The Discarded

by Brett Battles

  Abraham headed for the bedroom door.

  “Where are you going?” Winger asked.

  “To look around,” Abraham said. “I assume that’s all right.”

  He searched the rest of the house, carefully checking for anything that might have been left behind, but there was nothing else, so he headed out the French doors, intending to return to his car and get the hell out of there. As he stepped outside, he found Marguerite and Winger on the deck, leaning against the railing.

  “All done?” Winger asked.

  “Yeah,” Abraham said. “Uh, thanks, I guess, for…I don’t know. Whatever reason you were supposed to be here.”

  He headed for the stairs.

  “Mr. Delger, please. Not so fast,” Winger said.

  “I’ve got things to do,” Abraham said, not stopping. “So if you’ll excuse me—”

  “Actually, our instructions were to stick with you.”

  That stopped Abraham. He turned back around. “What? Why?”

  That’s when he realized Winger and Marguerite weren’t the only ones who’d been waiting on the deck. There were two others near the house.

  “Because that’s what I told them to do,” Orlando said.

  CHAPTER 11

  DALLAS, TEXAS

  THE DALLAS AREA was experiencing a cold snap. According to the weather forecast, there was a small chance of snow in the next forty-eight hours.

  Nate didn’t hate the cold like Quinn did, but he didn’t like when it interfered with his work. In preplanning his and Daeng’s current assignment, he had decided on a course that involved a remote burial and the use of their standard chemical mix that would reduce a body to sludge before anyone could discover the grave and dig up the remains.

  Unfortunately, the cold was causing two problems. The lesser issue was the ground freezing, making it harder to dig out a final resting place. The larger one concerned the chemical stew itself. It didn’t work very well when used at temperatures under forty degrees. The projected average Dallas temperature for the next seven days was thirty-one degrees. And tomorrow evening, the night of the op, the temperature was predicted to dip to as low as nineteen degrees, throwing Nate’s intended strategy out the window.

  “May I make a suggestion?” Daeng asked.

  “By all means,” Nate told him.

  They were in Nate’s hotel room and had just confirmed the latest weather data.

  “It’s very simple. In the future we don’t take work so far from a large body of water we can use to dump the remains.”

  “Funny,” Nate said, not laughing. “But I’m not worried about the future at the moment. I’m worried about what we do now.”

  “Naturally,” Daeng said. “That’s why I’m thinking of the bigger picture.”

  “You do realize you’re not helping, right?”

  “That is a matter of perspective.”

  “And you realize saying that also doesn’t help?”

  “What? Is my suggestion not a good one?”

  “Your suggestion is impractical in the ‘bigger picture’ and unhelpful in the here and now.”

  “But you already know what we’re going to do in the here and now.”

  “Uh, no, I don’t. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  “You know it. You just don’t realize it yet.”

  “That philosophical crap is going to eventually result in either Quinn or me killing you. You’ve been warned.”

  “If it is my time to go, then so be it. I will gladly accept whatever is—”

  “Oh, for the love of God!”

  Daeng tried to hold a straight face, but only lasted a few seconds before he began to laugh. Nate frowned, but soon joined in. When they finally calmed down, they were both out of breath and smiling.

  “Fine,” Nate said. “Basement protocol.”

  “See, I told you that you already knew what to do.”

  The basement protocol was nearly the same as the grave option Nate had originally planned. The only difference was the use of a basement floor, typically inside a business facility, and preferably a new one where concrete hadn’t been poured but soon would be. While basements might be cool, they seldom ever dipped below forty degrees. It wasn’t Nate’s favorite option. He thought the idea of burying a corpse underneath a building people would be spending their days in was kind of creepy.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t look like they had a choice.

  “Since you’re obviously the smarter of the two of us tonight,” Nate said, “I’m going to let you find our location.”

  “That honor should go to you,” Daeng said.

  “Uh-uh. You’re not talking your way out of this one.”

  “But—”

  Nate held up a hand. “It’s all you, brother.” He stood up and patted Daeng on the back. “I’m sure there are plenty of new buildings going up not too far away.”

  Before Daeng could argue again, Nate walked into the suite’s bedroom and shut the door. He checked the time and added seven hours. Early, but not too early.

  He pulled out his phone, and a few seconds later, Liz’s sleepy voice traveled under the Atlantic Ocean and halfway across North America before slipping into his ear. “Hello?”

  “Don’t you have class this morning?”

  “Hi,” she said, a smile in her voice. “My early class got canceled so I don’t have anything until ten.”

  After missing most of her classes in the fall due to what happened on Isla de Cervantes and the events that sprang from it, Quinn’s sister had finally returned to Paris to continue work on her master’s degree in art history at the Sorbonne.

  “Sorry,” Nate said. “I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

  “No. Don’t you dare hang up yet.”

  “At least tell me you slept well.”

  “I dreamt about you so it wasn’t too bad, I guess.”

  “Look out your window. What’s it like there today?”

  He heard the covers of her bed move. “Wet and cold. How about there?”

  “Cold and dry.”

  “In L.A.?”

  “Texas.”

  “Work?”

  “Well, I didn’t come here to watch the Cowboys play.”

  “Are you being careful?”

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Think harder.”

  The line went quiet for a moment.

  “I miss you,” she said.

  “What, with all those French guys around? I doubt it.”

  “Don’t joke. I do. I mean, these French guys are fine for sex and all, but it’s always you I think about.”

  “Do I need to come over there?”

  “Absolutely.”

  A beat. “I miss you, too,” he said. “Every minute.”

  “Come see me.”

  “What about the French guys?”

  “They’ll understand.”

  __________

  MISSISSIPPI

  “PLEASE TELL ME you realize how dumb coming here on your own was,” Orlando said.

  They had taken rooms at a motel in Pascagoula, just south of Moss Point. While Marguerite and Winger had gone off to get some sleep, Quinn and Orlando had hauled Abraham into their room.

  “Apparently I didn’t come here on my own,” Abraham told her.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m not an amateur,” he shot back. “I’ve done much more dangerous things on my own. This was nothing.”

  “Really?” Orlando said. “And when was the last time—”

  Taking a page out of Orlando’s book, Quinn put a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. He said to Abraham, “Why don’t you tell us what you expected to find here?”

  “What I expected to find is none of your business. If I’d known you were going to meddle, I would have never called in the first place.”

  Quinn could feel Orlando tense again under his palm, so he squeezed a little, hoping it would be enough to keep her in check.

 
; “We’re not meddling,” he said. “We’re concerned, that’s all. You’ve been out of the field for a while now, and let’s face it, you’re not exactly young anymore.”

  “Are you trying to win points here?” Abraham asked.

  “I’m trying to have an honest conversation.”

  Abraham grunted derisively.

  “If you don’t want our help,” Quinn said, “we understand. But before you make that decision, think first. Who better to share what’s going on with than us? We can help you.”

  Quinn waited, hoping Abraham would realize he was right, but the older man kept his mouth shut.

  Orlando fidgeted in her seat. Quinn squeezed again and received a quick sideways glare.

  “Could you at least give us some idea of what this is about?” Quinn asked Abraham. “That would ease our concerns. Did you hire on for a project?”

  Abraham hesitated. “I told you before it’s a favor. It’s personal.”

  “Okay. Still doesn’t mean you need to take it all on yourself.”

  Abraham sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “Thank you for your concern, but I don’t need any help.” He headed across the room.

  Quinn jumped up. “Wait. We’re your friends, Abraham. Helping is what friends do.”

  Pausing at the door, Abraham said, “I realize that. As your friend, I’m telling you, please, leave me alone.”

  He pulled the door open and left.

  “Wow,” Orlando said as she rose to her feet. “Nice job.”

  “Yeah, well, if you’d kept it up, he would have left even sooner.”

  She hurried over to the dresser where she’d left her backpack, unzipped one of the sections, and began rummaging through it. A few seconds later, she pulled out a small plastic box and removed something from inside. She threw the box back in the bag and ran to the door.

  “Where are you going?” Quinn asked, heading after her.

  “No. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  With that, she was out the door and gone.

  __________

  ABRAHAM WAS IN the parking lot, his key fob in hand, when he heard footsteps racing out of the hotel.

  Without looking back, he unlocked the door of his rental car.

  “Abraham,” Orlando called from behind him.

  He stopped, one hand on the door, then turned. “I told you, I don’t need any help.”

  “I know,” she said, slowing as she reached him. “I…I didn’t want to leave things like that. Look, I’m sorry. I can’t help but worry about you.”

  He relaxed a little. “You don’t have to worry about me. You know that. I’ve always been able to take care of myself.”

  “Yeah, you have. It’s just hard for me to turn off.”

  He touched her arm and smiled. “Orlando, always taking care of everyone else. I’ll be fine. There is nothing to worry about.”

  She looked him in the eye, as if trying to read his soul. “You promise?”

  “I promise,” he lied.

  Her grin was one of resignation. She nodded and put her arms around him. “Whatever you’re doing, just be careful, okay?”

  “Always,” he said, holding her tight.

  “And if you need anything—anything—call me. I’ll do what I can, and I won’t ask any more questions.”

  As much as he would’ve liked to believe that, he knew that given the opportunity, she wouldn’t be able to keep herself from getting involved. But this was his mess, and he didn’t want anyone else put in danger because of him.

  “I appreciate that,” he said.

  She pulled back enough so that she could look at him, her hands clasping his shoulders. “But you’re not going to, are you?”

  He let his smile be his answer.

  “Promise me you’ll at least let me know when everything’s all right,” she said, grabbing the collar of his suit coat on either side of his neck and giving it a gentle tug.

  “I promise,” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed as she studied him some more, then she finally let go of his jacket and stepped back.

  “So where are you going now?” she asked.

  “Ha. Nice try,” he said. He opened the door, climbed in, and looked back at her. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Now I know you’re lying,” she said.

  He laughed as he pulled the door closed and started the car.

  __________

  QUINN WAS SURFING through the limited options on the TV, trying to occupy his mind, when Orlando rushed back in.

  “Is he gone?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, heading straight for her backpack.

  This time, she opened the large rear section and removed her laptop. Sitting at the desk, she turned the computer on and hacked into the hotel’s wireless system.

  Quinn moved in behind her. On the screen was a map of Pascagoula, with a green glowing blip moving steadily away from their location.

  “You tagged him,” he said.

  “Of course I did,” Orlando replied.

  “He’ll find it.”

  “Maybe. But he hasn’t yet.” She looked back at him. “You think Marguerite and Winger are up for a little tailing job?”

  “I’ll let you wake them up and ask.”

  CHAPTER 12

  LOUISIANA

  BECKER HAD NOT left DC as cleanly as he’d thought. Gloria and her team, after finally connecting his name to the person who had been looking into Operation Overtake, had rushed to his home after learning he’d not gone to work. Unfortunately, he was gone by then.

  Gloria figured he must’ve been making a run for it, so she ordered facial recognition checks to be done at all area airports and train stations. They got a hit at Dulles, but weren’t able to determine he was traveling under the name Charles Young until after his plane had left. That led them to the Tampa flight, and then to a reservation at the Azure Waves Hotel.

  A McCrillis company jet rushed Gloria and her men to Florida, where, after reaching the Azure Waves, she had played the part of the drunk riding up the elevator until it was time to slip the muzzle of her gun into Becker’s side. After they stepped into his room, she’d administered a sedative via syringe and guided him into a chair as he lost consciousness. Ten minutes later he was transported down to the ambulance, and Gloria and her team were on the road.

  A textbook acquisition.

  She had hoped their stay at the Moss Point house would last longer than eighteen hours. But the fact that someone was looking for Becker meant relocation had to come sooner than planned.

  She was prepared, though. On the flight from DC, she had arranged for the use of half a dozen places throughout the southeast, in anticipation of a situation such as this.

  Their new location was a farm twenty miles west of Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

  A corporation controlled the land around the place, while the old farmhouse and barn and the few acres immediately surrounding them were still in private hands. As with many places like it, after the owner passed away, the heirs had decided to sell it. The farmhouse had been on the market for nearly six months, so it had been easy to obtain as another short-term rental.

  Upon arrival, they put Becker in a small bedroom at the end of the hall. It was so small that it had barely enough space for the gurney, a chair, and the table where Gloria left the bag of tools she would use to continue extracting information from Becker.

  In the limited time they’d had back in Mississippi, she had tried to get Becker to talk by having one of her men rough him up. Usually, a physical approach was all that was needed for those who had never been trained to withstand interrogation. Becker, however, proved to be more stubborn than she’d expected, and ended up passing out without divulging anything.

  Anxious to get him to talk, and knowing they would soon need to leave Moss Point, she had decided to forgo another beating and try the drug route. But instead of turning him into a blathering idiot like it should have, the drug, combined with his deteriorating phy
sical condition, plunged him into a deep state of unconsciousness he’d remained in throughout the drive to Louisiana and the transfer to his new room.

  Once her men were on watch around the farm, she returned to Becker’s room, not wanting to delay the interrogation any longer. She wasn’t surprised to find his eyes were still closed, and his breathing as steady and deep as it had been when they brought him in.

  But enough was enough.

  “Mr. Becker,” she said, slapping his face. “Mr. Becker, time to wake up.” When he didn’t respond, she slapped him again. “Mr. Becker, open your eyes.”

  Nothing.

  Very well, then. She walked over to the table and opened her bag. From inside, she removed two boxes, one that contained her syringes, and another that contained her drugs. She selected a stimulant, drew the appropriate dose into the syringe, and returned to the bed.

  “Last chance,” she said.

  No movement.

  She stuck the needle into his arm and depressed the plunger. Though his appearance remained unchanged, she knew it would be only a matter of minutes before he was wide awake.

  She set the empty syringe on the table and decided to visit the toilet while she waited, to make sure nothing interfered with her work once she got started.

  __________

  ELI HAD WOKEN as the vehicle he was in pulled to a stop. Hoping to stave off another beating for as long as he could, he’d kept his eyes closed and his breathing slow and deep so no one would know he’d regained consciousness.

  Doors were opened and fresh air rushed inside as his abductors climbed out. A few minutes passed before another door opened and his gurney jerked left and right before being pulled outside. As his bed rolled over rough ground, he heard the men around him tell each other to “watch it” and “go left” and “not so fast.” Finally, the rolling smoothed out, and Eli knew from the echo they’d entered a building.

  When the gurney stopped, he heard the others walk off and a door shut. Then silence.

  He remained motionless for several minutes before he allowed himself to crack open an eyelid. He was in a small room, with cream-colored walls and a window covered by linen curtains. The door was on the other side, by the foot of the bed. He could see the edge of a table in that direction, too, and a black, thick-sided duffel bag sitting on top of it.