The Deceived (33 page)

He slipped the strap of the leather bag over his head, allowing himself a moment to roll his shoulder back and forth, relieving some of the stiffness. Next he popped the mag out of his gun. He was only down one bullet, but he had been trained never to be satisfied with less when he could have more. From a box of ammo in the bag, he retrieved a new cartridge, reloaded, then returned the mag to its home in the grip of the pistol.

He could hear the person on the path above clearly now. Not quite running, but not walking either. When Blondie reached the patio, his pace slowed, but didn’t stop until he stood at the overhang, twenty feet directly above Quinn.

Quinn remained motionless, his breaths long, deep, and silent.

For thirty seconds, there was no sound from above. Blondie shuffled to the left. Five feet, no more. Silence again.

When he moved a second time, it wasn’t back the way he had come, as Quinn had hoped, but rather down the spiral staircase.

Quinn took another deep breath, keeping himself loose and ready. Each tread in the spiral staircase was a separate metal triangle connected to a central pole, and beneath was a riser that went halfway down to the next tread, but left a gap of open air. He aimed the SIG through the gap that was level with his eye line.

As Blondie descended into the target zone, Quinn could first see shoes, then a pant leg, then the man’s hip, his waist, and, as Blondie neared the bottom, his torso.

As soon as the man set both feet on solid ground, he stopped, his body still.

The guy was good, Quinn thought. Very good. He worked quietly. He had patience. And he’d tracked Quinn up Club Street and into Ann Siang Hill Park.

Quinn moved his finger onto the trigger. Once Blondie moved away from the stairway, he would have a clean shot. Whether he liked it or not, it was a shot he needed to take. A man like this wouldn’t stop until he found Jenny, so he had to be removed.

Off to the right down the lower path, a twig snapped. Blondie tensed and took a step back toward the stairs.

There was the murmur of voices. A man and a woman, both speaking in Mandarin. Their conversation was loud and peppered with bouts of laughter. Several seconds later, they staggered into view, the man more drunk than the woman.

Blondie eased out from the stairs again, then started walking down the path. Quinn had him, a ten-foot gimme shot straight into the man’s heart. But he couldn’t pull the trigger. The civilians were too close. If he didn’t kill the man with the first shot, there was a good chance the couple could get caught in the middle of a gunfight.

As his target disappeared down the path, Quinn could only watch, hoping he hadn’t just made a fatal mistake.

CHAPTER

“WHERE ARE YOU?” QUINN ASKED. HE’D WORKED HIS

way first west, then north back to Boat Quay, until he felt safe enough to make a call.

“I’m on the corner of Church Street and...” Orlando paused. “Phillip.”

That was only a few blocks from where he was.

“You guys stay where you are and I’ll be right there.” He turned and started walking away from the river.

Another pause. “I’m alone.”

Quinn stopped. “What?”

“Jenny’s not with me.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“She
was
with you. Where is she?”

“Goddamn it, I know she was with me. But the only way I could have kept her here is if I’d shot her in the leg. I didn’t think you wanted me to do that.”

“Wait there,” Quinn said.

He hung up and flagged down a passing taxi. The ride was short, but it saved him a few minutes.

He saw Orlando as he got out of the cab. She was on the opposite corner, standing away from the street, just out of the light. He waited for a break in traffic, then jogged across the road to join her.

“Please don’t yell at me,” she said. “It’s not my fault.”

Of course her nerves were as much on edge as his were. He should have known that. He took a moment to refocus, allowing the calm that usually guided him to reassert itself.

“I believe you,” he said. “How did they know she was going to be there?” she asked. “I don’t know,” he said. “That was really screwed up.” “If you hadn’t seen them, who knows what would have gone

down.” “Nice work with the gunshot,” she said. “It certainly confused things. That was you, right?” “Yeah.” He gave her a knowing smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone use a durian in a fight before.”

“If you’d have just shot him, I wouldn’t have had to throw it.” She looked down at the palm of her right hand. There was a red spot near the base of her index finger. “The damn thing pricked me.”

“Orlando, where’s Jenny? What happened?” She continued to rub her palm as her mouth tensed. “I’m sorry.” “Did they get her?” Quinn asked. She shook her head.
Thank God,
he thought. “Then where is she?” Orlando hesitated, then said, “As soon as we got off the hill, we

caught a taxi. I was going to take her back to the apartment, but she didn’t want to go.” A breath, then, “She suddenly told the cab driver to pull over. As soon as he did, she jumped out. I followed her as quickly as I could. When I reached her, I grabbed her arm and stopped her. I told her we were there to help.”

“What did she say?”

“That nobody could help her. People died when they tried to help her. I told her we could get her out of the country and take her someplace safe. But she didn’t want that, either. Said she had to stop them.”

“Stop who?”

“I asked, but that’s all she said.”

Quinn felt exhausted, the combination of the adrenaline wearing off and Jenny’s rejection.

It must have shown in his face, because Orlando said, “I did get one thing out of her.”

“What?”

“She’ll talk to you one more time. I told her she owed you that much.”

“When?” he asked.

She looked at her watch. “In one hour.”

He tried to smile, but failed. “That’s something. Thanks. Let’s go back to the apartment. I can call her from there.”

“No,” Orlando said. “Not on the phone. In person.”

At 11 p.m., Quinn stood at the corner of Upper Pickering Street and South Bridge Road. He was there less than ninety seconds before a taxi pulled up. Quinn leaned down expecting to see Jenny in the back seat, but the only one inside was the driver.

“You called for taxi?” the driver said.

Quinn cocked his head, then smiled businesslike and said, “You know where I need to go?”

“I know where it is. No problem.”

“Then let’s go,” Quinn said as he opened the back door.

A sliver of a moon had risen in the east, hanging low on the Singaporean sky as the cabby drove Quinn back across the river. There were a few stars out, but most weren’t visible through the glow of the city lights.

At first, Quinn thought they might be going somewhere on Orchard Road. There were plenty of clubs, late-night restaurants, and hotels where Jenny could be hiding. But the driver turned before they got there.

To their right were the lights and activity of the city, but to the left was a dark mass of wilderness, a wooded hill rising in the middle of civilization. It took Quinn a moment before he realized what he was looking at. It was Fort Canning Park.

The fort was where the British had built their defenses to watch over the Singapore River in the distant colonial past. Quinn knew many of the buildings were still in place high on the hill, behind the trees and brush, but from his vantage point everything looked black and uninhabited.

The cab first slowed, then pulled to a stop along the left shoulder. The driver turned and looked at Quinn. “All right?”

Quinn stared out the window for a moment, thinking perhaps Jenny would be joining him in the cab, but no one approached the car.

“This is fine,” Quinn said. He pulled out some cash and held it out.

The driver smiled at the healthy tip. “The steps are back there,” he said, pointing off to Quinn’s left. “Hard to see in the dark.”

“Thanks,” Quinn said, then got out.

After the cab pulled away, Quinn walked in the direction the driver had indicated. At this time of night, the park was technically closed, so there would be few, if any, people about.

Behind him, he could hear the sounds of the cars on the street, but ahead there was nothing. Silence. Not even the rustle of leaves in the trees. The lack of noise made his feet sound like sledgehammers slamming against the ground with every step.

The stairs were a bit to the right of where the cabby had pointed, but Quinn found them with little extra effort. They were concrete and led up a steep hill. No one seemed to be waiting for him at the base, so he assumed Jenny must be somewhere near the top. Before starting his ascent, he pulled his pistol out of his bag. After what had happened at the Far East Square, he wasn’t about to take any chances.

He started up the stairs, keeping his pace steady and tuning out everything but what was immediately surrounding him. He heard something in the distance as he neared the halfway point, something falling from a tree. A branch, perhaps, but too far away to be anything significant.

He continued upward, following the stairs as they curved to the right. Suddenly a bird took flight from a tree beside the path. Quinn paused, wondering if it had been his arrival or the presence of someone else that had set the bird into motion. After thirty seconds of nothing, he returned to the climb.

He could see the top of the stairs now. Though still several dozen steps away, he would reach it soon. He adjusted the strap of the bag, then quickened his pace.

“Quinn?”

He stopped. The voice had come from his left, off the path and behind a group of bushes.

“Jenny?”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes,” he said, though she must have been watching his approach and already knew that.

His eyes scanned darkness, looking for her. At first, there was only the brush and trees, then she moved out from her hiding place, no more than a shadow among other shadows.

“Over here,” she said.

Quinn stepped off the stairs and onto the grass that surrounded the concrete steps. As he did, Jenny disappeared back into the brush. He crossed to the point he’d last seen her, and found a narrow slot through the bushes. He slipped between the branches, then followed the only path he could make out.

He was about to call out to her when he suddenly emerged into a small clearing. It was no more than fifteen feet square, like a room carved out of the faux wilderness.

Jenny was standing at the far edge, her posture rigid. Even in the darkness, Quinn could see there was a look of determination on her face. But there was also exhaustion, like it had been weeks since she had actually slept through the night.

He took a few steps into the clearing, stopping several feet away from her. “I’m glad to see you’re okay,” he said.

“I’m not coming with you,” she said, the words rushing from her mouth. “Understand?”

“Okay.”

She seemed surprised by his answer. “I know that’s why you came here.”

He shrugged, but didn’t answer. “You’re not going to try to convince me?” “Would that work?” he said. She shook her head. “I didn’t think it would,” he said. “You should leave then.” “Perhaps. But I think we’ll stay.” She held her defiant stance for a second longer, then lowered her

head in exhaustion. “He’s really dead?” she asked. Quinn could only answer with silence. Jenny’s lip trembled. “How?” “You don’t want to know this.” “I need to know,” she said. “When Steven didn’t come back, I kept

hoping... but I knew. Tell me what they did to him. Tell me how you found out.” It was odd hearing Markoff called by his first name. “I don’t know

if that’s a good—” “What happened?” she demanded. As much as he wanted to keep the facts from her, he knew he

couldn’t. “I got a call about a week ago,” he said, then told her what he knew. When he finished, more than her lip was trembling. He took a few steps forward, ready in case she collapsed. But she remained standing.

“At least you were the one who buried him,” she said. She looked Quinn in the eyes. “When this is over, I want you to show me where he is.”

Quinn hesitated, then nodded, knowing that was one promise he

didn’t want to keep. “Jenny, I—” “But what are you doing
here
?” she asked, cutting him off. “I told you, I’m here to help you.” “I mean Singapore. You said something about Steven leading you

here. What did you mean?” “Markoff left a message. It led us to the island.” “What do you mean? Where on the island?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“What if it does?” she said. “Where on the island? Do you have an address?”

The last thing he wanted was for her to go off on her own and try to find out what was in the apartments at the Quayside Villas. “The signal was gone by the time we got here,” he lied. “So we have no idea where exactly he was pointing us.”

She sighed and put a hand to her forehead. “It could have been the help I needed. It could have proved everything.”

“Proved what?” he asked.

She didn’t answer.

“Jenny,” he said. “I know you feel like you need to finish what you set out to do. And that you won’t be safe until then. But maybe I can help you.”