Free The Deceived by Brett Battles Page A

him. Which meant there was a good chance watchers were stationed at the airports, looking for him. There was no way to know for sure, so it was best to play it safe.
    Quinn took the I-10 heading east toward Louisiana. The after-midnight crowd was mainly big rigs hauling God knows what into the heart of the South. Scattered among them were the occasional sedans, almost all solo drivers.
    The night was dark, moonless. Quinn could make out some vegetation along the side of the road, but it was all silhouettes, no real definition to anything.
    Just before Beaumont, he exited the interstate and stopped at a twenty-four-hour gas station. He filled up the Lexus and grabbed a large cup of coffee inside.
    “Pay phone?” he asked the attendant. The man looked at him a little funny at first. “Oh ...um... out
    side, I think. Back near the bathrooms. If it’s still there.” “Thanks,” Quinn said. He walked back to his car, then pulled around to where the phone
    was supposed to be. Turned out the attendant’s memory was pretty good. The phone was there, though it didn’t look as if it had been used in a while.
    Quinn donned the leather gloves again, then grabbed one of the napkins he’d picked up with the coffee and got out of his car. He gave the phone a quick wipe-down, removing a layer of dust, before he put it to his ear. He then used a calling card he kept in his wallet for just such emergencies to call Nate.
    “Hello?” Nate’s voice was quick, abrupt. “It’s me,” Quinn said. “How are you?” “Decent enough.” The code again, only this time telling Nate he
    was okay, but on an unsecured line.
    He could hear Nate exhale on the other end. “Thank God. It sounded...” He paused, obviously trying to choose the correct word. “Abrupt.”
    “It was,” Quinn said. “I’ll tell you about it later.” “Are you coming back?” “No. Not yet. I’ll check in tomorrow. No specific time. If you have
    anything for me, e-mail is best for now.” “Wait,” Nate said, no doubt sensing Quinn was about to hang up.
    “Orlando called.” “What? Why?” Quinn asked. “She’s visiting her aunt and wants to talk to you.” Quinn was silent for a moment. Visiting her aunt would mean she
    was in San Francisco. Odd that she hadn’t mentioned coming to California the last time they talked. That wasn’t like her. Even though they both worked in the world of secrets, they had few between them. Orlando lived in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, with her son Garrett, so a trip to the States was not something she would have done on a whim.
    “Did she say what she wanted?” Quinn asked.
    “No. Just to call her. She sounded... distracted.”
    “Distracted?”
    “I don’t know. Just not herself. Maybe she’s jetlagged and just wants to say hi.”
    “That’s it?”
    “That’s it.”
    Quinn frowned, then said, “I can’t call her right now.”
    “What if she calls again?”
    “Tell her I’ll get ahold of her as soon as I can,” Quinn said.
    Quinn was able to get on an early morning plane out of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. It wasn’t a direct flight, so when he arrived at Reagan National Airport it was just after 11:30 a.m. eastern time. He made a quick local phone call, then walked across the skyway toward baggage claim and caught the Metro Blue Line north one stop to Crystal City. There he walked down the tunnel to the Crystal City Marriott and checked in to a room. Once he’d taken a quick shower and dressed in jeans and a green short-sleeve shirt, he went back downstairs and caught a taxi into the city.
    After Houston, the temperature and humidity in Washington were almost bearable. Quinn guessed it was taking a whole minute longer for his shirt to soak through with sweat.
    As his cab was passing the Jefferson Memorial, Quinn leaned forward. “Drop me off at the Department of Agriculture,” he said.
    “Not the convention center?” the cabby asked. It was the destination Quinn had given him when he got