“What should I call you?”
Another pause. “Ann.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“Well, Ann, you’re doing fine so far. You keep cooperating and you’ll be okay.”
When they reached the twenty-fourth floor, Quinn led her down the hall and around the corner to room 2467.
“This is it,” he said. He could feel her tense again. “Relax. If you cooperate like you said you would, then I promise I won’t hurt you. And I always keep my promises.”
He rapped twice on the door. A second later Nate opened it and moved to the side so they could enter.
Quinn pointed at the bed. “Why don’t you sit there?” he said.
She walked over to the bed, but didn’t sit down.
“You’ll be more comfortable,” Quinn told her.
“I prefer to stand,” she replied.
He stared at her until she looked away. A moment later she sat.
Quinn placed her briefcase on the desk. It was the kind that had combination locks on each hasp. He pushed the release tabs, but the hinges didn’t move.
“What’s the combo?” he asked.
“You don’t need to open it,” she said. “There’s nothing important inside.”
“What’s the combo?”
Her lips pressed together for a moment, then she said, “Zero-six-one.”
“For both sides?”
“Yes.”
He moved the case onto the bed beside her. “Open it.”
If the briefcase was booby-trapped, she would either disarm it before opening the case or not open the case at all. And if she didn’t know it, she’d soon find out.
She dialed in the combo and pushed on the tabs. With a click each latch popped open.
Quinn put the case back on the desk. “Check it,” he said to Nate.
He then pulled out the cell phone the woman had given him. The call logs were empty. As was the contact list. There were no text messages, sent or received, and no pictures had been taken. Either she’d been deleting things as she was going along, or the phones had yet to be used.
He slipped it back into his pocket.
“Why were you following me?” he asked.
“I wasn’t following you,” she said.
“Can I give you a piece of advice?”
She looked at him.
“Remember what I said about cooperating.” He smiled. “Why were you following me?”
A pause, then, “I made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“I should have said no.” The words were whispered, more to herself than to him.
Quinn felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Here,” Nate said, handing him a small booklet with a red cover, one very familiar to Quinn. In fact, he had a couple of them himself. A British passport.
He opened it to the information page. It had been issued a year earlier. The picture inside was of the woman sitting on the bed in front of him. The name listed was Annabel Taplin.
“Annabel or Ann?” he asked.
She looked at him, then away. “Annabel.”
The corner of his mouth turned up as he looked back at the booklet. Her birth date put her age at thirty-two. Her birthplace was listed as Waltham Abbey. He checked for arrival and departure stamps. She’d made two round-trips from London to New York. First in May, and a second in August. Each time she stayed for less than two weeks before returning to the U.K. The final stamp denoted entry into the United States the previous evening.
“You’ll want to see this, too,” Nate said.
He gave Quinn a business card.
WRIGHT BAINS SECURITIES
Annabel Taplin
Consultant
There was an address in London and a phone number.
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.”