The Collected (A Jonathan Quinn Novel) (31 page)

“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.”

CHAPTER 50

C
URSON 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.

Unraveling
.

No!
he wanted to yell.
No, no, no!
That will not happen
. They were too close to being done.
He
was too close to the payday he’d stayed four years to collect
.

Through clenched teeth, he said. “Are you sure?”

“We were all supposed to radio in every fifteen minutes. Two men have missed the last two check-ins, while the others missed the most recent. The commander has ordered everyone back here to regroup. He wants to go back out in pairs instead of solo. He sent me up here to let you know.”

“Where is he right now?”

“Waiting for everyone in the anteroom by the wall entrance.”

Without saying another word, Harris opened the door and left the courtyard. He found the commander, a man named Santos, exactly where the soldier said he would be. It also looked like most of the other soldiers were back.

When Santos saw Harris, he straightened in surprise. “Sir.”

“I understand you are missing some men,” Harris said.

“Yes. Seven.”

“Seven? I was told six.”

“There’s another who should have been here by now. We’ve tried to reach him but no response. We’re going back out in pairs. But don’t worry. We’ll find this bastard.”

“You’ll just be chasing your tail,” Harris said. “I want you all to stay here. Post a few men along the wall. At some point Quinn will expose himself.
That’s
when you all will go after him. Kill him the moment you see him.” He knew Romero wouldn’t be happy with that last order, but he was past caring. Quinn was a problem that needed to be eliminated.

“Sir, our other men out there—they might need help.”

“We can’t risk losing anyone else. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Santos said hesitantly. “But I’m sure we can find him. The men are ready.”

Harris glanced around at the gathered soldiers. There was determination in most of their eyes, but he could see fear in a few. “I’m sure they are. But we will do it my way. Now, assign the watch and have the rest stay down here, ready to move.”

“Yes, sir.”

__________

N
ATE ROLLED HIS
latest takedown against the rotting trunk of a dead palm tree. The man was still alive, though that status was contingent on his receiving medical treatment in the next few hours. Four of the other soldiers he’d removed were already dead or almost, while the last two were tied up and unconscious at separate locations.

It was clear a retreat was in progress. The man now lying against the palm tree had been headed back to the fort in a hurry. Nate had heard others, too, moving through the brush.

He took the man’s weapons and dumped them under a bush thirty feet away, then returned to his hiding place near the wall. He was just in time to see two soldiers pass inside. After they were gone, he could hear no one else moving around, and soon guessed they were the last to return. The question now was, would the soldiers come back out again? Or were they going to remain in the fort?

Twenty minutes passed without the door opening again, then he noticed movement along the top of the wall. He crawled through the brush until he was far enough back to get a better look. Five men were spread out along the top.

It appeared as though they had decided to stay home for now. Too bad, but not the end of the world. He knew all he had to do was lure them out again.

He’d just give them a little time to settle in while he prepared.

CHAPTER 51

DURAN ISLAND

T
HE MAP SHOWED
that the fort was located on the southwestern end of Duran Island, so they came at it from the northeast, taking the boat in as close to the beach as they could get before dropping anchor.

Quinn held up the computer in front of Porter’s face. The map of the island was on the screen. “This airstrip,” he said, pointing at the lines indicating a landing area. “Is the cargo plane there?”

Porter raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What cargo—”

Quinn slapped him in the cheek. “Is it?”

“No. It’s at St. Renard’s in Córdoba. There’s no storage or fueling facility on the island.”

That was good news. No simple way for anyone to get off. “I assume there’s a road or something to get from the runway to the fort without having to hack through the jungle.”

Porter nodded. “A path. Starts right here.” He touched the map and moved his finger, stopping it right before he reached the fort. “And comes out here.”

On the ride over, Quinn had questioned Porter multiple times about the strength of Romero’s force on the island. Porter said there were about twenty men. Quinn automatically doubled that number just to be safe.

Forty against Quinn, Orlando, and Daeng. Not exactly the odds he would have liked, but odds, as he’d learned over the years, meant nothing. His little team would have the element of surprise, and that could easily tilt the balance in their favor.

“And how does anyone get inside?”

“There’s a door in the wall.” He pointed at the map again. “There.”

 Quinn closed the laptop. “Thank you, Mr. Porter. Now it’s time for you to go to sleep.”

__________

A
SMALL, QUICK-INFLATING
landing raft carried the three of them and their gear to shore. On the beach, they divvied out the equipment and headed inland.

Walking through the jungle was not as hard as Quinn had feared. While there was plenty of vegetation, it wasn’t thick enough to slow them down, and within minutes they reached the clearing where the airstrip was located. The deserted runway stretched for nearly the entire width of the island.