"Orlando, get the door."
"No! No!" Leary said.
"Then don't lie to me, William. You knew what was going on. You were a part of it."
William licked his lips. "I swear I didn't know what was going on. Mr. Rose threatened to kill me if I didn't help them."
"Who is Mr. Rose?" Quinn asked.
"Mr. Rose?" Leary said, confused. "He's the big boss."
"The Australian?"
"That's Tucker. He was in charge of manpower outside of the lab. Security, things like that. And I think he's the one who brought the children here."
"So, what? You answered an ad, and took the job without knowing what it was?"
"Yeah. Exactly."
"You're lying," Orlando said. She was looking at the display on her phone.
"What are you talking about?" Leary said.
"Tell us about Wright Memorial Hospital," she said.
He stared at her, unable to speak at first.
"Don't remember that?" she asked. "Then how about Helene General Hospital? Or even the Rosen Medical Center."
"How did you . . ." Leary's voice dropped into silence.
Quinn looked at Orlando. The thumb scan she had done had apparently come up with gold.
"He's a doctor," she said. "Only he's a little screwed up. Likes to sell drugs he took from work to schoolkids. Must have half a dozen aliases. Or did I get the wrong William Leary?"
The look on the man's face told them she was right.
"What kind of doctor?" Quinn asked the man.
He hesitated, trying not to look at Orlando. "General practice."
"Huh," Orlando said. "Then they must have got it wrong on your record."
"What's it say?" Quinn asked.
"Says that Dr. Leary here is an anesthesiologist."
"I-I haven't done that for a while," Leary stammered.
"How long is a while?" Quinn asked.
"I stopped a couple years ago, okay?"
"Stopped?" Orlando asked.
Leary let out a defeated breath. "My license was revoked. Happy? But then Mr. Rose found me. And he offered me a hell of a lot of money."
"What did Mr. Rose want you to do?" Quinn asked.
"Keep the children sedated until we need them."
"Need them for what?"
"You don't know?" Leary said. "But isn't that why you're here?"
No one said anything.
Finally, Leary said, "As a diversion. To get the explosives in."
No one said anything for nearly thirty seconds.
"What explosives?" Quinn asked.
"They're built into the juice boxes," Leary said. "Binary explosives. Clear liquid. Looks harmless."
"How does it work?" Quinn asked.
"I didn't work on them directly."
"But you know," Quinn said.
Leary looked away, then nodded. "I heard something."
"What?"
"I was told the chemicals inside were kept in two different compartments inside the pouches. Apparently they're only dangerous once the divider between them is removed and they mix together. The boxes will go in with the kids."
"Into where?"
"That I don't know."
"You've got to be kidding," Quinn said.
"I don't! Really!"
Quinn stared at him, watching to see if he was lying. But he wasn't. "How are the boxes triggered?"
The technician glanced at the floor. "One of the children," he said. "One of the children is the trigger."
Quinn heard Marion gasp, but she said nothing.
"How does it work?" Quinn asked.
"It . . . em . . . eh . . ."
Quinn's hand shot out, shoving the man's head against the wall.
"How does it work?" he repeated.
The man's eyes were wild in fear; for a few seconds his gaze fell on Marion as if he were scared of her the most. "One of the children has the triggering device implanted in her thigh, just below the skin. It has to be activated first. A handheld device. I only saw it once, but it looked like a cell phone."
"Who has it?"
"I don't know. Mr. Rose or Tucker, I would guess."
"So they activate it," Orlando said. "Then what?"
Again he glanced momentarily at Marion. "When the trigger, the child, enters the room where the boxes are, a signal from her prompts the membrane inside to dissolve. Then thirty seconds later . . ."
"Jesus," Orlando said.
"So one of the children is the trigger," Quinn said.
Again the glance.
"Yes," Leary said.
"Which one?"
No answer.
"Which one?"
"The new one," Leary whispered, this time doing everything he could not to look at Marion. "The African girl."
"Oh, God," Marion said. "Oh, God, no."
Quinn shot her a glance, and she grew quiet again.
"One of you was a surgeon?" Orlando asked.
"N-No," Leary said.
A stillness filled the cabin before Orlando asked her next question. "Then who implanted the device in the girl?"
Leary dropped his chin to his chest. "Don't make me answer that." It was answer enough.
Quinn pushed the man's head back up. "We need to know the target, William."
"I told you, I have no idea," Leary said. "I just know they needed the children to make it happen. They had to be special needs. Really, that's all I know."
"So you don't know where the kids came from?"
The look on the former doctor's face said differently. "I overheard something, maybe."
"What?"
"Just that it was easier to obtain what they needed outside the U.S. In some other countries children like them aren't as well cared for. They're easier to . . . obtain. Tucker would bring them back in twos or threes. One time it was half a dozen. We fed them and kept them quiet."
"By sedating them," Orlando said.
Leary stared straight ahead, not looking at anyone.
"Door," Quinn said.
"No!" Leary yelled as Quinn hauled him back to his feet. "I don't know who the target is. Please, believe me."
"I believe you," Quinn said.
Orlando was at the door.
"Open it," Quinn said.
"But you just said you believed me," Leary said.
"You're right. I did."
The door flew open, and the noise level in the cabin once again became deafening. Leary tried to turn, but Quinn had a tight grip on his neck.
Once again, Quinn maneuvered him so Leary faced outward with Quinn's gun against the back of the man's head. For a second he thought he could hear Leary say, "Please, don't." But then an image of the gurneys parked in the storage room flashed in his mind.
Pulling the trigger of his SIG was one of the easiest things he'd done in a long time.
CHAPTER
38
"FURUTA'S DEAD," QUINN SAID INTO THE PHONE. "Nothing I could do. They let him bleed out."
"Oh, Christ," Peter said.
"We've got a bigger problem than that."
"What is it?"
Quinn paused for a moment. "We're in a helicopter. Heading toward Santa Maria, California. Check the map, you'll see what I mean."
Nothing for a moment, then, "Okay, got it. That's about seventy miles north of Santa Barbara. I'm not sure what you . . . oh, shit."
"Yeah, I know."
Peter had seen what Quinn already knew. A little more than another hour north of Santa Maria was the small coastal town of San Simeon. And just beyond San Simeon, Hearst Castle. Not a castle, really, but about as close to it as you got in the States. It was a colossal home built by the late newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst, and was the inspiration for Xanadu in the old Orson Welles film Citizen Kane. For decades now it had been run as a tourist destination by the State of California.
Usually it wouldn't even be a blip on the radar. Nothing to draw the attention of someone like Quinn or Peter. But as Hardwick had point
ed out to Quinn, Hearst Castle was playing host to a group other than tourists this week. In fact, no tourist had been allowed near the place for the last ten days. Its remote location yet luxurious setting made it the perfect place for this year's G8 summit meeting—a meeting of the heads of state from all the "Group of Eight" nations.
The meetings had begun in the mid-seventies with only six participating nations. They grew from the need for a more global stance to the oil shortages and recession of the time, then continued to grow and expand in the following decades until it had become arguably the most important international meeting of the year.
Every year the meeting would rotate to another of the member nations: Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Russia, the United Kingdom, and the United States. It was designed to provide an opportunity for the leaders of some of the world's most powerful nations to discuss whatever issues were deemed important at the time. And this year, it was the U.S.'s turn to host.
"Impossible," Peter said. "The government's got the whole area sealed off. Highway 1 is closed just north of Cambria and south of Gorda. No way anyone can get close even by air. And bringing a bunch of kids with them? Not a chance."
"Check the schedule."
"Hold on." The line went silent for several seconds. "Nothing. There are meetings all day for the next two days. There is a dinner each night."
"Entertainment?" Quinn asked.
Peter paused again. "Yes. But nothing matching your group of children. Yo-Yo Ma tonight and Harry Connick, Jr., tomorrow."
Quinn frowned. "It doesn't matter. We know basically where they're going. You should be able to pick them up on radar, and if not, you get a large enough force out there, you'll find them before dawn."
Peter said nothing.
"What is it?" Quinn asked.
"I can't get ahold of my client at the Agency."
"What?"
"He's dropped out of sight. Not answering his phone."
"Then call somebody else."
"I've been trying, but no one is taking my calls."
"What the hell are you talking about, Peter? You've got a ton of people you can reach."
"The Office has been shut out," Peter said. "The word has gone out not to deal with us."
"What? How do you know that?"
"Because the goddamn Assistant Director of the NSA told me right before he hung up."
"You've got to keep trying," Quinn said. "My team and I can't do this alone."
"I realize that."
"Then stop talking to me and do something about it." Quinn ended the call.
He looked out the window. Where the black mass of the mountains didn't block out the sky, he saw stars. He stared at them, his mind going blank.
"You should try to get a little sleep," Orlando said. "You've been going almost twenty-four hours. Even thirty minutes will help."
"You've been going as long as I have."
"Took a nap at the hotel when I thought you were just on a little scouting mission."
It was hard to miss the sarcasm in her voice, and it wasn't the funny kind, either.
"I'm sorry," he said. "The opportunity to get in came up, so I had to take it."
The left side of her mouth turned up in a smirk.
"All in all," he said, "it looks like it was a good decision."
He knew she couldn't argue that. Still, she looked like she wanted to put up a fight.
"I'm sorry," he said again.
She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "Sleep. Don't sleep. I don't care."
She got up and walked to the other end of the passenger hold.
Quinn wanted to go after her, but he thought maybe it was best not to. Despite her nap, she had to be as tired as he was. She just needed a little space, he thought.
He slumped in his chair and stared at the floor. At what point his own eyes closed and he fell asleep, he had no idea.
"We're here." It was Nate's voice, very close to Quinn's ear.
Quinn opened his eyes. The cabin was dim, but he could see Marion Dupuis stretched out on the other side of the cabin.
The roar of the engine was unchanged, and from the way everything was still moving up and down, side to side, Quinn knew they were still in the air.
He sat up. "The pilot," he said.
"Orlando's watching him."
"How long was I out?"
"A little over an hour."
Quinn blinked several times, then looked out the window. Night still, but the massive Sierra Nevada mountains were gone. In the distance he could see the glow of a city on the horizon. He checked his watch. It was a few minutes before 4 a.m.
"Where exactly are we?" he asked as he stood up.
"Those lights out there are from Santa Maria. We're about forty miles south, right where the pilot said he was to receive his next instructions. But there's no sign of the others."
"North," Quinn said. "They'll be on the other side of Santa Maria somewhere. As close as they can get to Hearst Castle without drawing any attention."
"It's a pretty tight perimeter up there. There's a message on the radio warning of a no-fly zone starting south of Arroyo Grande. That's only about fifteen miles beyond Santa Maria."
"I need to see a map," Quinn said.
"There's one up front."
There were only two seats in the cockpit. Orlando sat in the one on the left, the gun in her hand pointed at the pilot. He was sitting in the one on the right.
They both glanced over as Quinn leaned between them.
The look on the pilot's face was tense. Quinn noticed sweat streaks running past his eyes and down his cheeks.
"Where's the map?" Quinn asked.
"Behind my chair," Orlando said.
Quinn grabbed it. It was a book kind of like the Thomas Guide he had in his car, only not quite as thick. He found the page showing the central coast of California, then traced a line along Highway 101 between Santa Maria and Arroyo Grande. There were a couple of smaller towns in between. There was also plenty of wilderness and hilly areas where a helicopter—or even three—could land unnoticed.
The Unwanted Page 41