The Deceived by Brett Battles Page B

message? The photos I sent you?”
    “The photos are running through the system. And I’m still nowhere with the message.”
    “You’re just full of useful information, aren’t you?”
    “I’m doing this by myself, you know,” Nate said. “I did ask for help, but if you recall, you said no.”
    “Relax, Nate. Do the check on Tasha Laver first, then go back to decoding.”
    “Sure. Fine. Whatever.”
    Quinn called Orlando next, but was routed straight to her voice mail. He left a quick message, then hung up.
    He rubbed his hands across his face, pulling the skin tight against his cheeks and jaw, then slipped his fingers up to his temples and began rubbing up and down. A low-grade headache had settled in like a cloud, hovering just below his skull but focused in no particular place.
    Part of it was due to his lack of sleep, he knew that. The hour-and-a-half nap he’d been able to grab on the plane had not been enough. But the bigger part, the thrust that was pounding hardest, was due to Markoff and Jenny. The uncertainty, the anger, the wanting to be able to do more.
    He stretched out on the bed, thinking at first that if he just closed his eyes for a few moments he might be able to recharge a little. But before a minute had passed, he was deep asleep.

CHAPTER

    A SHRILL RING JOLTED QUINN AWAKE. HE OPENED HIS
    eyes and pushed himself up. The room was dark, lit only by faint light filtering in through the window. Outside, night had descended over the city.
    He looked to his left. His new phone was on the bed next to him, its ring not one he was accustomed to. He picked it up and thumbed the screen to disable the security lock.
    “Hello?” he said.
    “Quinn?”
    Still a little disoriented, it took Quinn an extra second to recognize Peter’s voice.
    “Are you there?” Peter asked.
    “I’m here. Sorry.”
    “Is this a bad time?”
    “Hold on, okay?” Quinn said. “Just give me a second.”
    Quinn set the phone back on the bed, then walked into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face.
    He looked at his watch—9:23 p.m. It had been over six hours since he had returned to the room that afternoon. Sleeping that long had not been part of his plan. He frowned in self-annoyance as he
    walked back into the bedroom and picked up the phone.
    “I’m back.”
    “You all right?” Peter asked.
    “I’m fine,” Quinn said. “You have something for me?”
    “Something, yes. But not an answer.”
    Quinn nodded to himself. He’d figured as much. His request of Peter was to see if he could find out what Markoff had been up to. Since Markoff had once been CIA, it was possible Peter could pull a few strings and see if anyone at the agency knew anything about their former employee’s recent activities. What he hadn’t told Peter was that Markoff was dead. No sense setting that alarm off yet. “What did you get?”
    “Word is no one’s talked to Markoff in weeks. He just kind of disappeared. No one seems worried, though. He’s retired. Maybe he went on a vacation.”
    Quinn frowned. “Disappeared and no one knows where?”
    “Maybe he has other friends he’s told.”
    With the exception of Jenny, Quinn didn’t think Markoff had any other friends outside of the business. “You think he’s taken a freelance job?”
    “Perhaps, but I couldn’t turn anything up,” Peter said. “What makes you think he’s not sitting on a beach somewhere relaxing?”
    “Okay,” Quinn said, making no attempt to answer the question. “Thanks.”
    “Don’t forget our deal,” Peter said.
    Quinn hung up.
    The taxi followed the Potomac River north, staying on the Virginia side until the Key Bridge took them into Georgetown. The address Steiner had given Quinn for Jenny’s D.C. home was on one of the numbered streets that ran north and south throughout the city. Quinn had the driver drop him off two blocks away on M Street.
    The night was pleasant, no real need for a jacket, but Quinn wore one anyway. It was thin,