A Traitor's Loyalty: A Novel by Racey Ian C

Author:Racey, Ian C. [Racey, Ian C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ignition Books
Published: 2013-07-14T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XVI

HE REGRETTED taking the U-Bahn to see Maurice rather than driving there, as it meant he had to return to Ellie’s building to retrieve his car, but on this day of the Führer’s funeral procession he would never have been able to get near the Grand Avenue if he had gone in the car.

As he approached where the car sat parked along the curb, he reflexively glanced up at the concrete face of Ellie’s building. Her flat was round the far corner, so there was no possibility of seeing her watching for him from her window. The notion of her standing by the car, waiting for him, had flitted vaguely round the back of his mind, though, and he felt a mild pang when he saw that she was not there.

He hesitated as he approached, debating whether he should get in the car and drive off, or go upstairs instead. After only a brief moment he decided on the car. He stepped over to the door, unlocked it, opened it—and froze.

Both front seats had been slid back as far as they could go, so that someone could see if there was anything on the floor underneath them. The glove compartment door was hanging open, and the forged registrations from inside it were strewn on the front passenger seat.

The driver’s door had definitely been locked. Quinn glanced at the other three locks: both backseat doors were locked, but the front passenger door was not. He closed the driver’s door and went round to the other side of the car. The door was unlocked, but it had not been forced.

Someone had been in his car, and had had a key. It could only be MI6.

He locked both front doors and headed into Ellie’s building, taking the stairs three at a time as he sprinted up to her flat. He slowed as he neared her floor’s landing and drew his pistol.

Someone had forced her lock, and the door was hanging slightly ajar. He approached cautiously. It seemed quiet, and he could not see anyone in the slice of her living room visible through the half-open door. The place looked a mess, though.

He nudged the door open with his toe, just wide enough to let him slip through. It creaked, and he cringed, but no reaction came from inside. He took a few slow, catlike steps inside, pistol ready, being careful to check behind the front door as well.

The flat seemed deserted, but it was a tip. The intruders had pulled closets and drawers open, and their contents lay strewn across the floor in careless piles. They had overturned the furniture to check its undersides. The settee cushions had been slit open, their white, fibrous industrial stuffing lying in clumps on the floor.

He could hear the hiss of running water emanating from the bedroom. Slowly he picked his way across the living room to the bedroom doorway. The bedroom had received the same treatment: clothing from the closet and drawers scattered across the

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