The Deceived (40 page)

“Jenny, what did he figure out? You’ve got to tell us.”

This time when she looked at him, she didn’t look away. “Steven said there’s this group... this organization that tries to... manipulate things to benefit its members,” she said.

“LP?” Quinn asked.

“Yes.”

“Manipulate what?” Orlando said.

“Policies. Laws. Whatever it takes. That’s what Steven told me, anyway.” She paused. “He said they’ve been building up over time, moving members into key positions in every department and branch of the government.”

“A shadow government,” Orlando said.

Jenny looked over at her. “That’s exactly what Steven said. ‘They’re a shadow government lying in wait.’ ”

“So Guerrero’s wife? She’s what? A member?” Quinn asked.

Another nod. “Exactly.”

“But I still don’t understand why LP would want her husband dead.”

“Some administrations are more open to the ideas fronted by LP than others. The current administration is not one of those. The way things are looking right now, the President is going to win reelection easily. No one in the congressman’s party will be able to catch him. Not the way things stand now. Steven said LP couldn’t sit still for that.”

“So they kill Guerrero? Someone from the same party they want in power?” The plan did make sense to him, though as he started to ask the question, an inkling of what they had in mind began to form.

“He was a military hero. A Marine,” Jenny said. “He was involved in the Panamanian invasion in the late eighties. Saved a few of his men. When he got out, moving into politics came naturally to him. But though the congressman is loyal to the party, he’s not a yes man. He votes what his conscience tells him, which puts him at odds with almost everyone at some point or another. But the public likes his independent spirit. That’s why he’s seeking the presidency. He feels he provides an alternative to the status quo.”

“Man of the people,” Orlando said.

“Yes,” Jenny said. “Exactly right.” She took a second, then continued. “But Steven said that despite the fact the congressman’s wife is in the LP, the organization has no control over him. But they have found a use for him.”

“So they’re going to kill him because they can’t control him? Why not just create a scandal? Force him to leave office?” Nate asked.

“Let me ask you something,” she said, glancing at Nate. “What would happen if a U.S. presidential candidate was assassinated in a foreign country?”

“It wouldn’t be good,” Nate said.

“And what if the evidence pointed at the killer working for Islamic extremists?”

Nate’s eyes widened. “We’d...go right back to the mindset the country had after September eleventh.”

“Perhaps not to that extent, but definitely on the way there,” she said.

Jenny was about to say something else, but Quinn stopped her.

“They’re changing the dynamic,” he said, not a question, but in his mind a fact. “The more we draw back within ourselves as a country, the harder time the President’s going to have getting reelected.”

“You’re missing one thing,” Jenny said.

“What?”

“Once Congressman Guerrero is dead, his wife is going to take his place in the election.”

No one said a word for several seconds.

“Oh my God. She’s playing Corazon Aquino,” Orlando said. “I mean, Aquino wasn’t the one who killed her husband, and he wasn’t running for office at the time, but in effect her political career was launched because of his death.”

“I don’t think the congressman’s wife is in the same league as Corazon Aquino,” Quinn said.

“Maybe not,” Orlando said. “But she’s a white woman...a white
widow
of a man who will have been assassinated by the enemy. She’s well known. Her views are ones that will play well with the changed national psyche. And if her friends at LP arrange any more incidents, perhaps ones embarrassing to the President? She wins in a landslide.”

Quinn tried to picture Jody Goodman as the next President of the United States. It was hard, but not impossible.

“The assassination is supposed to happen here in Singapore, isn’t it?” Quinn asked.

“Yes,” Jenny said. “That’s why I’ve been trying to talk to him, to tell him.”

“He leaves for the States tonight,” Orlando said.

“And that’s why there’s no time to wait for the tape to be fixed,” Jenny said. “All I know is that it’s supposed to be at some sort of public place. Something on his itinerary.”

Orlando moved quickly back to her computer. After a moment, she looked up. “The Maxwell Food Centre,” she said. “It’s the only public outing he has left on his schedule. He’s supposed to be there at one p.m.”

Quinn looked at his watch. It was 11:10 a.m. “Where is he now?” he asked.

Orlando looked back at the computer. “He should be finishing up a meeting at the U.S. embassy. Then he heads to another meeting at the Von Feldt Building near Chinatown before heading over to Maxwell.”

“He’s at the embassy right now?” Quinn asked.

“Yes.”

“Nate,” Quinn said. “Get dressed, then get us a car. Orlando, gather up the gear.” He looked at Jenny.

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

As much as he would have liked to leave her in the apartment, she might be the only one who could convince the congressman if it came to that.

“Ask Nate for one of his clean T-shirts.”

While everyone was getting ready, Quinn made a phone call to the embassy.

“Kenneth Murray, please,” he said once his call was answered.

He was put on hold for a few seconds, then the line began ringing again.

“Kenneth Murray’s office.” It was a woman’s voice, soft and young. If Quinn knew Murray, her looks would match her voice.

“I need to speak to Mr. Murray,” Quinn said.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “He’s on a conference call. Can I take a message?”

“I need him now,” Quinn said.

“I’m sorry, sir. But he’s unavail—”

“Tell him it’s Quinn.”

“That won’t change anything.”

“Do it. Please.”

He could hear her exhale an angry breath. “One moment.”

While he was on hold, Nate reentered the living room dressed in a dark blue T-shirt and jeans.

“Hurry,” Quinn said.

Nate nodded, then left the apartment. Stress was the great focuser for Quinn’s apprentice. It would be one of his major strengths in a few years when he went out on his own.

There was a click on the line. Then a voice, very tentative, said, “This...is Murray.”

“Kenneth, I need your help now.”

“Oh hell. It
is
you.”

“I don’t have any time for bullshit. I need you to listen to me.”

“Quinn, I don’t work for you. So—”

“Shut up and listen. Congressman James Guerrero is somewhere in your building. You need to keep him there. Don’t let him leave.”

“What?” Murray said, confused. “Why?”

“Because if you let him out, he’s going to be killed.”

“I don’t know if I can—”

“I’m not screwing with you. Do it!”

“Just a minute.”

Murray’s reluctance to help was understandable. Beyond the fact that he had somehow developed the idea that Quinn was an assassin who might kill him at any moment, he had almost lost his job and gone to jail the previous winter in Berlin for helping Quinn. But none of that had happened. Quinn had made sure of it. In fact, Quinn had been the one instrumental in getting Murray transferred halfway around the world to his current cushy job in Southeast Asia.

Jenny came back into the living room wearing the same pants she’d been wearing the night before, and a blue T-shirt.

Only seconds behind her was Orlando. She had a black backpack hanging from her shoulders and had another in her hand. Each looked full and heavy.

“Who are you talking to?” Jenny asked.

“The embassy,” he said.

She looked surprised. “Have...have they been able to stop him?”

Before he could answer her, Murray came back on the line. “He’s already gone.”

Quinn closed his eyes. “When did he leave?”

“Twenty minutes ago.”

“Twenty minutes?” Quinn said, looking over at Orlando.

“His schedule says he shouldn’t be leaving for another ten,” Orlando said.

“You have to send someone after him,” Quinn said to Murray. “Get him someplace safe.”

“I can’t just do that for no reason.”

“I’ve told you the reason!” Quinn yelled.

“I need
proof
, Quinn,” Murray said. “I can’t just say ‘I heard some-one’s going to try to kill the congressman.’ ”

“Hell yes, you can!” Quinn said. “Look, the congressman is scheduled to visit the Maxwell Food Centre at one p.m. He won’t leave there alive. You need to stop him before he even gets there.”

“I don’t know if I can. I mean, if you’d just give me a little—”

“Do it, goddamn it! Just do it!” Quinn hung up the phone, then looked over at Orlando and Jenny. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER

THEY HEADED TOWARD THE VON FELDT BUILDING IN

a Mercedes Nate appropriated a couple blocks away from the apartment. Nate was at the wheel, with Quinn in the front passenger seat. Jenny and Orlando sat in the back.

“Where did the tape come from?” Quinn asked.

“Gerry got it. I don’t know how, but he figured out what was going on. He told me he began recording Ms. Goodman’s conversations.”

“So she was the contact person for the assassin?”

“Yes.”

“And she didn’t find out about the recordings?” Orlando said.

“She must have,” Jenny said. “That’s why Gerry’s dead. I think he probably believed she was onto him, and that’s why he gave me the tape.”

“Why you?” Quinn asked.

“We were friendly. We occasionally had to work together to coordinate the congressman’s and his wife’s schedules. I guess he thought I could get it to my boss.”

“But you didn’t,” Quinn said.

“Congressman Guerrero was out of town for a couple of days when Gerry gave it to me. I was going to talk to him the minute he got back.” She paused. “But Gerry was killed the next day. That’s why I actually listened to the tape. As soon as I heard it, I knew that was the reason he was dead. I also knew I had to get out of there, or I’d be dead, too. I made an excuse, told the office I had a family emergency and needed to take a leave of absence. Then I disappeared.”

“Turn left,” Orlando said to Nate.

“Are you sure?” Nate asked.

“Yes. Left.”

Nate whipped the car to the left, barely making the light.

“Gerry said there were other tapes, too,” Jenny went on. “He had them stored someplace safe. He said he was going to get them and bring them to me.”

“He should have just called the police,” Nate said.

“I said the same thing to him,” she told him. “But he said he couldn’t. That there were others, and they could be anywhere. After Steven told me about LP, I realized that’s what Gerry meant.”

No one said anything for a moment.

“Did Gerry tell you anything else? Anything at all that might be helpful?”

Her eyes grew distant for a moment. “Only that Ms. Goodman talked to her one more time after the call on the tape he gave me. He’d taped that one, too, but had left it someplace safe. He said he was going to bring it to me the next day. But he never did.”

“Wait,” Quinn said. “Did you say ‘talked to
her
’?”

“Since you couldn’t listen to the tape, you don’t know,” Jenny said, realizing what he was asking. “The killer Ms. Goodman hired is a woman.”

Suddenly, missing pieces began to fall into place in Quinn’s mind.

“What is it?” Orlando asked. She was staring at him, her brow knitted in concern.

“Tasha,” Quinn said.

“Who’s Tasha?” Jenny asked.

“Tasha Douglas?”

Jenny looked back at him, her face blank. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

Quinn had been played. Deceived from the very beginning. Tasha had been using him to find Jenny. It was only because of his own wariness that he hadn’t led her all the way to her target.

“Hold on. Does that mean—” Nate began.

“Yes.” Quinn cut him off.

“Who are you talking about?” Jenny asked.

“Not now,” Quinn said.

He was running everything through his mind, playing it back and forth, and analyzing and reanalyzing. Tasha would have stayed behind in Houston to see if he would show up again. She had played the innocent, the friend desperate to find out where Jenny was. All the while, she was trying to figure out Quinn’s involvement and, once she did, trying to get him to lead her to Markoff ’s girlfriend. It was no coincidence she’d been watching him when he had investigated Jenny’s apartment. She had never lost sight of him, he was sure of that now. She had wanted him to see her. It was just another step in building her alternate identity. And again, when he had found her waiting for him outside Guerrero’s office building, it had all been planned.

There had been no call from her brother about someone breaking into her home back in Texas. The trashed hotel room in D.C. had been faked. She could have easily had her men stage the room while Quinn was in talking with Blackmoore. And then, of course, there was Blackmoore himself. She would have also had her men play the old spy runner a visit to find out what he knew.