie said. “I’m not stupid. I know you love her, Johnny. But she’ll always be mine. Understand?”
The only thing Quinn could do was nod. Durrie was a shit to the end. He knew Quinn too well. He knew when Quinn made a promise, he’d keep it. Even a promise to a dead man.
He’d kept the promise, too. Even in the years he and Orlando had not talked, he’d kept tabs on her. Paying others to go to wherever she was living, checking that everything was okay. But he never went himself. He feared he wouldn’t be able to stay away from her if he did.
After Quinn finished his dinner and drank the last of his Tiger beer, he slipped Nate five hundred dollars under the table.
“What’s this for?” Nate asked.
“Put it under your plate when we leave.”
Nate still stared at him, not getting it.
“It’s a tip.”
“This is not a tip,” Nate said.
“Think of it this way,” Quinn said. “You may not ever see her again, but she’ll never forget you.”
“I thought the idea was always to be forgettable,” Nate said.
Quinn stood up, gave Nate a half smile, then turned for the door.
CHAPTER 17
They separated in Bangkok, Quinn sticking with Air France headed to Paris, while Nate flew British Airways to London, transferring to a British Midland flight across the Channel.
Quinn was waiting for him near the gate when he arrived, and was happy to see Nate had followed his directions. Gone were the jeans and short-sleeved shirts he had been wearing in Vietnam. They had been replaced by a sharp-looking dark blue business suit, white shirt, and matching patterned tie. Gone, also, was the slightly unkempt brown hair. Now he was sporting a slicked-down, side-parted hairdo. The gel he used had darkened the shade of his hair considerably.
“Well done,” Quinn said as he fell into step next to his apprentice.
“Thanks,” Nate said. “I had, like, fifteen minutes in London to change, goop up, and catch my flight. I probably had some of that crap still on my hand when I gave the attendant my ticket.”
“Really?” Quinn asked, suddenly concerned.
“No, Dad. Not really,” Nate said. “I like your glasses.”
“You can have them when I’m through.”
“I don’t like them that much.”
Like Nate, Quinn had also changed his appearance. The glasses were black framed, narrow and stylish. He, too, wore a suit, only his was black and the shirt beneath a dark shade of gray. But unlike Nate, he’d had more time to deal with his hair. He’d shaved it close, leaving little more than a quarter inch all the way around.
“We’re on the five p.m. to Berlin,” Quinn said. “Lufthansa.”
As they moved on, Quinn sensed the mood of his apprentice changing, becoming tenser. Until now, they had been playing a game of hide-and-seek. But Berlin was a real job, real work, and, undoubtedly, real danger. And the memory of Gibson couldn’t be far from Nate’s mind.
“Pop quiz,” Quinn said.
“I’m sorry?”
“In The Odessa File, tell me what Jon Voigt’s character did right at the printer’s shop.”
“Um…” Nate blinked. “He took the gun.”
“Right. And what did he do wrong after breaking into Roschmann’s mansion?”
“Easy. He didn’t shut the door behind him. But he did get away with it.”
“True. But if you’re in the same position?”
“I close the door. Every time.”
“Good,” Quinn said. “Nothing to worry about, then.”
In Europe, unlike Vietnam where even in January it seemed like summer, winter had taken a firm hold. The temperature upon their arrival in Berlin was hovering just below zero degrees centigrade, immediately bringing back memories of Colorado to Quinn.
Tegel Airport was not a large facility by international standards, but it was light-years beyond Tan Son Nhat International Airport in Ho Chi Minh City. Tegel had the amenities most international travelers expected: restaurants, bars, bookstores, souvenir shops, information booths. The terminal at Tan Son Nhat had been nothing more than a distribution warehouse that moved people from street to plane or plane to street.
Quinn paused as he disembarked the flight, letting his mind shift gears. He was in Germany now, a country he was familiar with. The Germans spoke a language that he spoke as well as a native. It was almost like being home again. That is, if you liked living in a place where you had to be constantly on guard. Dozens of organizations had field offices in Berlin, so you never knew who might be in town. And while he had initially thought Vietnam would have been the safest place on the planet for him and Nate — a reality that was shattered by Tucker and Piper — he knew Germany was quite likely the most dangerous.
His guard up, Quinn led his apprentice from the gate through the terminal to the main exit. He’d been to Berlin more times than he could count, and he’d used Tegel Airport on many of those occasions. So when they stepped outside into the cloudy, cold night, he instantly knew to turn left and walk toward the end of the building. There they found a row of waiting beige taxis. Like most German cabs, they were all Mercedes.
“Guten Tag,” the driver said as his new passengers climbed in.
Quinn nodded. “Guten Tag.”
The taxi took them across town to the Four Seasons Hotel on Charlottenstrasse, kitty-corner to the Gendarmenmarkt and across a side street from the Dorint Hotel. The Dorint was the hotel in which Duke had arranged for Quinn to stay, but Quinn wasn’t expected until Sunday. He’d purposely arrived early so that he could get a feel for what might be going on without any interference or bias from Duke. By the time they’d checked in and been shown to their suite, it was just after 8:00 p.m. on Friday night.
Their accommodations had two bedrooms. Quinn took the one on the left, set his bag on the bed, then headed into the bathroom and took a steaming hot shower.
When he reentered the living room thirty minutes later, he found himself alone.
“Nate?” he called.
There was no answer.
He walked over to the other bedroom. The door was partially open. Looking inside, he found Nate sprawled across the bed, jacket off, but otherwise still fully dressed. His breathing was slow and deep, rhythmic. Quinn closed the door and returned to the living room. It was late enough. Barely. No sense in waking him up.
After ordering dinner from room service, Quinn retrieved his computer and set it up on the desk. It didn’t take long before he was online. As he hoped, there was a message from Orlando, sent several hours earlier:
Flt. confirmed. We’re on for dinner.
Good news. I’ve heard from more than one source you’re no longer hot property. Should be safe for you to walk the streets again. But I’d be careful. Everyone might not have gotten the update yet.
Now Borko. Dropped out of sight. No one I’ve talked to has had contact with his organization for six weeks +. Makes me think he’s involved. More, but I’ll tell you when I get there.
As for the slide, my friend says it’s a mess. Could take days, or more. Looks to be a tissue sample. Says almost zero chance of any exposure.
BTW, things at the Office still shit.
Arriving early p.m. in Berlin. Will see you at nine. I hope you got me a room. I’m not sleeping on your floor. O.