“Absolutely.”
“There was something else,” Quinn said. “Mercer was there, too. He was getting into a cab on the street near where Wills’s man had been shot.”
“Mercer? The guy from Maine?”
“According to Wills, Mercer was working directly for him. He’d also been on the Los Angeles gig. He must have been part of Wills’s protection.”
“Didn’t do a very good job,” she said.
“No, he didn’t.”
She mulled it over, then said, “What about the woman? You sure you lost her? No chance she followed you here?”
Quinn frowned. It was a question he’d often asked, usually of Nate. “No one followed me.”
“Let’s step back. Why were you meeting with Wills in the first place?”
There was so much she’d missed while she’d been getting Quinn’s mom settled, then flying to Europe. Quinn explained to her what had happened in Paris, and about the photo Julien had shown him that had to have been taken by Annabel Taplin.
“That’s why I came to London,” he said. “Last night I arranged a face-to-face with Wills for this morning so I could ask for his help. I thought he could use his contacts to get me in touch with the right people at MI6. We were supposed to meet at the park.”
“Do you think you were a target, too?”
“No. He was killed several minutes before the time we’d agreed to meet.”
“The Russian woman? You think she was the one who wanted him dead?”
“She tried to stop the hit. Almost succeeded, too. She seemed even more upset with Wills’s death than I was.”
Orlando’s brow wrinkled in the way it did when she was trying to figure something out. But when she let out an exasperated expulsion of air, Quinn knew she had no more answers than he did.
“Mom emailed me,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I take it everything went well.”
“It did,” she said. “She took to Steven right away. I think the only thing we have to worry about is if he eats so much he’s too lethargic to notice anything.”
Quinn surprised himself by laughing a little. “I know my mother. That’s actually a possibility. Larson and Nolan?”
“They’re in position outside the farm, ready to move if your mom goes out. They’re taking shifts so that the house is watched around the clock.”
“Thank you,” he said. The words seemed inadequate.
She looked at him for a moment, smiling, then she pulled out her computer and booted it up. “I take it Nate and Julien are keeping a watch on Liz’s place?”
“Better than that. Nate’s actually staying with her.”
“Staying with her?”
“I stepped out of the room for a few minutes, and by the time I came back, he had her asking him if he wanted to sleep on her couch.”
“Really?” she said, her eyebrow raised.
“Really.”
“Good for him. Told you he’s almost ready.”
“He is.”
She gave Quinn a mischievous smile. “What if he doesn’t stay on the couch?”
“That is not an option.”
“Why not? They’re close enough in age, and your sister’s cute, and smart, too. What’s she studying again?”
“I don’t even want to think about this.”
“Art history, wasn’t it? Didn’t Nate study history in school? Seems like there’d be some common ground there.”
“Stop it,” Quinn said.
“You’re no fun,” she said, scowling.
Her computer chimed. She looked down at her screen, then clicked on something.
“It’s a message from Romy,” she said. Romy specialized in information gathering and worked out of Eastern Europe. “She says someone’s been asking about you.”
“The same person who was looking into my background?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. It was a direct inquiry, asking about you by name.” Orlando looked up. “She says the guy doing the asking is a Russian based out of Moscow.”
“He have a name?”
“Goes by Stepka.”
“Never heard of him. You?”
“No.”
“He’s in Moscow now?”
“Apparently.”
“Do we have someone there who can pay him a visit?”
“I think I can arrange that.”
“Do it. And if he—” His phone vibrated, stopping him.
But there was no name on his display, only BLOCKED. He held it out to Orlando.
“I thought the software update you gave me was supposed to decode blocked numbers.”
“It is.” She frowned. “Give it to me.”
He handed her the phone. Without punching the Accept button, she accessed the virtual keypad and began typing. When the vibrating ceased, she looked up. “The program should have been able to figure it out.”
“Maybe you need to start thinking about writing an update.”
“Go to hell,” she said, but Quinn knew as soon as she had a little free time, updating was exactly what she’d do.
As Orlando handed the phone back to him, it buzzed again, indicating a voice message. Quinn pushed the button to play the message, and switched it to speaker so they could both hear.
Nothing at first, then a voice: male, older, with an accent that seemed almost English, but not quite. “I will call you back in ten minutes. Please do answer your phone.”
Quinn played the message again.
“Do you recognize him?” Orlando asked.
“No.”
She then held out her hand. “Give it to me again.”
As she began scrolling through different displays, Quinn asked, “What are you doing?”
She frowned at him. “The software I installed, which you’ve already pointed out needs an update, includes the ability to record both sides of a conversation. I just haven’t activated it yet.”
“And why not?”
“We talk a lot. The last thing I need is for you to record one of our conversations, then throw something I say back in my face.” She tapped the screen one more time, then sat back. “Okay, it’s ready.”
“Does your phone have this capability?”
“Of course.”
“And it’s active, I assume.” She smiled.
He took the phone from her. “I want you to keep this function active on my phone.”
“We’ll see.”
Precisely ten minutes after the first call, Quinn’s phone began to vibrate again.
“Do I need to do anything?” Quinn asked.
“Just hit Accept. It records automatically.”
Quinn did as she instructed, then raised the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Is this Mr. Quinn?” It was the same voice from the message.
“Who is this?”
“What are your plans in regards to the project you are doing for David Wills?”
Quinn paused. “I don’t know any David Wills.”
Orlando looked at him, the brow over her left eye arched.
“We both know that’s not true,” the caller said. “You have five seconds to tell me who you are, or I’m hanging up.”
Nothing for three seconds, then, “Have you read A Burnt-Out Case lately?”
Quinn said nothing. He also didn’t hang up.
Some organizations created code phrases for when the legitimacy of a third party needed to be established. A Burnt-Out Case was the one given to Quinn by Wills when they first started working together.
“Do I have your attention now?” the man asked.
“Who are you?” Quinn said.
“You can call me Mr. Smith. The job you are doing for David Wills is actually for me. I’m his client.”
“Hang on for a moment,” Quinn said. He punched the Hold key and looked at Orlando. “It’s the client. The one with the body in the wall.”