The Enraged

by Brett Battles

“Peter always kept these files close. They’re all jobs where something went wrong. Someone died or was severely injured, compromising the mission. He said they were to remind him of his failures so that he wouldn’t repeat them.”

  “How far back do they go?”

  “Seventeen years.”

  “Seventeen? That’s a long time. I know the Office had a pretty good track record, but there must’ve been more than just seven failures.”

  “A lot more. But these were the ones he said stuck with him the most.” She looked at the files. “There used to be eight, though.”

  “One’s missing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you know what it is?”

  Misty hesitated, obviously not wanting to answer.

  “Misty. If it’s important, we need to know.”

  “It’s not important. It was…personal. Not a job like these.” She fell silent for a second. “It was letters from his wife, and a few pictures. That’s all.” Each word seemed to cause her pain, like she was divulging a secret she had no right to share. “I’m sure after he brought everything home from the Office, he just kept it someplace else. There would have been no reason to store it with the job files at that point. I was used to seeing them all together, that’s all.”

  Quinn felt embarrassed for forcing her to share a glimpse into Peter’s personal life, but he had to ask, “Why would that be among his failure files?”

  She seemed lost in a memory for a moment. “He always thought Miranda deserved more than he gave her, and after she died, he never had the chance to do better.” She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead, looking more tired than ever.

  Quinn put a hand on her back and gently rubbed her shoulder. “It’s been a full day. Maybe it’s time to get some rest.”

  She nodded and opened her eyes. “Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.” Rising out of the chair, she started to put the files back in the bag. “I’m sorry I haven’t been more help.”

  Quinn barely heard the last part. There was something about the files that caught in his mind, pulling at a memory, a thought.

  Once Misty stuffed the last one in, she turned for the stairs. “Good night.”

  She was nearly across the room when Quinn said, “Hold on.”

  The files. It had been one of the Office’s job files that helped Quinn figure out what had happened to Peter, Nate, and the others Romero kidnapped. Misty had found the information for him. Only it hadn’t been a physical file, but a digital one. She had found it in…

  “The Office archive,” he said. “You accessed it from Peter’s place?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not located there.”

  “Where is it?”

  Again, she looked uncomfortable, the secrets she’d promised to keep fighting against desire to help. “It’s…it’s hidden in—” She stopped and gaped at him. “My God. You’re thinking that’s it, aren’t you? It didn’t even dawn on me.”

  “I’m not saying that’s it. I’m just saying that we should at least see if Peter’s message works on it.” He stood up. “Maybe there’s a computer here. We can check right—”

  “We can’t,” she said. “Peter was the only one who could log on remotely.”

  “So we have to go where it’s stored?”

  “Yes. But they won’t be open until the morning.”

  Quinn’s brows furrowed. “Open? Where did Peter store it?”

  “Library of Congress.”

  CHAPTER 9

  ISLA DE CERVANTES

  NATE WOKE IN a sweat. It wasn’t the first time. In fact, since getting off Duran Island, he seemed to always wake up drenched.

  It was his dream, the same one every night. He was back on the island, racing through the jungle, looking for a way out of the tangled mess. But the vines and bushes and trees seemed to go on forever, trapping him more times than not, and twisting around his arms and legs to keep him from moving onward.

  He would yank and rip at the plants holding him in place. Sometimes he would get an arm free or even a leg, but invariably he would wake up with a start, not having been able to break away.

  In the real world, the world of the hospital room where he slept, his sheets would be soiled from his imaginary flight, the top one often pushed to the foot of the bed, or wrapped around his waist or legs.

  Usually, he’d find Liz sleeping in the chair a few feet away, unaware of his ordeal due to her own exhaustion, but even in the semi-darkness he could see tonight the chair was empty.

  Careful not to pull too much at the welts across his back, he turned so he could check the clock on the nightstand.

  Eleven seventeen p.m.

  Liz should have been there. She was always in the room by ten at the latest.

  He glanced at the bathroom, thinking maybe she was using the toilet, but the door was open and the room beyond was even darker than the one he was in.

  Where was she?

  His condition was not one that required being hooked up to an IV or a pulse monitor or an oxygen tube, which was good, given how active he’d become in his sleep. Surely he would have ripped any needle right out of his arm the very first night. He swung out of bed and hopped over to the closet. As he’d hoped, his prosthetic leg was inside. Once it was fitted in place, he went over to the door and pulled it open.

  Light from the hallway rushed in. He blinked until his eyes adjusted to the brightness, and then looked both ways, wondering where Liz might have gone. The only person he saw was one of the night nurses, sitting at a station down the hall, her gaze focused on her desk.

  He headed over. Though he wasn’t trying to be quiet, she didn’t hear him until he was only a few feet away. She jerked up, one hand clutching her chest, as the other accidentally brushed the book she’d been reading onto her lap.

  “I’m sorry,” Nate said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “You shouldn’t be up,” she said. Like all the medical staff he’d come in contact with, she spoke to him in English.

  “I’m looking for my friend. The woman?”

  “Señorita Liz?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  The nurse smiled. “She is sitting with your other friend.”

  “Which other friend?”

  “Woman.”

  “Orlando.”

  The nurse clearly hadn’t heard that name before.

  “Which room?” he asked.

  “ICU.”

  “Can you take me there?”

  She hesitated, but said, “Follow me.”

  The intensive care unit was on the other side of the hospital, in a wing that had been divided into six private rooms off a central hallway. At the head of the hallway was a desk manned by another nurse. She looked surprised to see Nate and his escort.

  The two women spoke in hushed Spanish for several seconds. When they were done, the one at the desk stood up.

  “She will show you to your friend,” the first nurse said. “I have to return to my desk.”

  “Gracias,” Nate said.

  She smiled. “De nada.” Then her face turned serious as she pointed at him. “Don’t stay long. You need rest.”

  The new nurse led him down the hallway to the last room on the left, nodded at the closed door, and, without a word, headed back the way they’d come. Nate quietly opened the door, not wanting to wake Orlando if she was sleeping.

  Orlando’s room was much more elaborate than his. Diagnostic equipment and monitors all but surrounded her bed. The only thing in the room that was the same as in his was the chair Liz was sitting in. She was asleep, a magazine lying against her chest, her head lolled to the side.

  Nate eased the door closed and stepped over to the chair. If Liz stayed in her current position, she would have a hell of a sore neck in the morning. Gingerly, he lifted the magazine out of her hands and set it on the nightstand. He then repositioned himself in front of her, and attempted to move her into a more comfortable position.

  He was only seconds from su
ccess when her eyes eased open. For a brief moment, she looked at him as if she couldn’t comprehend who he was or what he was doing, then she sat up with a jolt.

  “Nate?” She blinked to push away the sleep and looked around her. “Wait. This isn’t your room.”

  “No. It’s Orlando’s.”

  “Right, right.” She started to relax, but then her brow furrowed again. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “Looking for you. I woke up and you weren’t there.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you, but you slept through most of the day.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “I promised Jake I would watch Orlando while he was gone.”

  Jake, Quinn’s birth name, and one Liz still used.

  “Gone? Where?”

  “He and Daeng went to DC to see Misty.”

  “Misty?” He could understand if Misty wanted to talk to Quinn about Peter’s death, but they could have done that on the phone. “Why?”

  “You should get some sleep,” Liz said. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

  “I’ve had more than enough sleep, so we can talk about it now.” When she didn’t respond right away, he said, “Liz, I’m going to find out one way or the other.”

  She rubbed her eyes and let out a deep breath. “He’s trying to figure out who’s responsible.”

  “Responsible for what?”

  She looked at him like he should already know. “Killing Peter. What happened to Orlando. To you. And the others. What do you think?”

  “We know who’s responsible. They’re all dead.”

  “No. Jake wants to find who started it all. Who gave Romero the list of names he was working from,” she said.

  Nate leaned back.

  The list. Of course. The list that mistakenly contained Quinn’s name. A mistake that was magnified, at least for Nate, when Romero’s snatchers thought Nate was Quinn.

  “Has he learned anything?” he asked.

  “I have no idea. Haven’t heard from him since he checked in earlier today, but it’s not like he’d share anything like that with me. You know that.”

  “What about Orlando? Did he talk to her about any of this?”

  “Nate, she hasn’t woken up yet.”

  “What?” He looked over at Orlando. “You told me she was doing okay.”

  “In the grand scheme, she is,” Liz said. “But she has a long way to go. I didn’t want to worry you too much. You have to concentrate on your own recovery.”

  Liz’s assurances about Orlando had allowed him to relax. Still…

  “I know you were only trying to help,” he said, “but you can’t sugarcoat things like that for me, or hide anything just because you don’t want me to worry. It doesn’t matter what condition I’m in. I can never afford not to know what’s going on. Lives could depend on it. You understand that, don’t you?”

  She turned her head, not meeting his gaze.

  “Liz, please tell me you understand.”

  “Sure,” she said, pushing herself out of her chair. “I understand. I’m sorry.”

  She headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Out.”

  “Liz, I’m not trying to—”

  “Please. Not now.”

  She yanked open the door and left.

  Nate stared after her, not knowing what he should do. While one voice in his head yelled at him to go after her, to help her understand, another argued to let her be, that she just needed a little time.

  And then there was the third voice, the softest of the three that he feared was the closest to being right. “It doesn’t matter what you do. She’s not of your world. She never will be. What you have together has been nice, but how could there possibly be a future?”

  Paralyzed, he stood where he was, watching the ghost of her at the door, and wishing that he were still back in his dream, fighting the jungle and not the woman he loved.

  CHAPTER 10

  SEPTEMBER 2nd

  WASHINGTON DC

  “TERMINAL EIGHT, THIS is Central.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who’s up next?”

  “Team Five, sir.”

  “Put them on standby. I’ve been told to expect information on a new location for the subjects who broke into RZ-47.”

  “Yes, sir. Consider it done.”

  There was no missing the enthusiasm in Terminal Eight’s voice, nor was it surprising. Everyone at O & O knew of the failure the previous afternoon, and the maiming of one of their men. Righting the balance was on all their minds.

  “I’ll pass on the exact location as soon as I have it,” Central said. “But you can inform the team that it will likely be in Virginia.”

  __________

  ARLINGTON RIDGE, VIRGINIA

  A BUZZ, AS familiar as it was foreign.

  Quinn stirred, but didn’t open his eyes until he heard the sound again. His phone, vibrating against the nightstand. He snatched it up. The name on the display read: STEVE HOWARD. The time, almost one a.m.

  “Hello?”

  “Quinn, get up. Now.”

  Quinn immediately threw the covers back and swung his feet onto the carpet. “What is it?”

  “You need to get out of there,” Howard said. “Fast as you can. There’s a very good chance the place has been compromised.”

  Quinn flipped his phone to speaker and began pulling on his clothes. “What happened?”

  “The contact who helped me set it up for you is dead.”

  “When?”

  “Sometime in the last thirty minutes. I talked to his friend, another op. They were out having drinks, and my contact went to the bathroom but didn’t come back. They found his body in the alley behind the bar.”

  “How do you know that’s related to us?”

  “I don’t. But his friend said my contact wasn’t working on anything, so the last thing he would have done was arrange for the house. Better if we play it safe, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah. Definitely.”

  “I can meet you, but it’ll take me over half an hour to get there. And you shouldn’t hang around that long.”

  “You’re back?”

  “Flew in right before midnight. I’ll call when I get close, and we can figure out a meeting point then.”

  “All right. Thanks, Steve.”

  “Be safe.”

  Quinn finished dressing and rushed into the hall. He was about to open the door to the room Misty was using when Daeng appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Steve just called,” Quinn said. “He thinks this place might be compromised.”

  “That would explain the men surrounding the house.”

  Quinn pulled his hand back from the doorknob. “How many?”

  “Four that I could count. I was coming up to get you.”

  “How long have they been there?”

  “Just moved in. Before that it was all quiet. There hasn’t even been a car driving by in the last two hours.”

  “Isn’t that just great?” Quinn growled. “Okay, go back down and keep an eye on things while I get Misty up.”

  Quinn opened the door to Misty’s room and moved over to the bed.

  “We’ve got to go,” he said, shaking her shoulder.

  She turned on her back and opened her eyes. “What? Go? I don’t—”

  “We’ve got company.”

  She sat straight up. “I thought this place was safe.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Who are these people?” she asked.

  Quinn grabbed her clothes off the dresser and tossed them to her. “As fast as you can,” he said before heading into the hall.

  While he waited, he called Howard back. “They’re already here.”

  “Son of a bitch. What do you want me to do?”

  “Get here as quick as possible. I’ll call you after we find a way out.”

  As he hung up, Misty stepp
ed out of her room.

  “Come on. Downstairs,” he said. “Make sure to stay away from the windows.”

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Quinn paused and whispered, “Daeng? Where are you?”

  Daeng’s voice came from down the hallway to the right. “Kitchen.”

  Quinn motioned for Misty to copy him as he crouched down and crept into the hall. They found Daeng kneeling next to the cabinets by the sink.

  “Where?” Quinn asked.

  Daeng nodded up at the window above them. “Straight out there’s a hedge and some kind of shed. One guy’s there, around the back.” He twisted around. “If you look out the window by the front door, you’ll see a minivan parked across the street. Last time I checked another guy was peeking around it.” He pointed left, then right. “The other two are a little harder to see. No direct view. But there’s a window in the living room that if you lean far enough over, you’ll see a couple of bushes about twenty feet from the house. A guy’s in there. The one on the left, as far as I can tell, is pressed right up against the building.”

  “So still just the four.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just like earlier.”

  “Was thinking the same thing.”

  Whether or not it was the same team as the one at Peter’s apartment, Quinn figured the men’s abilities would be comparable.

  “Okay,” he whispered. “This is what we’re going to do.”

  __________

  WITTEN DIDN’T LIKE it. The house was too quiet. Sure, it was after midnight, but there was a sense of stillness about it that he only picked up when a place was dangerous or deserted. Either way, it was a problem.

  The fugitives—two men and a woman whose identities had yet to be determined—were supposedly holed up inside. How the powers that be at O & O had learned this, he didn’t know. It wasn’t his job. He was only here to make the problem go away.

  “Dead or alive?” he’d asked when he’d been briefed twenty-five minutes earlier.

  “I’m told alive, if possible, but we don’t need all three,” the woman acting as Terminal Eight that evening had said. “One will suffice.”

  Witten had also been told about what had happened the previous afternoon, and was determined that Team Five would not achieve the same less-than-stellar results. Maybe that was why his senses felt more heightened than usual.