The Collected (A Jonathan Quinn Novel) (36 page)

“I assume you’re close to the wall. Am I right?”

No response.

“Doesn’t matter. I think you’ll get the message.” Quinn clicked off the mic. With his voice raised enough for his friends to hear, he said, “Now.”

As one, they angled their guns toward the jungle without exposing more of themselves than necessary. They let off two shots each.

Quinn keyed the mic again. “Hope we didn’t hit anyone.”

“What do you want?” The man’s tone had done a one-eighty.

“It’s not what
we
want. It’s what you probably want. To get off this island.”

“You’d let us go?”

“Sure, we’ll let you leave,” Quinn said. “Or we could continue hunting you down and killing you off.”

The man took a moment before he spoke again. “Are we supposed to just
swim
?”

“There’s a boat at the other end of the island. We’ll give you thirty minutes to get there and shove off. Anyone left after that will be eliminated. Do we have an understanding?”

__________

D
AENG WAS TASKED
with shadowing the remaining soldiers and making sure they all boarded the boat and left. While he did that, Quinn called Gogan, the pilot of their private jet, and gave him the coordinates of the island’s airstrip. Then he, Orlando, Nate, and the other former prisoners—with the exception of Peter—moved the bodies of Harris and the dead soldiers into the downstairs room. They decided to leave Janus where he was, his bulk more than any of them wanted to deal with.

When they finished, Orlando retrieved the bag she’d brought downstairs. “For your trouble, gentlemen,” she said as she unzipped the bag and flashed the contents at Lanier, Berkeley, and Curson. “Doesn’t necessarily make up for what happened, but it’s something.” She zipped it back up and tossed it to Lanier.

A little while later, Daeng radioed in that the soldiers had all left. Shortly after that, Gogan called to say he was getting ready to take off and would be there in no more than twenty minutes.

When Quinn hung up, he walked over to where Peter was sitting with Romero.

“We need to head out. Are you ready?” he asked.

“Our friend here is being a little close-lipped,” Peter said. “Doesn’t want to say how he came into possession of our names or found out where I lived.”

“Unfortunate,” Quinn said. “You need a little more time? We could spare maybe another few minutes. You could hook him up to that electroshock machine.”

Peter frowned. “That would only kill him. Rather he died on his own at this point. It’s going to be painful.” He stood up. “Besides, I have a pretty good idea where the leak came from.”

“Well, if you need our help plugging it, you let me know.”

Once the others had all moved outside, Quinn took a last look around to make sure everything was just right.

The weapons the soldiers had been carrying were in a pile against the wall, and the bodies were laid out on the floor in a line. Directly behind them, strapped to a wooden chair, sat Romero. In his office, they had found digital movies of the whippings, with Romero clearly visible, watching the proceedings. Orlando had copied the videos onto two separate memory cards. One she kept. The other was in a plastic bag taped to Romero’s shirt, the words
WATCH ME
written across the plastic.

Everything in the room looked fine. Once Quinn and the others were in the air, a call would be placed to the Isla de Cervantes state police. The authorities would be told of a gunfight at Fort Duran, and of a band of the surviving rebels racing toward the main island in a speedboat at that very moment.

It wouldn’t provide complete satisfaction for what had happened, but it would do.

Quinn stepped outside and closed the door.

__________

J
ANUS KNEW HIS
end was near, but it hadn’t quite arrived yet.

He had regained consciousness to the sounds of voices. He recognized one right away. It belonged to the prisoner Quinn, who had escaped and ruined everything.

Without opening his eyes, he tried to follow their conversation, but it was hard to focus. He had been shot—how many times, he didn’t know—but his body refused to die.

Finally the voices stopped, and a door closed.

They’re gone
.

He lay there for a moment, just to be sure, and then pried his eyelids apart.

With effort, he pushed himself into a sitting position before rising painfully to his feet. He had to pause and grab the wall. He thought he was about to pass out again, but then the haze cleared and he was back.

He looked around.

I’m downstairs.

Right. That’s where he’d been when they shot him again.

To his left was the way back into the fort. To his right, the open door to the antechamber that housed the fort’s exit. Through the doorway, he could see something odd on the floor, something his mind was having a hard time processing. He walked over for a closer look.

Bodies. All wearing uniforms.

No, not all. Harris was there, too. Dead.

“Huh,” he said, feeling no emotion whatsoever.

“Janus?”

If Janus had been able to, he would have jumped in surprise. Instead, his head slowly turned to the voice.

Strapped to a chair directly behind the bodies was Señor Romero, looking even more frail than usual.

“Janus. Untie me. Now!”

Janus staggered into the room, and stopped beside Romero’s chair.

“Come on!” Romero said. “Quickly!”

He looked at the old man, and glanced at the straps holding Romero down. They looked like the same straps that had been on the electroshock machine upstairs. Thick and strong. A good choice.

“Hurry! Get me out of this chair!”

Janus walked over to the pile of weapons, awkwardly lowered himself to his knees, and hunted around.

“What are you doing?” Romero asked. “Get over here!”

Janus found a knife and pulled it out.

“If that will make it faster, fine. Now cut me out.”

A knife was fine, but there was something that would do the job even better. Back on his feet, Janus raised the rifle he’d grabbed and shot Romero in the chest. No sense in letting the old man outlive him.

He stared at his work for second. His bullet had gone right through the letter A of the word
WATCH
that was on a piece of plastic attached to Romero’s shirt. Why it was there, he had no idea, nor did he care.

For a moment, he lost focus, his mind drifting off. When he snapped back, he was looking toward the door to the outside.

Yes
.
That’s it.

Using the rifle as a cane, he made his way outside.

There was one other person who needed to die before he did today.

__________

T
HEY MADE IT
to the airstrip five minutes before they saw the jet descending toward them.

“You broke the first rule, you know,” Quinn said to Nate as they waited.

“Never get caught,” Nate said with a nod.

Quinn put a hand against his forehead to shade his eyes as he tracked the plane’s progress. “I’ve never been caught.”

Nate’s face scrunched up on one side. “Is that true?”

“It’s what I’m telling you.”

“So it’s not true.”

“It might be.

“And it might not.”

They fell silent for a moment.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” Nate said. “You know I’d do the same for you.”

“Whether you would or wouldn’t have before, you have to now. You owe me.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Orlando said. “Are you boys finished? The rest of us don’t want to hear this.”

“I was just thanking him,” Nate said.

“And I was just accepting that thanks,” Quinn added.

She rolled her eyes.

Seconds later the plane swooped in, its tires emitting a rubbery screech as they touched down. Before the jet had even stopped moving, the group headed down the clearing beside the tarmac to meet it. They were about a hundred feet away when the door opened, and Liz hopped down the ladder.

“Nate!” she said, running toward him.

Nate paused for half a second. “Liz?”

“I knew there was something I forgot to mention,” Quinn said, allowing himself a playful smile. “And by the way, you and I need to have a talk about what you’re allowed to tell my sister and what you’re not.”

__________

J
ANUS COULND’T SEE
the plane, but he could hear it. Afraid they’d know he was following them if he moved any closer, he’d stayed within the cover of the jungle, a dozen feet from the clearing.

The walk from the fort had drained all but the last bit of his energy. Each step now felt like he was moving through a vat of mud. His eyesight, too, had become problematic. Though he could see the others standing together near the landing strip, he had to use all his concentration to pick out the one he was pretty sure was Quinn.

He was the one who had to die.

The roar of the jet increased. Putting a hand on the tree next to him, Janus leaned forward so he could see the end of the runway. A plane appeared over the island, and seemed to hover in the air for a second before landing. He watched as it raced down the runway, passed the group waiting for it, and stopped near the other end.

He thought it would come back this way, but instead Quinn and his friends were walking toward it.

No!

He knew he couldn’t go much further. His body had given him all it had and more already. But he couldn’t let Quinn get away.

He weaved unsteadily out of the brush, and forced himself to follow the troublemaker. Halfway there, he knew he wouldn’t make it. Worse yet, Quinn was at the front of the group, greeting someone who had just come out of the plane. He was too far away.

Janus wanted to scream, but he held it in.

Do what you can.

The rifle felt like a thousand pounds as he raised it to his shoulder. He steadied himself as best he could, pointing the weapon at the back of the pack.

“You all go to hell,” he whispered, then pulled the trigger.

__________

T
O SAY QUINN
was getting used to seeing his sister and Nate embrace would have been stretching reality. But this time there was a certain satisfaction.

There’d been moments over the last few days when he wondered if the two of them would ever have the chance to be together again. But here they were, arm in arm. It was a sight to be cherished, not frowned upon.

“All right, everyone,” Quinn said, turning toward the others. “Let’s get on—”

The word stuck in this throat as he saw Janus standing seventy yards behind the group, not only alive but pointing a rifle in their direction.

As he pulled out his gun, he shouted, “Down! Everyone!”

But his warning was drowned out by the
bang-bang-bang-bang-bang
of the semiautomatic rifle.

Quinn saw movement at the back of the group. Someone going down.

He ran to the side and let off five quick shots. Four more shots came from off to his right, Daeng circling the other way and mirroring Quinn’s course.

Janus took two steps backward, his rifle tilting up in the air.

Quinn emptied the rest of his magazine.

As Janus went down for the last time, his finger jerked on the rifle’s trigger, sending a final hail of bullets flying high over the jungle.

As Quinn ran toward Janus, he released the empty mag and jammed in his final one.

He and Daeng reached Janus at the same time.

The man’s chest was full of entry wounds, and his eyes had the empty death stare Quinn had seen so many times before. But there was only one way to make sure the man never got up again. Quinn aimed his gun at Janus’s forehead and pulled the trigger.

“Quinn!” Nate called out.

Quinn whipped around, thinking maybe there was another attacker somewhere. But Nate was at the back of the group, kneeling on the ground. There were two people lying to either side of him.

“Hurry!” Nate yelled.

The hair on the back of Quinn’s neck stood on end. He ran as fast as he’d ever run, trying to keep his mind blank.

The closest person on the ground was Peter, and Quinn instantly knew the former head of the Office would never get up again. A bullet had caught him on the side of the head just above his right ear.

Then he twisted around and saw the other person Janus had hit.

__________

O
RLANDO HAD NO
idea what happened.

She’d been standing, she was sure of that, but now she seemed to be lying on the ground.

Why can’t I get up? Why can’t I move?

Voices. Hollow. Distant, but not distant.

“Quinn…Hurry…”

I’m tired. Why am I so tired?

The ground shook under her.
Thud. Thud.
Then something bumped against her arm.

She could feel it. She couldn’t move her arm, but she could feel it. That was good, right?

 “No, no, no, no, no!”

Quinn
?

“Orlando. Orlando, can you hear me?”

I can hear you.

“Orlando? Come on, baby, stay with me!”

It was strange. Though she knew he was right beside her, it sounded like he was a million miles away.

“Do you hear me? Baby, please, stay with me!”

Growing farther and farther.

“You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be fine. Just stay with…”

Thank you so much for reading
THE COLLECTED
.

If you have time and the inclination,

a review posted at the site you purchased the novel is always appreciate.

Quinn will be back in 2013

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, any book is a team effort, and I am very thankful to my Team Quinn members, and to all the readers who continue to enjoy the adventures of Quinn and his friends.

This time, special thanks go to: Ivonne de Cervantes for helping me with my Spanish (any errors, as much as I always hate to admit it, are mine); friend and fellow novelist Robert Browne, not only for the long conversations about plot, books, and basic BS, but for creating the fantastic Quinn covers; and, of course, Elyse Dinh-McCrillis, whose expert eyes find the errors, both easy and deceiving, that I never catch. You have my undying gratitude.