Problem solved.
__________
“GOOD SO FAR,” Quinn whispered once they were inside the building. “You keep it up, you’ll stay alive.”
The room immediately beyond the entrance was filled with large, old machinery. From the looks of things, it had been years since any of them had been turned on.”
“Where is this storage room he wants us to go to?” Quinn asked.
“In the back,” Felipe said.
“How do we get there?”
“Through there and all the way back.” Felipe pointed between two of the machines.
“And then?”
“Um, we go left until we reach the white door. That’ll be it.”
“And you’re sure he’s alone?”
“Yes,” Felipe said. “He sent all of us to the hotel.”
Quinn gave Orlando a subtle nod. In a swift, silent motion, she raised the vaccination gun to Felipe’s shoulder and shot an eight-hour dose of tranquilizer into his arm. Felipe turned in surprise, but before he could say anything, his eyelids began to droop, and they eased him to the floor.
Following Felipe’s instructions, they headed to the back of the building, vigilant in case Porter wasn’t the only one around. When they came in sight of the white door, Orlando moved into the point position so she would be the first one seen.
__________
PORTER’S OFFICE WAS just down the hall from the storage room, so it wasn’t a surprise he was the first one there. There was an old wooden storage box next to the wall. He dragged it into the middle of the room, right below the only light.
He took a step back, and smiled. Very intimidating. Whoever this woman was, she wouldn’t last long. He was willing to bet he’d know everything she did before his coffee cooled.
He took a sip, and nodded. Perfect.
Behind him he heard the door open. He turned, a smile still on his face.
The woman came through the door first. She couldn’t have been much more than one hundred and fifty centimeters tall. She was also Asian, which was a bit of a surprise.
“Well, hello,” he said. “Please, have a seat.”
Two of his men came in behind her, but Porter’s eyes remained focused on the woman, making sure she understood who was boss. When she got to within ten feet, she stopped, the look of despair on her face replaced by an eerily playful smile. Porter tried to maintain his own detached façade, but he couldn’t stop his brow from creasing in confusion.
“Actually, Mr. Porter,” one of the men behind her said. “You’re the one who should take a seat.”
CHAPTER 48
SO FAR NATE had counted eighteen soldiers leaving the fort and moving into the jungle.
They wouldn’t send everyone out, he knew, but he felt confident, based on the yelling he heard coming from beyond the wall, that they would send the majority.
Under the cover of darkness, he had snuck all the way back to the wall, where he had momentarily considered climbing up and finding someplace within the complex to hide. But he felt he could control things better out here.
Surveying the wall, he spotted a heavy wooden door that, as far as he could tell, was the only ground-level exit to the complex. Choosing the location carefully, he dug a ditch between a couple of trees, just deep enough for him to lie in, and covered himself with dead palm fronds and other vegetation. The position gave him a perfect view of the door, with very little chance he’d be discovered.
That’s where he was when the men had begun coming out.
Eighteen fighters.
He figured half that many were still inside. That would make twenty-seven total. Round that up to thirty, just to be safe. Add in Janus, Harris, and the old man. Thirty-three. Staff? Cooks? Medical personnel for the old man? That seemed likely. Figure forty people total, not counting the prisoners.
Looking at the whole number was a bit daunting, but one by one, not so bad. Especially if Nate could get his hands on a weapon.
The door opened again, and a nineteenth soldier came out. Nate recognized this one. He was the jerk who’d come in with Janus and slammed the butt of his gun into Nate’s back the first day. Nate could see the offending rifle slung over the guy’s shoulder, and suddenly knew which weapon he’d like to start with.
As soon as the soldier passed by, Nate slipped out of his hidey-hole.
__________
SOMEONE KNOCKED ON Harris’s door. He opened it to find one of Romero’s nurses.
“Yes?”
“Sorry to disturb you,” the nurse said. “But Señor Romero wants to see you.”
Harris wanted nothing more than to tell the nurse he’d come when he could, but he knew that would only enrage his employer, and the nurse would be sent back again.
“I’ll be right there,” he said, and shut his door.
Despite the early hour, he poured himself a whiskey and slammed it down. The alcohol helped mute the voices that were telling him everything was beginning to unravel. Of course, it wasn’t. He still had control of the situation.
So what if one of the prisoners got away? So what if it was Quinn? He was just one person. And they would find him. He could only hide for so long. This was an island, for God’s sake. A small island. If need be, they’d search it inch by inch.
What about whoever had been searching Romero’s and Quinn’s names at the hospital?
Porter will handle it.
No, everything was going to be fine. Things were too close to the end for them not to be.
He fought the urge to have another drink, and forced himself to head over to Romero’s office.
“Have they found the cleaner?” Romero demanded as soon as Harris entered.
“It hasn’t been that long. They need a little time.”
“Unacceptable! They should have him by now.” The old man fumed for a moment. “I want to continue as planned.”
“You mean now?”
“Yes, now. Of course, now. We’re wasting time.”
“I’d be more comfortable once we have Quinn back.”
“I will not let one person delay us. Do you understand me? Assemble the prisoners.”
“We’re understaffed at the moment,” Harris said. “Most of the men are out looking for him.”
Romero narrowed his eyes. “How many men to do you really need? The prisoners are beaten and weak. They’ll be cuffed and hooded, too. We could do it with just Janus if we needed to.”
Quinn is beaten and weak, too, Harris thought, and look at what he did. He knew there was no sense in arguing the point, though. “Yes, sir. I’ll get things moving.”
“Good. I’ll be out in the courtyard in twenty minutes. They’d better be there.”
__________
THE GUARD DIDN’T know Nate was there until the rock slammed into his head, and even then, the realization probably lasted only a microsecond before he dropped to the ground.
Nate checked his pulse. Weak, and getting weaker. There was a very good chance the man wouldn’t live for long.
Bummer. That was about as much sympathy as Nate could muster.
He grabbed the guard by the shoulders and dragged him into the brush, out of sight. A quick search netted him not only the rifle and some spare ammo, but also a GLOCK pistol, a five-inch hunting knife, and a palm-sized, handheld radio. Once he was geared up, he masked the marks he and the soldier had made in the sand, and went in search of number two.
__________
IT WASN’T UNTIL Janus was hauling the prisoners outside that Harris realized he hadn’t heard back from Porter. He tried calling him, but after four rings only reached voice mail.
“It’s Harris. Update. Now.”
CHAPTER 49
THEY DROVE SOUTH through Córdoba—Orlando behind the wheel, Quinn and Daeng in the backseat with Porter between them, and Liz up front with Orlando’s computer.
“Here we go,” Liz said, looking at the laptop’s screen. “The island’s called Duran, and is thirty-one miles south-southea
st of Isla de Cervantes. Apparently, it was first spotted by Columbus on his final voyage in 1503. Says he didn’t stop there, though. Not big enough, I guess.” She began to read aloud. “‘In the early 1600s, Charles Duran, one of the early Spanish governors of Isla de Cervantes, decided the much smaller Isla Helena, as Duran was first known, could serve as an early warning outpost, alerting the bigger island of approaching enemies by lighting bonfires at its highest point, a low-slung hill at the southwest end of the island.’
“‘Over the years, the outpost’s few buildings were renovated and added to until it became known as Fort Duran.’” She paused as she read on silently. “It does say the island eventually fell into private hands. Nothing about whose, though.”
According to Porter, the private hands in question belonged to the Romero family, and they’d made Duran their private retreat for over a hundred years. Javier had apparently taken sole control of the island a year prior to his faithful run for the presidency, and had moved there permanently—with the blessings of the government he’d tried to oppose—when he was released from the hospital.
“Is there a map?” Quinn asked.
“Yeah, but it’s small,” Liz said. “Let me see if I can find something better.”
A few moments later Orlando said, “Highway 3 south? Or is there another way?”
Ahead was a sign with an arrow pointing toward the entrance to the highway.
“Yes,” Porter said. “Highway 3.”
Orlando gunned the engine and transitioned them off the city street onto the faster road.
Their destination was a private marina just south of town, where Porter said there was a boat that could take them to Duran. Porter was more a behind-the-scenes guy, who became even more cooperative after a demonstration of how easy it was to dislocate a finger if Quinn wasn’t happy with a response.
“I swear, I didn’t know what he had planned at first,” Porter had said. “It was too late for me to do anything when I did.”
“Bullshit,” Quinn said.
Porter looked nervous, but didn’t push the point again.
“How did you get everyone’s names?” Quinn asked.
“I don’t know. Either Harris or Romero did that.”
“The prisoners—you’re sure they haven’t been killed?”
“They were still alive last I heard.”
“But the plan is to kill them.”
Porter nervously licked his lips, then whispered, “Yes.”
As soon as they’d extracted the information they needed, and learned about the boat, they packed Porter into the car, where Liz had been waiting, and headed out.
“Got one,” Liz said. She raised the computer and flashed the screen at Quinn. On it was a map of the island.
“Perfect,” Quinn said. “Nice and big.”
Liz smiled, and lowered the machine back to her lap. “I’ll save it to the drive.”
“The turnoff’s coming up,” Porter said. “You’ll see a sign for Córdoba Royale Marina. Just after that. The turn will be on the left.”
There was a brief pause, then Orlando said, “I see it.”
Quinn turned to Porter. “Tell me again, how many on the boat?”
“Only two.”
“What about elsewhere in the marina?”
“Elsewhere?”
“Men on another boat, maybe? Or housed on shore?”
“No. Only the two guys.”
“You know what happens if you’re lying.”
“You’ll kill me.”
“We’ll kill you.”
“I’m not lying. There used to be more, but Harris had everyone but a few who were still on the payroll moved out to Duran.”
Quinn looked for signs of deceit, but saw none. Still, they wouldn’t let their guard down.
As Porter had said, the unmanned marina gate was opened by entering a code on a keypad.
“Give me the number,” Orlando said as she rolled down her window and pulled to a stop in front of the gate.
“Four, seven—”
“Before you finish,” Quinn said. “I’d strongly advise you not to give us a code that will alert anybody.”
Porter’s chin began to shake. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Then give her the code.”
“Four, um, eight, two, two, nine.”
“You’re sure?” Orlando asked.
“Yes.”
She punched in the numbers. There was a two-second delay, then the gate rolled out of the way. Porter directed them to a parking area in front of pier number eleven.
“That’s it,” he said, looking out the front window. “The one with the white top and dark blue side, tied up on the right.”
The boat was a beauty—a Princess V57. Quinn was familiar with its specs, and knew once they were away from the island, as long as the water wasn’t too choppy, they should be able to make thirty knots easy, getting them to Duran in about an hour.
“Last chance, Porter. How many on the boat?”
“Two. I swear.”
“Names?”
“Hansen and, um, Flores.”
Orlando took Quinn’s place in the backseat next to Porter, while Quinn and Daeng went to pay the men on the boat a visit.
No one was on deck. Unfortunately, the glass door to the cabin area was locked. Quinn explained to Daeng what he wanted to do. Once his friend was in position and ready, he knocked on the door.
“Hello? Anyone awake? Harris sent me. Hello?”
There was a thump somewhere beyond the door, then the sound of feet shuffling. Quinn knocked again.
“Hello? Where is everyone?”
Through the door, he could see a shadow come up the stairs from the below-deck living area and walk across the cabin. The door opened, and a man who’d obviously just crawled out of bed looked out.
“Are you Hansen or Flores?” Quinn asked.
“What? Who are you?”
“Look, Harris sent me. Are you Hansen or Flores?”
“I’m Hansen.”
“Good. I’ve got something they want out at the island, but I need your help carrying it on board.”
“No one told me anything about going out there today.”
“Not my problem.”
“I should call and check.”
“Fine by me,” Quinn said. “But help me get this on board first, all right? You’re not the only stop I’ve got to make this morning.”
Hansen frowned. “Let me put on my shoes.”
When Hansen was finally ready, Quinn said, “It’s over here.”
As he led Hansen to the dock, Daeng moved in behind them, and gave the deckhand a quick shot in the arm from the vaccine gun.
Flores was even easier. He was still asleep in one of the beds below, and stirred only slightly as the tranquilizer entered his arm.
They put both men in the same cabin and locked the door.
Quinn returned to the car and pulled Porter out. Orlando followed right behind with the duffel bag full of equipment. When Liz climbed out, Quinn said, “You’re not coming with us.”
“But—”
“You’re not coming, Liz.”
“You might need me,” she argued.
In the past, he would have gotten mad and told her she was staying, end of story. But this time, he put his hands on her arms and said, “I do need you. That’s why you can’t come. This is one of those not-safe situations. I can’t do my job and worry about you at the same time. I swear I’ll let you know the second everything is okay.”
As she looked at him, he could tell she was trying to find something she could use to change his mind, but then the tension drained from her shoulders and she nodded. “Okay. I understand.”
He pulled her to him, and she hugged him back.
“Find him,” she whispered.
“We will.”
When they parted, she said, “Be careful.”
He smiled. “Go back to the plane. I’ll call you there.”
CH
APTER 50
CURSON WAS FIRST up.
Each crack of the whip was greeted with a scream, as the wounds from the day before were reopened.
Harris glanced at Romero. The old man’s eyes were glued to Curson’s back, and there was a satisfied smile on his face. With the exception of Peter, Curson drew most of Romero’s attention. He’d been the shooter, the one who, while failing in his ultimate goal, had damaged Romero so thoroughly that it had taken over a year before the former presidential candidate could even take a step, let alone eat anything that wasn’t prepared specifically for his surgically altered digestive tract.
The life Romero had lived since the shooting had been anything but pleasant and pain-free, and there were times Harris was sure his boss secretly wished Curson had done a better job. Death had to have been preferable.
But death hadn’t been in his boss’s cards, not earlier, anyway. It was coming now, though, the wounds Curson’s bullets had inflicted finally doing what they had intended to do. A slow assassination. Mission soon to be accomplished, but not before Romero extracted his revenge.
Crack!
Curson yelled as he arced his back and then collapsed again, his weight supported only by the cuffs around his wrists.
A guard entered the courtyard through the far door. He wasn’t one of the men who had remained in the fort. They were all here with the remaining prisoners. He stopped just inside, and discreetly motioned to Harris that he needed to talk to him.
Harris checked Romero again. The man was rapt, his attention fully engaged in the proceedings, so Harris quietly stepped back and made his way around to where the guard was waiting.
“You found him?” he asked.
The soldier shook his head. “Some of our men have gone missing.”
“Missing? How could they go missing?”
“I’m not sure, sir. We can’t reach them on the radio and no one’s seen them.”
“How many?”
“Six.”
Harris had sent out nineteen men. Six was nearly a third.
It.
Is.
The Collected (A Jonathan Quinn Novel) Page 24