Brett Battles - The Silenced

The name of the company tugged at Quinn’s mind. Familiar, yet he couldn’t place why.

He handed the card back to Nate, then leaned over. “See what our contact can find out about this place. I think I’ve heard of it before.”

Nate nodded, then went into the bathroom to call Orlando, shutting the door behind him.

“Okay, Annabel. Why don’t you tell me why you’re in New York?”

“I’m here on business.”

“I’m your business?”

She took a second, then said, “No. Not exactly.”

“Not exactly? That answer falls into the ‘not cooperating’ category. We had an agreement. But if you’re going to break your end, I’m going to have to break mine.”

Her face was tense, her lips pressed tightly together. Then, as if someone had flicked an off switch, she slumped forward, her head falling into her hands.

“Oh, God,” she said as she began to cry.

It lasted only a few moments, then she wiped her eyes and looked up. Her mascara was smeared, creating a thick black outline on her lids.

“I was doing a favor, okay?” she said. “Someone at work. They knew I was in New York and called me this morning. I was told to get that stupid phone.” She waved in the direction of Quinn’s pocket. “Then to come here and wait for you.”

“Only me?”

“Another man, too. They emailed me pictures of each of you.”

“The pictures weren’t on your phone. Where are they?”

“On my computer,” she said, trying hard not to look at her briefcase. “At my hotel.”

Quinn stepped over and looked inside the case. Besides a small stack of business cards, some pens, and two unused legal pads, there were also several folders. He picked them up.

“Those are confidential,” Annabel said.

Ignoring her, Quinn looked inside the first: letters, an unlabeled graph, and a report that looked of little interest. Most of the other folders contained similar documents. The second to last, though, contained printouts of three photos. The first was of David Wills, and the second of Quinn. The third was of a man Quinn didn’t recognize. It was a headshot, the kind used not by actors, but by businessmen and politicians for PR purposes. The picture itself looked dated.

“Who is this?” Quinn said, holding up the man’s photo.

“I don’t know,” she said. “They didn’t give me any names. Just said that there was a chance that man might show up, too.”

“This shot’s from at least twenty years ago. He’d be an old man now.”

She shrugged. “I guess it was the only one they had.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I can tell you only what I know.”

Quinn returned the files to the briefcase, all but the one with the three pictures in it. That one he set on the dresser by itself.

“Once you spotted us, what were you supposed to do?” he asked.

“I was to wait until you were both here, then make a phone call.”

“And after that?”

“After that I could leave.”

“What number were you supposed to call?”

She looked at him, then looked down, resigned. She took a clip out of her hair and handed it to him. On its back side was a local New York number. From the area code, he could tell it was a cell phone. Probably another disposable.

“Do you know whose number this is?” Quinn asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Not the person who asked you to do this?”

“Couldn’t be. When he called this morning, he was in London.”

“And who is he?”

“Someone at work.”

“I’m looking for a name, Annabel.”

“I don’t know his name,” she said.

“A man whose name you don’t know asked you to do something you probably realized was dangerous, and you just said yes?”

“It wasn’t the kind of request I could say no to.”

“Why not?”

The bathroom door opened, and Nate stepped out.

“You’re not going to believe this,” he said.

But before he could go any further, Annabel said, “Please, let me tell you.”

Quinn looked at her, curious. “Tell me what?”

“It’s about my company,” she said.

“Wright Bains Securities?” Quinn asked, recalling the name from the business card.

“It’s not what it seems.”

“Then, what is it?”

“Don’t get me wrong. There are people there who do financial work.”

“But?” Quinn said.

She looked at Nate as if she was gauging whether he knew what she was going to say, and could modify her story if his knowledge was lacking. But Quinn had trained Nate well, and his apprentice’s face betrayed nothing.

“I work for MI6,” she blurted out.

Quinn looked at Nate, and Nate nodded.

“Wright Bains is an MI6 front,” Nate said. “Our contact didn’t even need to check. Knew it the moment I said the name.”

That was why the name had been familiar.

“So you’re MI6,” Quinn said.

“I’m a researcher. Strictly office work.”

“Then, what are you doing in New York?”

“We have meetings here sometimes. That’s all.”

“I’m confused. Why were you in the lobby looking for me?”

“No one else was available. I was here, so they used me.”

“Does that happen often?”

She shook her head. “Never.”

Quinn took a deep breath. He was having a hard time believing her story, but had no time to press her. He needed to warn Wills off and move the meeting someplace else.

“Secure her,” he said to Nate.

“What are you going to do?” Annabel asked.

“We’re going to leave you here,” Quinn said.

Nate emptied one of the pillowcases, then used his pocketknife to cut it into long strips like Quinn had taught him.

“Tie her to the desk,” Quinn said.

“What?” Annabel asked.

“We can’t have you leaving at the moment,” Quinn said. “It’s either that or knock you out.”

It took her only a second to make her choice. She moved over to where Nate was waiting and sat on the ground. He tied her hands and feet to the desk. It left her in an awkward position, but she’d be fine for an hour or two.

“Mouth?” Nate asked.

“Yes,” Quinn said. “But not too tight.”

Annabel glared at Nate, but said nothing as he used two of the strips as a gag. While this was going on, Quinn removed the image of the unidentified man from the folder and snapped a photo of it on his camera phone, then put it back with the other two. He emailed the photo to Orlando with a short message: Need ID.

“All right, Annabel,” Quinn said. “In a while I’ll call the front desk and have them send someone up to release you. Until then, it would be best if you just relax. Understand?”

She nodded.

Quinn stood up and grabbed the folder with the pictures off the dresser. “Next time someone asks you to do an errand like this, I’d advise you to say no.”

“Where are you?”Quinn asked, his phone tight to his ear.

He and Nate were on Lexington Avenue walking toward the side entrance to Grand Central Terminal.

“Still in the cab,” Wills said. “The traffic is miserable, but I should be there in ten minutes.”

“No,” Quinn said. “The Hyatt is off.”

“Problem?”

Quinn gave him the short version of what happened.

“Give me the phone number she was supposed to call,” Wills said. “I’ll have someone check it out.”

Quinn pulled out the hair clip, read the number to him, then said, “If he hasn’t left already, get your man out of there.”

“Right.” Wills paused. “I still want to meet.”

“Give me an hour. I’ll call back with a new location.” Quinn hung up.

“I think we’re clean so far,” Nate told him. He’d been keeping tabs to make sure they weren’t being followed. “Stay on the street or take the subway?”