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.”
Chapter 15
“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?”
“Subway,” Quinn said. If they had picked up a tail, whomever it was would be easier to spot below ground than above.
Once inside they made their way through the labyrinth of Grand Central Terminal to the subway, then chose the uptown 4 train. As they stepped onto the platform, a train was just pulling in.
Nate raised an eyebrow, asking whether they should take it or wait for the next.
“This one,” Quinn said. “We’ll go two stops and get off.”
They spent the next forty minutes hopping trains, changing lines, and checking their back trail to make sure they were alone. When Quinn was satisfied, they resurfaced at 110th Street and began walking west.
At Columbus they turned south, walked on for a block, then stopped. Quinn scanned the neighborhood. This will work, he thought. There was little chance anyone would look for them in this part of town.
He pulled out his phone and called the Grand Hyatt first.
“Grand Hyatt Hotel, how may I direct your call?”
“I’m in 2465, and there’s a terrible smell coming from next door, room 2467. Can you send someone up to check it out?”
“Absolutely, sir. We’ll get someone up there right away.”
Quinn clicked off, then called Wills. “There’s a restaurant on Columbus,” he said, randomly choosing a place on the opposite side of the street. “It’s called Crêpes on Columbus, just south of 109th. Be there in thirty minutes.”
He didn’t wait for a reply.
As Quinn and Nate entered the restaurant, a tall man with dark hair lightly sprinkled with gray greeted them with a warm welcome and a large smile.
“Just the two of you?” he asked.
“Three,” Quinn said. “A friend will be here in a bit.”
The man started to lead them toward a table near the front, but Quinn stopped him.
“How about that one,” he said, pointing at one near the rear wall.
“Sure,” the man said. “Wherever you’d like.”
“Thanks.”
The man showed Quinn and Nate to the table, then handed them menus. “Can I bring you anything to drink?”
“Water,” Quinn said.
“Me too,” Nate said.
“You got it,” the man said. “My name’s Steve. If you need anything, just let me know.”
“Thanks,” Quinn said.
Twenty minutes later, as Quinn was working his way through a tiger shrimp and spinach crêpe, the restaurant door opened.
“Is it him?” Nate asked, his eyes on his own plate.
“Yes,” Quinn said.
Quinn had met David Wills in person twice in the past, once in London for a meet-and-greet five months earlier, and a second time in Chicago on a brief for another project. The Englishman was almost six feet tall and thin. His hair was a short but shaggy, fifty-fifty mix of gray and dark blond. Like on the two previous occasions, Wills was wearing his uniform — a dark suit, colored shirt, and expensive tie.
The Englishman scanned the dining area, then raised his hand a few inches when he saw Quinn.
“Welcome,” Steve said from behind the counter. “I’ll be right with you.”
“He’s with us,” Quinn said.
“Great,” Steve said. “I’ll bring over a menu in a moment.”
Wills walked over and sat down across from Quinn, in the chair next to Nate.
“Nothing like a little excitement to get the day going, is there?” he said.
“I prefer dull,” Quinn said.
Wills looked at Nate.
“My colleague,” Quinn said.
“I assumed as much. Does he have a name?”
“Yes,” Quinn said.
When Quinn offered no more, Wills frowned, but said, “The number you gave me went straight to voicemail. A beep and that was it.”
“Could you trace it?”
“Still working on that,” Wills said. “But I was able to confirm that a woman by the name of Annabel Taplin, fitting the description you gave me, does indeed work for Wright Bains.”