He still had to go to Japan. Being wanted for murder would make it more difficult — but all the more necessary.
He told the desk clerk he’d rented a room earlier but had forgotten the key and ID in the room. She sent security up and they found an ID in the side table drawer with Quinn’s photo under the name Irving Walstrom. She made him another key and slid it across the counter.
Once inside the hotel room, he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at one of the burner phones. He’d lost all his weapons during the arrest. Pressing Thibodaux’s number, he lay back, closing his eyes to try to relax.
The gunny wouldn’t recognize the number, so Quinn wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer. He hit REDIAL. Two calls in quick succession meant something was up.
“Hallo.” The big Cajun’s guarded voice was a welcome sound on the other end of the line.
“Jacques,” Quinn said, “it’s me.”
“Hey, beb,” Thibodaux said. A baby squalled in the background. “You okay?”
“Not really,” Quinn said. “Listen, there will be some folks coming around to look for me, FBI maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Tell me where you are, l’ami, and I’ll come get you. Palmer will work this out.”
“Maybe,” Quinn said, “maybe not. You’ll see what I mean very soon.”
“Whatever,” the Cajun said. “Let me come and get you. We’ll handle this. I been to handlin’ school.”
“I have to get out of town, Jacques.”
“You’re breakin’ my heart, l’ami,” Thibodaux said. His voice fell stern as if he was talking to one of his sons. “Meet me and let me help you out.”
“Listen, Jacques,” Quinn said, “it’s against the law to lie to a federal agent. Helping me out could seriously screw up your security clearance — if it doesn’t get you thrown in jail.”
“Are you shittin’ me?” Thibodaux seethed with frustration. “You’re in trouble, and you think I’d give a rat’s ass about my career!”
Quinn was sorry for even calling now. “I’m not dragging you into this.”
“After all you already dragged me into?” the Cajun scoffed. “You wanta be a turd, go lay in the yard — but you know better than that… you truly do.”
“This is too dangerous—”
“Easy now, Superman,” Thibodaux cut him off. “That’s your biggest problem. You know that? It honestly ain’t your job to take care of the whole damn universe. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a pretty fair hand at takin’ care of my own self.”
“Jacques, you have to listen to me. This is bad.” Quinn swung his feet off the bed. “They’ll be monitoring your phone, watching you, questioning your family, whatever it takes to find me.”
“I don’t give a shit if they crawl up our collective orifices, there ain’t a Thibodaux among us who’d give you up.”
“It’s safer this way,” Quinn groaned. “Do me a favor and let Ronnie know I’m laying low for a while.”
“Man, oh, man!” Thibodaux whistled. “You gotta reconsider not callin’ her yourself. Badass babe or not, the girl’s feelin’ sort of fragile about your relationship at the moment.”
“I can’t,” Quinn said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“There you go again, puttin’ on the big red S.”
“Will you call her for me or not?”
“Whatever.” Jacques sighed, still not happy. “Anything special you want me to tell her?”
Quinn paused for a moment. “Tell her to be careful.”
“Seriously, beb? You’re on the run for your life and all you can think to say to your sweetheart is ‘be careful’? Son, remind me to pass you a slap when you come in from the cold. ‘Be careful’… I swear…”
“Well,” Quinn said, not knowing what else to say. “You be careful.”
“I love you, too, l’ami.” Thibodaux gave a dismissive laugh. “I love you, too.”
CHAPTER 28
Qasim Ranjhani stood at the window of his small apartment in the peaceful area of Lahore known as Johar Town, south of the medical college where he’d done postgraduate work. He gazed over the top of McDonald’s and Boston Pizza while he listened to the phone at Yanagi Pharmaceutical ring for the fifth time. Heavy traffic thumped past on Canal Bank Highway. Things were changing in Pakistan, and not for the better.
And now, no one was answering his calls.
With the four-hour time difference, it was just after 1:00 p.m. in Japan, and Ranjhani could not comprehend why no one would be on hand to pick up the phone. He was about to hang up, when a familiar male voice came on the line.
“Moshi moshi.” The voice gave the traditional Japanese greeting, assuming the call came from inside the country.
“Oda-san,” Ranjhani said, still tense with agitation that he’d been made to wait for someone to answer. He spoke English rather than his native Punjabi dialect of Majhi. His mother had seen to it he’d learned to speak English correctly, and his father, though a proud Pakistani, had felt it important he learn Arabic to better understand the Koran as it had been dictated to Muhammad by Allah Himself.
“Ahh, peace be unto you, Doctor,” Oda said, switching to English. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” Ranjhani thought of him as a smiling viper. For a merciless killer, the man was always extremely polite.
“I am checking on my investment,” Ranjhani said, taking a long breath through his nose to calm his nerves. It did no good to let such a man know you were angry. He was not intimidated and prone to violent outbursts himself. “I have to say, I grow tired of speaking with your subordinate. I understand there was a problem with your project in Virginia. I wanted to hear about it from you personally.”
“Everything is fine. I assure you,” Oda said, a smile in his voice. “A minor inconvenience.”
Ranjhani sniffed, holding back his emotions. “I am sure I do not need to remind you what this minor inconvenience has done in the past.”
“No.” Oda’s voice turned ice cold. “You do not need to remind me. You pay my organization extremely well because we have certain skills — skills at which we excel. Our honor depends on it.”
“Honor?” Ranjhani gave a nervous chuckle in spite of himself. “I have always understood there was no honor among thieves.”
There was deadly silence on the line, so long that Ranjhani feared the man might have hung up and come to kill him.
At length, Oda spoke. “Then you are fortunate that I am a killer and not a thief. The whole of American law enforcement will help us put an end to our problem in Virginia once and for all. Do not concern yourself with trivial things. I have good news.”
“Good news would be welcome,” Ranjhani said, unconvinced.
“The American scientists have arrived. We have demonstrated our process and made them to feel quite at home. I am confident all four will be pleased with the results of our tests this afternoon.”
“That is good news,” Ranjhani said. “So, you believe we will remain on schedule?”
“I not only believe it, Doctor,” Oda said. Ranjhani could again envision the man smiling. “I am certain of it. That is what you pay me for. The first batch of two hundred fifty thousand doses of your… vaccine is ready now. The gun is loaded. The tests will allow us to pull the trigger. In the meantime, the Americans grow complacent. The time has come to, as they say, turn up the heat.”