Time. The convention. The connection to the Office. The very nature of the biological agent itself. All were questions Quinn had no good answers for.
Maybe the IOMP meetings were merely a cover for the delivery of the biological agent. Maybe it was just a coincidence, and Duke had just been trying to mislead Quinn. Or maybe any of a hundred other scenarios. As for the identity of the disease, the answer was just as elusive. Quinn had been hoping the Mole would have gotten back to him with an answer by now. But there had been no word.
But most frustrating had been his lack of progress with his attempt to get to whatever files had been uploaded to Jansen’s FTP server.
He jerked slightly when his phone rang. Orlando’s name was on the display. Quinn put the hands-free earpiece in his ear.
“Yes?” Quinn asked.
“Borko’s here,” Orlando said.
The way Orlando described it to Quinn, Borko arrived in a blue Porsche and waited outside the gate until one of the guards pulled it open. Then he drove onto the lot and around to the side, parking behind the van, near the building entrance. Borko was the only one to get out of his car. As far as she could tell, he’d arrived alone. Borko entered the building, and that’s when she made her call.
A Porsche. Great, Quinn thought. If they ended up out on the Autobahn for some reason, there would be no way his Mercedes would be able to keep up.
It was nearly an hour before Orlando called again. “He just came out.”
Quinn started up the Mercedes, but remained parked at the curb. “What’s he doing?”
“Talking to someone,” she replied. “They’re walking to his car.” A pause. “I’m coming down now.”
“Wait,” Quinn said. “We need to know which direction he goes in.”
“He’ll leave the same way he arrived.”
“You don’t know that.”
Rapid breaths came over the phone, the sounds of someone in motion. “I’m already on my way,” she insisted.
Quinn cursed to himself as he glanced at his watch, then he said, “You’ve got thirty seconds.”
“Forty-five,” she huffed. Quinn guessed she was on the stairs.
“You’ve already used fifteen.”
He pulled the Mercedes away from the curb and onto the street, double-parking in front of the apartment building.
“Fifteen seconds,” he said.
“I’m almost there.”
“Ten.”
“Wait!”
He glanced at the door. No sign of her.
“Time’s up. I’m leaving.”
“Don’t!” she yelled.
Suddenly she burst through the front door and ran toward the car. Quinn reached over and pushed open the passenger door. She jumped in and pulled the door shut behind her.
“Go, go, go,” she said. “Elbestrasse. Right in front of you.”
Quinn pressed down on the accelerator. The Mercedes raced forward toward the end of the block, toward Elbestrasse. When they got to the intersection, Quinn stopped. Elbestrasse was empty.
“Maybe he went the other way,” he said.
“No. This way,” she said.
“Then maybe he already went by and we missed him. Or maybe he hasn’t left at all.”
She said nothing.
Quinn scanned the intersecting street in front of them. Elbestrasse was divided in the middle by a row of large trees and additional street parking. It was still empty. He considered their options, but basically it came down to wait or give up.
Suddenly there was the roar of an engine and the reflection of headlights off the road. A moment later a dark blue Porsche Boxster flashed by.
“See. I told you,” Orlando said.
Quinn let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding, then turned left onto Elbestrasse, mere seconds behind Borko.
CHAPTER 32
Borko raced through the city, seemingly with no destination in mind. He was obviously checking for a tail. Quinn kept his distance, but never lost sight of the Porsche.
After twenty minutes, Borko’s driving became less erratic, more focused. Finally, he seemed to have settled on a fixed direction. Which meant only one thing.
He hadn’t spotted them.
The Porsche pulled up in front of a run-down hotel in the southern part of Berlin known as Schöneberg. Quinn parked the Mercedes half a block away. After a moment, Borko got out of his car and entered the building.
Once Borko disappeared inside, Quinn and Orlando climbed out of their car. They walked toward the hotel, pausing in the shadows near the entrance. From there, Quinn could see into the lobby.
“Three men inside,” he whispered. “One of them looks like the night clerk. The other two, definitely not guests.”
“Borko’s men?” she asked.
“That would be my guess.”
“But he came alone. That means they were already here.”
Quinn nodded.
“There must be something important inside. Something they need to keep watch over.”
He knew what she was thinking. He knew he should probably say something so she wouldn’t get her hopes up too much, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“We have two choices,” he said instead. “Either we continue following Borko when he comes back out and look for a better opportunity to get him alone, or we try to find out what’s so special inside.”
“I’m staying,” Orlando said. “You do what you want.”
Ten minutes later, the hotel door opened. Next came the sound of voices, Borko and another man talking as they stepped outside.
Quinn was hiding next to a car parked on the far side of the Porsche. Orlando was crouched in the shadows at the corner of the building. Quinn risked a peek and saw the two men walking toward Borko’s car. The guard stopped at the front of the Porsche and watched as Borko got in. While the guard’s attention was occupied, Quinn crept toward the front of the parked car, narrowing the gap between himself and the guard to under ten feet. The Porsche’s engine started, then Borko backed it into the street and drove away.
Before the guard could return to the warmth of the hotel, Quinn came up behind him and threw an arm around the guard’s neck. Using his free hand, he landed two quick, powerful punches to the man’s jaw, knocking him unconscious. He picked up the man’s gun and tossed it under a parked car, then dragged the unconscious body into the shadows next to the building.
“Are you sure he’s out?” Orlando asked as she emerged from her hiding spot.
“He’s out.”
Instead of waiting for the other guard to come and check on his friend, they pulled out their guns and entered the hotel. The remaining guard was standing near the elevators. The moment he spotted them, he reached for the gun in his shoulder holster. But Orlando shot first, hitting the man in the arm. The guard yelled in pain, his gun tumbling out of the holster and onto the floor. Quinn raced forward and punched him in the face. The man fell against the wall, then toppled to the ground.
There was a noise to Quinn’s left. He shot a look over at the night clerk who was just picking up the phone. “Nein,” Quinn said. “Come here.”
Reluctantly, the night clerk came from around the corner and approached Quinn.
“You have a room we can lock him in?” Quinn asked in German.
The man nodded.
“Help us.”
Once they had both guards locked in a small office off the lobby, Quinn turned to the clerk. “What room are they in?” he said, playing his hunch.
“Who?” the clerk asked.