fence, and she's pissed.
Instead of typing a response, Quinn called.
"Are you all right?" Nate said.
"I'm fine," Quinn told him, keeping his voice low. "But it might be a while before I'm done. Get Marion out of there. See if Orlando can create some kind of distraction so you can get out the gate."
"She's on the other line," Nate said. "Let me conference her in."
"No. Don't do—" But Quinn's words came too late. He was already on hold.
A second later the line clicked live again.
"Quinn?" Nate said.
"I'm here."
"Orlando?"
"Are you crazy?" she said. "What the hell do you think you're doing in there? You're going to get yourself killed."
"Listen," he said.
"No. I'm not going to listen. You pull out now. We've got more than enough for Peter to act on. Let's leave it to him."
"He'd never be able to get here in time. They're moving out soon. Within the next hour or two would be my guess."
"Doesn't matter. You should not be down there by yourself."
"Listen, goddammit," he said. "I've found something."
"I don't care what you've—"
"Children," he said.
That stopped her. "What?"
"I've found children. At least seventeen and probably more." He told her about the room full of gurneys.
She didn't say anything for several seconds, then when she did speak, her voice was low and controlled. "You're sure they're all alive?"
"As far as I can tell."
"Iris?" Nate asked.
"Who's Iris?" Orlando asked.
"The child who was with Marion," Nate said. "That's what she calls her."
"Can Marion hear you?" Quinn asked Nate.
"No, I've moved up the tunnel."
"She's not here."
Nate and Orlando fell silent.
"That means one of two things to me," Quinn said. "Either they've . . . gotten rid of her . . ."
"Jesus," Nate said.
"Or," Quinn went on, "there's another group of children somewhere." He explained about hearing the gurneys being wheeled into the room, then his discovery of them. "But I also heard something else being pushed in the other direction. Sounded similar to the gurneys that had rolled past me. So I think it's likely there's another room with more kids in it."
"What the hell are they doing?" Nate asked.
"I don't know, and at the moment it doesn't matter," Quinn said. "That's why I can't leave yet. I have to find them. I have to see if there's something I can do . . . we can do."
Orlando, who had been silent through the entire explanation, said, "I think I can get onto the base without anyone knowing. I found a weak spot, a dry riverbed that's been eroding the dirt from under the wires. I think I can dig myself under."
"No," Quinn said. "Just stay out there. See if you can cause a distraction for the guards at the gate. Everyone's tied up here, so I don't think they'll get any immediate help. It just needs to be enough to allow Nate and Marion to get out without being caught."
"That's a stupid idea," she said. "I'm coming under. I'll meet up with them at the tunnel, then bring Marion out myself the way I came. That way Nate can stay in case you need him."
"It's too much of a risk," Quinn said.
"Don't talk to me about too much risk," she shot back. "This is not open for discussion."
There was a click on the line.
"Nice going," Nate said. "She hung up."
Quinn took several breaths, allowing himself to calm down. "Text me when she gets there," he said, then disconnected the call.
He gave one last look at the gurneys spread out behind him. Then, without realizing what he was doing at first, he found the bed with the boy who'd woken up.
"I'll take care of this," Quinn said to him.
He then doused his flashlight and stepped back into the corridor.
CHAPTER
35
TUCKER ENTERED THE LEVEL ONE CAFETERIA AT precisely 12:45 a.m. and found all four of the helicopter pilots sitting at a table finishing their meals. Their crew members sat at a nearby table silently scarfing down the remains of their sandwiches.
"It's time," Tucker said. "We'll have everything on board in forty minutes, then lift off right after that."
"All right," the head pilot, a guy named Seizer, replied. "We'll meet you topside." He stood and looked over at his crew's table. "Let's go."
Almost as one, the crew members and the remaining pilots all stood.
"We'll be ready," Seizer said.
They filed out of the room.
Tucker glanced over at the table in the back where several of his men sat drinking coffee. "We've got forty minutes to get the cargo up to the surface and into the helicopters," Tucker said. "You should be able to fit four packages per elevator car. I want both cars in constant operation. Should be able to have everything all topside by," he paused, looking at his watch, "fifteen after. Petersen's bringing the truck around."
One by one they stood.
"This is what we're getting paid for, so let's not fuck it up," Tucker told them.
As soon as his men were gone, he pulled out his cell phone.
"It's Tucker," he said. "We're in final prep and should be off the ground by one-thirty. Flight time a little less than two hours, so figure three-thirty worst case."
"We're ready and waiting," the man on the other end said.
"No problems?"
"None at all."
"And the targets' schedule?"
"Unchanged. They'll be at the center at nine-thirty a.m."
"Good. And the distractions?"
"Both cars already in place. I'll give you the detonators when you arrive."
"Perfect," Tucker said.
The distractions were a little extra something he'd added into the mix that Mr. Rose didn't know about. It was going to be his ass on the line, after all, so anything that could help with a successful escape was welcome.
He disconnected the call and headed for the exit, wanting to get down to the second level so he could supervise the first load himself. As he did, he checked his watch again, then smiled.
With any luck they'd actually be off the ground ahead of schedule.
Quinn had just begun his search for the second room when he heard someone talking. The voice was distant, but that could have been a trick of the corridors. And, he soon realized, it wasn't just a single voice, it was several.
He knew he should find an empty room and hide out until he could move freely again, but he also knew he was running out of time. So he increased his pace, checking the rooms he passed, but finding nothing.
When he turned down an intersecting corridor, the voices grew louder. He crept forward, passing two hallways, then stopping before he reached the third. The voices were coming from around the corner. Though they were distant enough that he knew they were down the hall a bit, he could make out snippets of conversation.
". . . time to take . . . fine."
"We need . . . think?"
". . . promise anything . . . best."
He checked the lighting and realized he was in a deep shadow. He knew if he took a look around the corner, the risk of being noticed would be minimal. Keeping his motions slow, he leaned out just enough to see around the edge.
Forty feet away, the hallway widened out into a common area where over a dozen men were gathered. Most were big, ex-military types like the ones who had captured Furuta. A few were smaller, wearing white coats like doctors or lab workers. All were focused on the man standing in the middle. Tucker.
Quinn hesitated only a second, then crouched down and crossed the intersection. He moved as fast as he could, taking a back route to the room where he'd found the first group of children. Maybe he could find a way to block the door, and at least slow Tucker's people down. He wasn't going to be able to stop them, not on his own, but if he could throw off their timetable, he might be able to get back to the
surface and figure out some way to keep them from leaving.
Only he was too late.
Four other men were already at the room. Quinn could see them through the half-opened door. They were arranging the gurneys in some kind of order.
Quinn had no choice. He reentered the same room he'd hidden in earlier, this time leaving the door opened a crack.
The first thing he heard was one of the gurneys being wheeled out of the room and back into the hallway. Just before it passed the room he was in, someone called out, "Hold on."
The cart stopped.
"Let me get the drip going," the voice said. "We don't want them waking up mid-flight."
Flight? Quinn thought. Maybe there was an airfield and a plane that could hold all the children.
"Hurry up," a second voice said.
"Two seconds," the first said. A pause, then, "Okay. You're good to go."
As the cart started up again, a second came down the hallway. Again the first voice—one of the technicians?—stopped it for a moment before letting it move on. After that, the carts began rolling out unhindered. The technician was no doubt getting each of the IVs going before they left the room.
Quinn pulled out his cell phone. He wanted Nate to get into a position where he could observe the main ground-level exit so that he could see where they were taking the children.
There was a voice message waiting for him. He pressed Play and put the phone to his ear.
"There are four Sikorsky Superhawks in a clearing about an eighth of a mile southwest of Yellowhammer's entrance." It was Orlando. The Superhawk was a troop-transport helicopter. "You said you thought they might be leaving soon. If so, this is how. I got Marion on the other side of the fence, so I'm going in for a closer look."
That was it. There was no follow-up message. He couldn't call to get an update, either. The minute he'd open his mouth, those in the hallway would hear him. But at least he now knew how they planned to fly out. Not a plane. Helicopters.
He fired a text off to Orlando.
Status?
He didn't wait for a response before sending a second one, this time to Nate.
Have u heard from O?
He thought for a moment, then decided a third was in order.
Be ready. They're moving tonight. Be advised they have
hostages. More soon.
He chose Peter's name from his addresses, then hit Send.
Another thirty seconds passed before he got any response. It was from Nate.
Last radio contact 30 min ago when she took M out. Have tried to reach her since, but no reply. U need me to come to u?
Quinn typed:
No. They're starting to clear out of here. O left message she spotted helicopters. Meet up with her. Disable them if u can.
It took Nate ten seconds to receive and reply.
OK.
Outside the room, another gurney rolled past. Once the noise of the wheels had faded, Quinn eased the door all the way shut. There was nothing he could do now but wait.
Wait, and hope he wouldn't be too late.
Peter had pulled all-nighters before. Hell, half the time he felt like he lived at the Office's headquarters, the rest of the world seldom conforming to Eastern Standard Time.
But tonight was different. He had a team in the middle of some serious crap, but his client, the only person who could provide the help they would need, had all of a sudden gone AWOL.
"I have visual confirmation from my agent on the ground that your man Furuta has been detained at Yellowhammer," he had told Chercover the last time they'd talked.
"Visual?" Chercover asked, his tone unconcerned.
"I have a photo."
"Send it to me."
"What was he doing there?" Peter asked. "I told you I was sending a team in."
There was a pause. "I wanted my own eyes on the ground."
"That worked out well."
"Is there anything else?" Chercover asked.
"I assume you'd like us to see if we can extract him."
Again a pause. "If the opportunity presents itself."
Before Peter could say anything else, the line went dead.
That was the last time he'd been able to get through to Chercover. He'd started calling every ten minutes, but each time the line had gone directly to voicemail.
And now with this latest text from Quinn it looked like whatever was being prepped at Yellowhammer was going live, but Peter had no means with which to stop it. It was obvious now the threat had always been real. It would have been more than enough for Chercover to get actual government forces into action. But where the fuck was he?
Peter had other contacts he could go to, but it would mean bringing them up to speed, which would delay any help. Still, he didn't see that he had any choice. The only question was who to bring in?
He pulled up his contacts list on the screen of his laptop and began scrolling through it.
There had to be one, someone who would trust him. Someone who could make things happen in a hurry.
For God's sake, he thought as he finished the L's. Just one name.
CHAPTER
36
THE SOUND OF SEVERAL LARGE ENGINES WINDING up startled Marion. She'd remained hidden behind the rock outcropping where the woman, Orlando, had left her. The buzzing electric fence they'd passed under was only a hundred feet away. She'd heard the familiar whirling roar before, back in Africa. Not a truck engine, not even a jet. Helicopters, and by the sounds of them, large ones.
To her it meant only one thing: those who had taken her and Iris were about to escape. But did they still have the girl? Or had Quinn, Nate, and Orlando been successful in rescuing her? Marion wanted to believe they had, but she feared the worst.
She'd been told to stay where she was no matter what. But how could she? How could she stay when Iris's life was still in danger?
The answer was she couldn't.
"Hey. What are you doing?" The voice had come from behind Quinn.
He'd been crouched in front of the elevator door, just starting to pry it open. Acting like nothing was up, he released the door, then dropped his right hand onto the grip of the SIG Sauer pistol resting on his lap. He stood, keeping his back to the new arrival.
"The doors got stuck," he said.
"Turn around!"
The man was closer now. Quinn judged fifteen feet at most. And whatever weapon he was armed with—one of the M16s no doubt—it would be aimed at Quinn's back.
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