Brett Battles - Shadow of Betrayal

“And that’s when they found the victim in the trunk,” the anchor said.

“That’s correct.”

“Is there any word on suspects?”

“The driver is reported to be male, mid-thirties, with short brown hair. At this time, the police have no one in custody. I’ve heard from sources that they should have a more accurate description by the time of the briefing later this morning.”

Peter switched the TV off.

“I told you to get someone there quick,” Quinn said.

“We did. But the police were already there.”

“Then you weren’t quick enough.”

Orlando was staring at Quinn. “They have a description of you,” she said.

“That was pretty generic,” he replied.

“It is now, but they obviously knew to look for us. Perhaps someone is feeding them a more accurate description right now.”

Quinn remained silent for a moment, then looked at Peter. “You called me and warned me about the APB. How did the police know?”

“We’re … not sure,” Peter said.

“Who knew we were going in the building?”

“Only me and my team,” Peter said, then looked toward the door where Cooper stood. “Sean and Ida.” But Peter seemed to hesitate.

“Who else, Peter?”

“My client knew I was sending someone in, but he didn’t know who.”

“Who the hell is your client?”

“Someone who would have very much wanted this to stay quiet.”

Nate cleared his throat, and everyone turned to him. Quinn could see his apprentice had something he wanted to say.

“What are you thinking?” Quinn asked.

“Isn’t it possible that whoever killed the Deputy Director might have been keeping an eye on the building?” Nate asked. “It’s probably the same guy who planted the explosives, don’t you think? Maybe we were just being watched.”

Quinn looked back at Peter. “You’re sure your client wouldn’t have leaked this?”

“Absolutely.”

“Doesn’t matter how they found out at the moment,” Orlando said. “Pretty soon the whole city is going to be looking for you. We’ve got to get you out of town now.”

She was right. The search for Deputy Director Jackson’s supposed killer would go nationwide, but it would be most intense there in New York.

Quinn stood up. “We need a vehicle.”

Peter hesitated, then looked at Cooper. “Get the stuff out of our car. They can take that.”

“No,” Quinn said. Cooper, who had already started for the door, stopped. “Not out of the garage. Something on a nearby street. Some thing generic.”

There would be cameras in the garage of the Marriott Marquis, and maybe even security guards walking around who might take special notice of them. The less people who saw Quinn, the better.

Cooper looked at his boss, his eyebrows raised.

“Do it,” Peter said.

With a single nod, Cooper left.

Everyone was silent for several moments.

“You knew the DDNI would be in there, didn’t you?” Quinn asked.

“No. I didn’t,” Peter said, then paused. “There was the possibility, yes. But I really didn’t expect to find him there. Especially not dead.”

“Then what did you expect?”

Silence, nearly thirty seconds of it. Quinn began to think Peter wasn’t going to answer him at all. Then, “I thought we might find a clue to where he’d been taken.”

“What do you mean?”

Again, Peter hesitated. This time, though, the silence lasted only a moment.

“Let me show you something,” he said.

He walked to the computer on the desk, pulled over the chair Quinn had vacated, then sat down. By the time Quinn, Orlando, and Nate had moved in behind him, he’d already minimized the surveillance images on the screen and replaced them with a spreadsheet. It was broken down into four columns. There were locations listed down the left-hand column, dates in the center two, and two- to four-digit numbers in the right.

“What is this?” Quinn asked.

“Inside the envelope you brought back from Ireland was a jump drive.” A tiny flash memory card able to hold multiple gigs of data. “There were only four files on it. This was one of them.”

“Looks like an itinerary,” Orlando said.

“Yes,” Peter said.

“How the hell does this tie into what happened tonight?” Quinn asked.

Peter glanced at Quinn. “The DDNI hired us a month ago for a special project. He’d been approached by a source claiming to have information about a potential terrorist operation.”

“Jesus, Peter. Every source says they have information about a potential terrorist operation,” Quinn said. “It’s the in thing.”

“That’s why the DDNI hired us instead of using his resources at CIA,” Peter said. “He wanted to keep it quiet. Our job was to coordinate meetings with Primus, then check out the info he handed over.”

“I’m sorry. Who?”

“Primus. It’s the code name for the DDNI’s source,” Peter said. “If it turned out the information was good, the DDNI would bring in his people at that point.”

Peter’s story made sense. Much of Washington’s behind-the-scenes work these days was outsourced to private companies. In this post-9/11 world, there just wasn’t enough manpower to handle everything. Even wars were outsourced to companies like Blackwater and Halliburton.

“Are you saying the meeting in Ireland was with the DDNI’s source?” Nate asked. “Because if it was, he’s dead. We all watched him get shot.”

A year ago, Quinn would have given his apprentice a look that would have told Nate to keep quiet. For the most part, that wasn’t necessary anymore. Nate’s questions now were more often than not the same questions Quinn would have asked.

Peter shook his head. “The meeting concerned Primus, yes, but we never met with him directly. The men you saw killed were his go-betweens. Up until that point, the information Primus had been feeding us was pretty solid. Nothing big, just things meant to build trust. The package from Ireland was supposed to be the first about the specific operation Primus had told the DDNI about.” He nodded at the screen. “This itinerary is the movements of one of the terrorist agents.”

“What have you learned from it?” Orlando asked.

“That this guy has made a lot of trips to a lot of different places. Mostly third world.”

“Who is he?”

“We don’t know that yet.”

“Do you know what they’re planning?” Quinn asked.

“No.”

Before Quinn could say anything else, Peter held up a hand, stopping him.

“Primus was supposed to feed us the rest of the information over two additional meetings. The first was to take place two nights ago. And the last, next Thursday.”

“Sounds like the one two nights ago didn’t happen,” Quinn said.

“After Ireland, Primus got scared. He sent a message canceling both upcoming meets. But we knew we needed the information. It seemed like he might actually be onto something. So the DDNI sent a message back using an emergency contact system we had in place. He was able to convince Primus to meet with him personally, one-on-one. Nobody liked the idea, but it seemed like the only thing we could do.”

“You watched him, of course,” Orlando said.

“We did the best we could. The meeting took place here in New York. Grand Central Terminal. That was Primus’s suggestion.”

Same type of location Quinn would have suggested in similar circumstances. A large, public facility with plenty of nooks and crannies for a quick, private chat.

“We lost the DDNI there. That was three days ago.”

“Didn’t he at least have a tracking bug on him?” Quinn asked.

“Of course he did,” Peter snapped. “Sewn in the cuff of his pants. But it had been cut out and dropped in a trash can on Fifth Avenue.”