Brett Battles - The Collected

Daeng put on his best look of relief. “Thank God. I was told the plane was leaving at seven p.m.”

She smiled. “No. Just after ten.”

“That’s good. Well, except now I have to sit around and wait.” He grinned and shrugged.

“Better than missing him, though, right?”

“That’s true,” he said, picking up the envelope. “Thanks.”

At the back of the Tom Bradley International terminal was a balcony level with several restaurants that overlooked the check-in area. Daeng went up, bought a bowl of chicken udon soup from the Japanese place, and took a seat at the front edge of the balcony, with a view of the Qantas counter.

For the first hour, it saw very little action. Then, just a little after six p.m., traffic started to pick up. First the line was a constant half dozen, then a dozen. By seven p.m. it had almost doubled again, and new staff had come on to direct people to the different stations as they opened up.

He still hadn’t seen Burke.

At a quarter after seven, Quinn called.

“We just landed,” he said. “Any news?”

“You were right. He changed to tonight’s ten-o’-clock flight. But so far, he hasn’t checked in.”

“All right. We’re on our way over to you.”

“I’m sitting at the-” He paused, his eyes narrowing as he looked at a man who’d just joined the end of the line.

“Daeng? Are you there?”

“I think I see your friend.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hard to tell from where I’m positioned. I’m going in for a closer look, but you’d better hurry.”

“Five minutes,” Quinn said, and hung up.

Daeng dumped his empty bowl in the trash and rode the escalator back downstairs. As he approached the line in front of Qantas, he saw his instincts had been right. It was Burke.

The guy was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses despite the fact he was inside, but the jawline was the same, as were the ears and the mouth. He was nervous, too. He kept looking over his shoulder, scanning the crowd. He even paused on Daeng for a moment, but quickly moved on, obviously dismissing the former monk as a threat.

By the way the line was moving, it would be at least ten minutes before Burke’s turn. Daeng moved down to the end of the aisle nearest the front doors, and casually stood where he could keep an eye on the man.

Quinn and Orlando joined him three minutes later.

“Where?” Quinn asked.

“Qantas line, about midway, in the baseball cap and glasses.”

“Subtle,” Orlando said.

“Yeah, wouldn’t have been my choice,” Quinn agreed. He watched Burke for a moment. “Here’s what I’d like to do.”

“Good evening. Passport, please,” Maddee James said.

The passenger placed his passport on the counter. “My reservation was for tomorrow, but I switched it earlier today,” he said.

“No problem, sir,” she told him, hoping he was right. It had been a long day already, and the last thing she wanted was to deal with a passenger who thought he’d changed his flight but actually hadn’t. It had happened before and it was never any fun.

She input his name into the system, and smiled. He was indeed on tonight’s flight. She printed out his boarding card, tagged his bag, and handed the card and passport back to him.

“Security check is in the back and to the left. Have a nice flight, Mr. Burke.”

It wasn’t until he grunted a thanks and walked off that she remembered his name from earlier. He was the person that cute messenger was looking for. She had a second to wonder if they’d been able to find each other before the next passenger walked up.

“Good evening. Passport, please.”

Quinn watched from the back end of the aisle as Orlando moved in beside Burke, and Daeng took up position behind the man.

Subtly, Orlando angled her path so that Burke had to move more and more to his right. As they took the turn toward security, he was almost up against the wall. That was Quinn’s cue.

He moved in quickly, a broad smile on his face, his arms open wide. “Doug!”

He enveloped Burke in a hug before the guy even knew what was happening.

“Great to see you again,” Quinn said loudly, then whispered, “If you try to draw any attention, we will kill you here and leave you to die.”

Both Orlando and Daeng moved in close so Burke would know they were there.

“Do you understand?” Quinn asked.

Burke swallowed hard. “Yes.”

Quinn let go and took a small step back. “Let us help you with your stuff.”

Daeng grabbed Burke’s carry-on, while Orlando took his passport and boarding card.

“I’ve got a plane to catch,” Burke said.

“Maybe. That depends on your answers to a few questions.”

“What questions?”

Quinn smiled. “Why don’t we go outside where it’s a little quieter?

Janus led Nate down a long dark hall to the room with the washbasin and toilet. It was the second time he’d been taken there since he came into possession of the bolt. This time, though, there was a clean shirt and pair of pants hanging from a peg on the back wall.

“Wash up,” Janus said. “You want to look good for later.”

Nate held his cuffed hands in the air, silently asking how he was supposed to do that.

Janus smirked, then pulled a pair of cutters out of his back pocket and snapped the plastic tie in two. For half a second, Nate thought about making a move, but Janus quickly stepped back into the doorway, out of range.

“Now wash,” the big man said.

With Janus keeping an eye on him, Nate used the toilet, removed his shirt, and cleaned up, using the soap and washcloth next to the sink. It felt good to get some of the grime and old sweat off, but he knew it was just temporary. Unlike the room he’d been held in, this one didn’t seem to have any climate control. The air was thick and humid. Even as he was drying off, he could feel sweat forming on his skin again.

He grabbed his shirt, but before he could pull it back on, Janus said, “Uh-uh. Change.”

The big man nodded at the clean clothes. Nate hesitated. If he wanted to avoid revealing his prosthetic, the pants were going to be a problem.

He grabbed the shirt-a brown button-up with short sleeves-and pulled it on. When he was done, he turned back to Janus and took a step toward the door.

“Pants, too,” Janus said.

Nate looked at the pants he was wearing, then at those hanging on the wall. They were both jeans.

Realizing his only possible way out was to break his silence, he said, “What difference does it make? They’re the same.”

If Janus was surprised to hear his voice, he didn’t show it. His look took in both pairs of pants. He shrugged. “Change.”

“I’m not going to change. They’re the same damn pants.”

Janus’s ears grew red as his face tightened in anger. “You will change.”

“You want me to change? Fine. But I’m not going to do it with you standing there watching me.”

“Change.”

“Privacy, and I will.”

They stared defiantly at each other for several seconds.

Finally, Nate said, “What do you think I’m going to do? Steal the soap? Here.” He grabbed the bar and tossed it at Janus. “Better?”

Janus frowned, took a quick look around the room, and nodded. “One minute.” He pulled the door closed.

The first thing Nate did was remove the bolt from his pocket. He then pulled his pants off, but before donning the other pair, he bent down and opened the seam on the calf of his artificial leg. As much as he now wished there was a weapon embedded inside, that was one option his leg didn’t have. Traveling as much as he did, his prosthetic already made him a target for extra attention from airport security, so he couldn’t afford to take that kind of chance.