The Collected Part 15

The only light came from a dull bulb screwed into a socket crudely attached in an upper corner. The wire wasn't visible, so Nate a.s.sumed a hole must have been drilled through the rock.

He lay down on his mattress and stared at the ceiling. So far, he'd been captured, knocked around, transported somewhere, bound to a chair where he was dunked in water, and then treated to a gourmet meal. Even odder, perhaps, was that even though he'd been asked a few questions here and there, there had really been no interrogation.

It just didn't add up.

"Hey."

Nate sat up. The voice had been a distant whisper, or maybe not even a voice at all. Perhaps it had just been the groan of the building.

"Hey, new guy."

No groan could put words together like that.

Nate crawled over to the door and leaned down to the vent. "Who's there?"

"Who are you?" the voice asked.

Before Nate could respond, another voice whispered, "Shut up. You know they can hear everything we say."

"So what?" the first voice said. "New guy, who are you?"

Nate hesitated for a moment, then whispered, "Quinn."

"Holy s.h.i.t. The cleaner?"

He paused again. "Uh-huh. Who are you?"

"Lanier. Remember me? We've worked together before."

Lanier?

It took a second before the name clicked. An ops guy, good at logistics, wasn't he? They had worked together once or twice, but Nate knew the man was thinking of the original Quinn, not him.

"Sure," he said. "I know who you are. Who's the other guy?"

"Berkeley, another ops guy like me, and scared s.h.i.tless."

"I'm not scared," Berkeley whispered, his voice a bit more distant than Lanier's. "I just think we need to be smart."

Berkeley's name was also familiar. "Either of you know what's going on?" Nate asked.

"No clue," Lanier said. "I'd just finished this gig in Panama and the next thing I know, I wake up here. That was a week ago."

"A week?" Nate said, surprised.

"Berkeley's been here even longer. A week and a half."

"Almost two," Berkeley said, obviously not wanting to be short-changed.

"And they haven't told either of you why?"

"Other than the first day we each got here, the only guy we've seen is that big son of a b.i.t.c.h Ja.n.u.s," Lanier said.

"And the first day?"

"Same thing that happened to you tonight, I'm guessing. Dinner with Mr. Baldy."

"He said his name was Harris," Nate said.

"That's consistent, anyway."

"So you've been in your cells since then?"

"They haven't even let us take a shower."

"Anyone question you?"

"No."

"Seriously?"

"Kind of freaky, isn't it?"

It wasn't just kind of freaky, it was all kinds of freaky.

"Did Harris tell you anything?" Lanier asked.

Nate repeated what he thought were the key points from Harris's monologue, and added, "He did say another guest was coming tomorrow."

"That'll make five."

"Five?"

"Yeah, there's another guy in a room somewhere down the hall. They take him in and out a lot. I get the feeling he's been beaten up pretty bad. Never responds when we call out to him."

Five people, at least two of whom Nate was tangentially a.s.sociated with. No, at least two of whom Quinn was a.s.sociated with.

For the first time, he felt there might be a chance to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. How and in what order was still an unknown, but a little light was creeping in.

He put his lips near the vent. "Lanier?"

"Yeah?"

"How many-"

A door down the hall opened, and Ja.n.u.s shouted, "Be quiet! Time to sleep."

His heavy, booted feet pounded quickly down the hall, stopping right in front of the vent.

Something hit Nate's door. Bam! Bam!

Nate jumped back, his ears ringing.

"No talking," Ja.n.u.s said.

Nate waited, hoping Ja.n.u.s would walk off and he could get more info out of Lanier, but the big man seemed to have decided to take up residence outside his door.

Eventually, Nate crawled back over to the mattress, but it was a long time before he finally fell asleep.

CHAPTER 19.

HARRIS PACED BACK and forth across his room.

Despite his outward appearance earlier, his dinner with Quinn disturbed him.

The purpose of the face-to-face meals was to show the men they'd taken that there was no hope. The soldiers, the controlled meal, the relaxed facade of the man in charge-all meant to reinforce that message.

But there was something troubling about Quinn.

While the others had put up stoic fronts, Quinn seemed almost relaxed, like he knew something Harris didn't.

For the first time, the thought that perhaps they should have just killed Quinn and the ops team crossed his mind, but he quickly pushed it aside.

d.a.m.n Quinn!

Instead of getting into the cleaner's head, it was like the cleaner was starting to get into his. That would never happen.

He poured himself a gla.s.s of whiskey.

Fun, remember? It's going to be fun.

He toasted that thought, and poured himself another.

CHAPTER 20.

"I'M NOT GETTING in there," Burke told them.

They were standing next to Daeng's rental car in the parking structure near the international terminal.

"Fair enough. A question first," Quinn said.

"I'm telling you, I'm not getting in."

"If you give me the right answer, you won't have to."

Burke looked at him warily, but said nothing.

"We know you were part of the termination in Monterrey," Quinn said. "And that you were a.s.sisting the cleaner, Quinn. So what happened?"

Burke hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"That's the question, Doug. You answer it right, and you can walk away."

Burke held Quinn's gaze for a second. "Did Pullman send you? Or..."

"Or who?" Quinn asked.

"No one. Never mind."

"Or who?"

Burke shook his head. "I was just testing you."

"You're a horrible liar. Do you realize that?"

Before Burke could even respond, Quinn's fist slammed into the man's gut.

Burke let out a groan as he doubled over and clutched his stomach.

"What the h.e.l.l?" he said, panting.

Quinn opened the car's rear door, and shoved the b.a.s.t.a.r.d into the backseat. While he climbed in next to Burke, Daeng swung around the car and bookended the guy on the other side. Orlando slipped into the driver's seat.

Quinn grabbed Burke's shoulder and shoved him against the backrest. "See, this is what not being helpful gets you."

Burke stared at him, not even attempting to hide the fear in his eyes. "Who are you people?"

"Well, we're not with Pullman."

Burke's eyes widened. "s.h.i.t."

"Come on, Doug. Tell me about Monterrey."