The Collected jq-6

by Brett Battles

  “No. That would not make me happy.”

  She looked around the room. If the men they’d just rescued were civilians, no way would she and Daeng leave them. But they weren’t. They were professionals. Damaged professionals, yes, but that didn’t mean they’d forgotten how to fight.

  She pointed at the dark-haired man sitting on the floor next to Peter. “You. Lanier, right?”

  He looked over. “Yeah.”

  “Think you can handle a gun?”

  “I’m not dead, am I?” he said.

  Quinn was five steps from the top, Nate just in front of him, when they heard Janus yell.

  “Intruders inside! Coming up the stairs now. They have taken the prisoners! Someone call back men who are out searching!” Then, not quite as loudly as before, he said, “Give me your gun.”

  Son of a bitch! It was exactly what they wanted to avoid.

  At the top of the stairs were a stone room with two windows and an open doorway on either side. Through the far doorway, Quinn could see Janus and four other men on top of the wall. Janus had a rifle, taken, no doubt, from the now unarmed man standing behind him.

  The rifle was trained on the stone room, and as soon as Quinn and Nate stepped out of the shadows of the staircase, it barked to life.

  The bullet whizzed between the two of them, sending them both diving to the side. They crawled through the room to either edge of the outside door.

  There were several more shots, the bullets smashing into the building, both outside the room and in.

  Quinn motioned for Nate to stay where he was. He pointed at himself and the window that overlooked the beach. Next, he pointed at Nate and mimicked shooting.

  Nate gave a nod.

  “On my signal,” Quinn mouthed. He went over to the window and looked out. There wasn’t much of a ledge there, but it was enough.

  It took him ten seconds to work his way along the outside of the room to the front corner. Once he was set, he gently tapped the wall with the butt of his gun.

  From inside came the thup-thup-thup of bullets passing through Nate’s suppressor. Four rifles returned fire. Quinn gauged their position, and as soon as Nate started firing again, he peeked around the corner and let off four rapid shots.

  Two were direct hits, sending a pair of soldiers tumbling backward over the wall. The third shot went wide, and the fourth hit Janus in the arm, knocking the rifle out of his hands. Instead of picking the gun back up, Janus lowered himself over the courtyard side of the wall.

  While the man was now mostly out of sight, Quinn could still see one hand holding on to the top.

  He took two shots at it, but both missed by a few inches.

  A bullet hit the wall six inches from Quinn’s face, forcing him to focus on the remaining armed soldier. Make that two. The man that Janus had taken the rifle from had reclaimed it.

  Quinn took a quick shot, readjusted his targeting point, and shot again. This time he got his man.

  There was another shot from inside the room, and the remaining soldier went down.

  Quinn looked back to where Janus had been hanging on, but the hand was gone.

  He leaped around the corner of the room onto the walkway, and looked down into the courtyard. Janus wasn’t there, either.

  “Where is he?” Nate said, coming up beside Quinn.

  “Don’t know.”

  Nate turned back toward the stairs and began to run.

  Harris looked up from his desk.

  Someone was yelling, the sound coming down the hallway and through the door to his room. With a spark of hope, he rose to his feet, thinking the search party had finally returned with Quinn. He started across the room, anticipating a knock on his door from a messenger sent to tell him just that.

  But it wasn’t a knock he heard next. It was the boom of a rifle. As he jerked to a stop, another shot went off.

  Unraveling.

  He glanced at the bag next to the door holding his money. Was it time?

  Perhaps the watch had spotted Quinn beyond the wall and they were shooting at him. That could have been-

  More gunfire. Not just from one weapon, but several.

  Run!

  He sprinted toward the bag, and was reaching for the strap when someone knocked on his door.

  “Yes?” he said without opening it.

  A pause. “Sir, we have a report.”

  “Come back later. I’m busy.”

  “We were told to give it to you now.”

  He stared at the bag for a moment, then left it where it was and turned for the door. He had to get rid of whoever it was. He couldn’t have anyone see him leave and try to get to the boat before him.

  He pulled the door open. “What is it?”

  The soldier standing on the other side smiled oddly at him. “Told you I knew where he was.”

  Harris had never seen this man before. He was Asian, not Latin, and though there was something familiar about him, he definitely was not on Romero’s payroll.

  Harris shoved the door shut in the man’s face, dropped next to the bag, and pulled at the zipper so he could get at the gun inside.

  Behind him, the door banged loudly as it was thrust back open.

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” the soldier who wasn’t a soldier said.

  Harris glanced back, the zipper half open.

  The man had a gun aimed at his Harris’s head.

  Harris had waited too long. He should have left the moment things had started to go wrong. Hell, he should have left years ago.

  A small, Asian woman walked in behind the man. She was also armed, her weapon also aimed at Harris. Her gaze moved down to the satchel at his feet. She smiled.

  “Do I see a bag full of money?”

  “Here?” Daeng asked.

  It was the fourth room they’d come to since hauling Harris out of his suite. Though Daeng had asked the same question every time, Harris had yet to give him an answer.

  While Daeng pulled the man out of the way, Orlando tapped on the door with her gun. “Mr. Romero?”

  Nothing.

  Staying to the side, she undid the latch and let it swing open.

  Storage room filled with cardboard boxes.

  “This one?” Daeng asked when they reached the next door.

  “Go to hell,” Harris said.

  Daeng slammed Harris against the wall and wrapped a hand around the man’s neck. “That’s not very polite.” He locked eyes with Harris. “Do you know who I am?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You cared enough to trick me into going back to Bangkok by killing two people I knew.”

  Harris’s eyes widened.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Daeng said. “I guess you couldn’t keep me away, though.” Daeng let go of the man’s neck and pushed him down the hallway. “I will kill you before this is over. Count on it.”

  Orlando knocked, then opened the door when no one responded. It was an empty room.

  They came to another door and stopped.

  “So?” Daeng asked.

  Harris was back to his silent game.

  This time when Orlando knocked, they heard someone on the other side. The door opened a foot, and a young man wearing hospital scrubs looked out.

  “Can I help you?” he asked in Spanish.

  Answering in kind, Orlando said, “We need to see Senor Romero.”

  “I’m sorry, but he’s taking a nap.

  “Oh, what a shame.”

  She pushed the door open.

  “Hey! You can’t-”

  His words died in his mouth as he caught sight of the gun in her hand.

  “I’m sorry. You were saying?” she asked.

  He backed a few feet away. “Please. I’m only a nurse. I don’t know anything. I’m just here to monitor Senor Romero’s health. Please. Please don’t hurt me.”

  “If that’s true, then we won’t have any problems.”

  They joined him inside. The room was large, with a desk and wor
k area at the near end, and hospital bed at the other. In between was a living area, with a couch, chairs, and tables.

  Her eyes on the nurse, Orlando motioned to the couch with her gun. “Sit over there.”

  He immediately complied.

  “And don’t move,” she told him. “If you do, I’ll assume you’re a problem. Trust me, you don’t want that to happen. Tell me you understand.”

  “I won’t move. I swear.”

  Orlando, Daeng, and Harris walked across the room to the bed.

  Romero was indeed asleep. Though it had been only four years since the assassination attempt, he looked decades older than the picture of him in the file Misty sent.

  “Time to get up, Mr. Romero,” Orlando said in English.

  The old man didn’t move.

  Orlando pinched his nose and covered his mouth with her palm. It took only a second for Romero’s eyes to fly open as he gasped for air. She held on for another second, then let go.

  He took in several rapid breaths. “?Quien demonios es usted?”

  “I’m afraid we’re the bearers of bad news,” Orlando said, still using English. “Your little torture fest is canceled.”

  “What are you talking about? Who are you?” He looked at Harris. “Who are these people?”

  Harris knew he hadto forget about the money bag now. It was strung across the woman’s shoulders, and there was no way he could get it without taking a bullet first. The only thing he needed to concentrate on was getting out of the fort and off the island.

  He’d remained hyper-alert as they led him down the hall, searching for Romero’s room. But then the man in the fatigues had revealed his identity, causing Harris’s mind to spin yet again.

  Daeng. The man from Thailand. Quinn’s preferred assistant.

  Harris had thought he played that one so well, and that he’d effectively taken Daeng out of the picture. How in hell was he here?

  The next thing he knew, they were standing in Romero’s room next to the old man’s bed.

  Focus! he scolded himself. Get out of here and get to the boat.

  “I’m afraid we’re the bearers of bad news,” the woman said to Romero, Harris’s money bag still hanging over her shoulder. “Your little torture fest is canceled.”

  Romero looked both annoyed and confused. “What are you talking about? Who are you?” He focused on Harris. “Who are these people?”

  Harris hesitated, then said, “These, Senor Romero, are associates of Quinn’s.”

  As the cleaner’s name left his mouth, he could see that Daeng’s and the woman’s attention was fully on Romero.

  His inner voice screamed, Now!

  Both Orlando and Daeng knew it wasn’t a matter of if, but when Harris would try something.

  The man must have thought it was a surprise move when he swung his elbow at Daeng. If he hadn’t telegraphed it by tensing his shoulders, it might have worked. But by the time his elbow reached the point where Daeng’s gun had been, Daeng had already taken a step back, out of the way.

  Harris didn’t give up, though. He whirled around, his fist flying out and catching the tip of Daeng’s chin. Leading with his shoulder, he knocked Daeng to the side and started running for the door.

  Orlando’s shot went wide but Daeng’s flew true, his bullet puncturing Harris’s back before exiting the other side.

  Momentum carried Harris forward another few feet before he toppled to the floor.

  “?Dios mio!” the nurse cried out.

  Orlando gave him a quick look. “Remember what I said about moving.”

  The nurse nodded rapidly as he pulled his arms and legs toward his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible.

  Daeng reached Harris first and shoved him over onto his back. The man’s breathing was ragged, but his eyes were open.

  “That’s a nasty wound,” Orlando said as she moved in next to Daeng. “Good thing we don’t need him for anything else, because he’s not going to be around much longer.”

  “Still too long, I think,” Daeng said.

  “True.”

  “May I?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Daeng stepped closer so that he was looking directly down at Harris. “Look at me.”

  Harris’s gaze jumped around.

  “Here,” Daeng said, pointing to his own face. “Look at me!”

  The man did so.

  “You killed my friends and have been torturing another. That’s why you are on the floor now. That’s why you can barely breathe. And that’s why I am the last thing you will ever see.”

  Daeng’s gun, already aimed at the man’s head, fired.

  The nurse let out a yelp, but quickly covered his mouth with his hand.

  “You all right?” Orlando asked Daeng.

  He nodded and headed back to the hospital bed without saying a word. Orlando followed.

  Romero had barely moved, his face even paler than before.

  “There are consequences for every action, Mr. Romero,” Orlando said once she was standing beside him again. “You understand this because you were trying to pay back the men who attempted to kill you. I can sympathize to a point, but the problem is, those you went after are our people. No one goes after our people without consequences.”

  “If you are going to kill me, fine. Kill me.” He tried to pump his chest out as if he were making it a target.

  “Whether we kill you or not isn’t up to us.”

  “Who, then?”

  “The man you’ve been calling Quinn.”

  Quinn and Nate raced down the stairs, back into the cellblock. Quinn was glad to see all the cell doors open, the rooms empty.

  “Janus is probably trying to get out of the fort,” Nate said. “Which means he’ll probably head down to the wall exit.”

  “The others are there. They won’t let him through.”

  Nate threw open the door at the end of the block, and started to step into the intersecting hallway. “Yeah. We can trap him between-”

  A loud crack echoed down the other corridor and through the doorway.

  Nate yelled out in pain as he thrust himself back into the cellblock, hugging his left arm to his chest.

  At first Quinn thought it had been a gunshot, but then he saw the wound on Nate’s forearm-a long red mark, not unlike those on Nate’s back.

  A whip.

  “He’s not downstairs,” Nate said through clenched teeth.

  Quinn moved around him so he was closer to the threshold. “Which way?”

  “To the left somewhere.”

  Nate lowered his arm, fighting the pain.

  “You going to be all right?” Quinn asked.

  “Fine,” Nate answered quickly.

  Keeping the suppressor tight against the wall, Quinn thrust his gun through the doorway and aimed it roughly in the direction the whip had come from. He let off three quick shots, spreading the fire from side to side.

  There was a whoosh as the whip lashed out again. The tip hit his gun, missing his finger by less than half an inch. He shot again before pulling the pistol back.

  “Together,” he told Nate, as he popped the nearly empty mag out of the gun’s grip and shoved in a new one. “I’ll take high.”

  This time, they both swung their guns around and opened fire. When they heard the whoosh, they pulled their guns back. As soon as the whip cracked, Quinn rushed out into the hallway.

  Janus was twenty feet away, using the corner of another passageway to stay out of line of fire. He was pulling the whip behind him, getting ready to strike again.

  “Drop it!” Quinn ordered.

  The whip flew out, and Quinn pulled his trigger.

  Instead of a whoosh and a crack, there was a whoosh and a thud as the whip fell to the ground. Clutching his hand where his middle finger had been a moment before, Janus disappeared around the corner.

  “Come on!” Quinn said to Nate, and started after the big man.

  The narrow hallway Janus had been hiding
in went back only fifteen feet before jogging right, so the big man was already gone when Quinn rounded the corner. At the next turn, Quinn slowed just in case Janus was waiting there to jump him, then stepped around it, his gun held ready.

  What he found was a well-worn staircase leading down, but no Janus.

  Quinn turned on his mic. “Orlando, Janus is heading your way.”

  “My way?” she said after a short delay.

  “We think he’s going for the exit in the wall. Send Daeng out to-”

  “We’re not in the room.”

  “You’re not? Then where are you?”

  Another delay. “On our way there now.”

  “What about the others?”

  “The others are there and armed. And I’m pretty sure they’d be happy if Janus suddenly showed up.”

  “Okay. We’ll meet you there.”

  Though he wondered why Orlando and Daeng weren’t with the freed prisoners, there was no time to think about it at the moment. Still taking point, he and Nate ran down the stairs, and followed the passage until they came to the widened area outside the room Peter and the others were waiting in.

  Janus, bloodied but obviously not broken, was trying to pull the door open. He raged and pounded against it when it didn’t budge, and yanked the handle again.

  Quinn and Nate stopped a few feet into the room and raised their guns.

  “I believe it’s locked,” Nate said.

  Janus whirled around, panting like a bull in a ring, his eyes angry and wild.

  “Calm down there, buddy,” Quinn said. “Nothing you can do now.”

  Janus shifted his gaze from them to the door and back. “Let me out! Let me go!”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Quinn told him.

  Janus roared, and pounded on the door again. “Open!”

  “Not going to happen, either,” Nate said.

  Janus turned back. “Let me go!”

  “No.”

  A frustrated scream filled the space. At first, the big man just stood there, shaking, then something seemed to snap in his mind, and he sprinted toward them as if he were going to rip them apart, piece by piece.

  The first bullet slowed him, but didn’t stop him.

  The second, the same.

  The third brought him to his knees.

  The fourth sailed over his head as he collapsed onto the floor.