The Collected (A Jonathan Quinn Novel) (35 page)

“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 Señor 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 Señor 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 work 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. “
¿Quién 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?”

__________

H
ARRIS KNEW HE
had
to 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, Señor 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!

__________

B
OTH 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.”

__________

Q
UINN 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.

Quinn and Nate heard steps running down the stairs behind them. They turned quickly, ready to shoot again.

Orlando appeared first.

“Just us,” she said, holding up her hands.

The two men lowered their guns.

Daeng showed up a few seconds later, carrying an old man. Romero, Quinn realized.

“You two had your hands full,” Orlando explained. “So we thought we’d get him while you were occupied.”

“What about Harris?” Quinn asked, worried that the bald man had gotten away.

“No longer a problem,” Daeng said. The look on his face left no question as to what had happened and who had pulled the trigger.

A silent moment passed, then someone yelled from the other side of the door, “Everything all right out there?”

Quinn walked over and said, “You can open up now.”

The hinges creaked as the door swung inward. Lanier looked out, Berkeley and Curson right behind him. Grins broke out when they spotted Janus on the floor, then full smiles at the sight of Romero.

CHAPTER 60

Q
UINN, ORLANDO, NATE,
and Daeng made a sweep of the entire fort to make sure there weren’t any more of Romero’s soldiers hiding out.

The only other people they found were two other nurses, and the three men who had been handling the cooking and the housekeeping. After a quick discussion, they locked the five of them and the nurse from Romero’s room in the kitchen, where the group could wait for the officials who would descend on the island after they’d been notified.

Once the fort was secured, Quinn and the others made their way up to the top of the wall. Keeping their bodies below the walkway lip, they spread out along the walkway. Quinn turned on the radio they’d taken from one of the soldiers.

“I’ve got a message for the group outside the fort,” he said in Spanish. “Can you hear me?”

Static.

“I’m calling the security force that was sent out to look for the man who escaped. Are you there?”

More static, then, “Who is this?”

“You don’t need to know that. What you
do
need to know is that your bosses are no longer in need of your services.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Mr. Harris, who is now dead, and Mr. Romero, who I’m sure wishes he was. They are not in control of this fort anymore.”

A long pause. “Why should we believe that?”