The Collected Part 43

She thought for a moment. Her concern was that while Quinn and Nate went after Ja.n.u.s, Harris and Romero might escape.

"I don't want them to get away," she said.

"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 Ja.n.u.s 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 b.i.t.c.h! 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 Ja.n.u.s and four other men on top of the wall. Ja.n.u.s 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 b.u.t.t of his gun.

From inside came the thup-thup-thup of bullets pa.s.sing 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 Ja.n.u.s in the arm, knocking the rifle out of his hands. Instead of picking the gun back up, Ja.n.u.s 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 Ja.n.u.s 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 Ja.n.u.s 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. Ja.n.u.s 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, antic.i.p.ating 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. h.e.l.l, 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 h.e.l.l," 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 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 a.s.sume 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 a.s.sa.s.sination 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?"

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