Anger flared in Quinn’s eyes, but Nate didn’t back down.
“You’ve been gone since last year,” Nate said. “I’ve seen what you’ve been doing with your time, and that’s all well and good, but I’ve been working since the moment you left. My instincts and skills are sharp. Can you say the same about yours?”
Quinn stared at him for a second, then said, “Don’t ever touch me like that again.”
“And don’t treat me like a kid. I’m here. I will help you. But I’m not your damn lackey. You want me to treat you with respect? Then treat me with the same.”
“You guys coming?” Daeng called out. He had stopped a couple dozen feet down the sidewalk.
Nate held up a hand, indicating for him to wait a moment.
“So?” he said to Quinn.
The fire in Quinn’s eyes waned. He took a breath. “Daeng’s a good man who has seen a lot of other good men die and decided he wasn’t going to stand for it any longer. I’ve seen the things he’s done, the help he’s given his people-”
“Those Burmese kids? I thought he was Thai.”
“His mother was Burmese, his father Thai. For a long time he’s been involved behind the scenes in the struggle between the Burmese people and their government. You can trust him, Nate, and we could use his help. I could use his help.” He paused. “Just like I could use yours.”
Nate snorted softly and looked away for a moment. When he turned back, he said, “All right. And for the record, my help is never a question.”
As they began walking again, Nate sensed that Quinn wanted to say something more. He looked over, but his mentor shifted his gaze away and remained silent.
The call came only seconds after they’d hopped on the SkyTrain. Nate handed Quinn the phone. The display read: ORLANDO.
“Hey,” Quinn said.
“I have something for you. Well, more than one thing,” she told him. Though he’d been hoping otherwise, the tone of her voice was basically the same as on their previous call.
“The dead man in Tanzania?”
“His name was Lawrence Rosen. Does that ring a bell?”
“Rosen? Yeah, I’ve worked with him before. Military intelligence guy, right?”
“Was. Went freelance a few years back,” she said. “Is there any reason Mila would have something to do with his death?”
“None I can think of, but I guess it’s possible.” The scene in front of the Majestic Hotel flashed in his mind. “In the video. When she was looking at him, she seemed-”
“Surprised when she saw who it was?” Orlando said.
“Exactly.”
“Have you ever heard of someone named John Evans?”
“Evans?” He ran the name through his mind. “There was someone involved in the Las Vegas job named Evans, if I remember correctly. Don’t know his first name, but he was the one Mila picked up the package from before flying out, I believe. Why?”
“Twelve hours ago there was a report out of London about the murder of a man named Bernard Johnston. Mr. Johnston was the owner of Johnston’s Rare Books Finding Service. He was also a retired American agent whose real name was John Evans. Witnesses say they saw a beautiful dark-haired woman go into his offices a few hours before his body was found.”
“Any security footage of her?”
“Nothing that I’ve been able to uncover.”
“You think it was her?”
“When I read the report, I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t aware of the connection you just told me about. So there’s a chance.”
“Did anyone see her leaving the building?”
“No one,” she said. “There’s something more.”
“What?”
“I can’t give you an exact number, but just from an initial check, Evans and Rosen had worked together several times in the past.”
Quinn fell silent. Though he didn’t want to believe it, all his instincts were saying that the dark-haired woman was Mila. But why kill this Evans guy? That didn’t sound like her, even if she was desperate.
“Where did this happen?”
“In his shop in a small town northeast of London. I assume you want to go there. If you want, I can arrange your flight.”
A memory played through his mind.
“It’s a lot to ask, I know,” Julien had said four years earlier. “But someday things may change, and I need to make sure it will still be there if they do.”
“No,” Quinn told Orlando. “Rome.”
“Any particular reason?”
“London will put us behind her.”
“And Rome will put you in front?”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” he said.
“All right. Rome. How soon do you want to leave?”
“As soon as we can get out. We’ll head to the airport now,” he said, then added, “Three tickets.”
“Three?”
Quinn got Daeng’s pertinent information and gave it to Orlando. “Thank you,” he told her after he finished, then, “I’m sorry.”
“You said sorry already. What’s this one for?”
“Falling off the face of the earth.”
A quick, spontaneous laugh escaped her lips. Not derisive, just surprised. “You idiot. Don’t you know if you did that, I’d be right behind you?”
It felt like the first time in forever he could breathe again. The weight of her perceived condemnation had been pressing down more heavily on him than he’d realized.
“I’ll text you your flight info,” she said, and hung up.
CHAPTER 13
WASHINGTON, DC
“You’re sure?” Peter asked.
“As sure as I can be,” Lee told him. “The breach originated from Mats Hagen’s townhouse in Stockholm.”
“No chance it was just routed through there to throw us off and incriminate him?”
“If it was, I haven’t been able to pick up any trace beyond there. If you ask me, that’s where it started.”
“Doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense,” Peter said. “Check it again.”
“I’ve already checked it three-”
“Check it again.”
Peter walked out of the room that had been set up for Lee to use in the Georgetown apartment. Lee was the best computer expert available on short notice. Peter had hired the kid before, and knew Lee was more than competent. Still, the person he wished he had sitting in that room was Orlando. If she told him the breach had originated with Hagen, he would have believed it from the first. But she hadn’t even answered his call.
That Hagen might have been the one who hacked into the highly secure military intelligence system wouldn’t have been particularly earth-shattering news. There could have been a dozen or more explanations for it-all, no doubt, tied to a client’s request. Leaving his digital fingerprint was surprising, though, and so was the file he’d looked into. Peter could think of only one person who would have any interest in them.
Mila Voss.
The Georgetown building the townhouse was located in was a throwback to an older time. While larger structures with fifty or more units had sprung up around it, it had survived with only eleven apartments, two on each floor. What the other residents didn’t realize was that the two at the top had been joined together to form a single flat.
There was one highlight of the place that only Peter and Misty knew about. The two top-floor apartments had originally come with trap doors in the hallway ceilings that led up to storage areas. Peter had removed the trap doors, and converted the space into a two-room safe house, complete with an insulated floor to cut out any sound, and a secret entrance that even the best in the business would have a hard time finding. With enough supplies, someone could stay days or even weeks in the room without detection by anyone who might enter the main apartment.
The room had been used four times in the past, but it had been more than three years since its last long-term occupant. There were times when Peter would use it for a few hours to work in peace. It was a great place to think things through and work out strategies. Exactly the kind of place he could very much use at that moment. Unfortunately, that option was not currently open to him.