Brett Battles - The Collected

“You mean now?”

“Yes, now. Of course, now. We’re wasting time.”

“I’d be more comfortable once we have Quinn back.”

“I will not let one person delay us. Do you understand me? Assemble the prisoners.”

“We’re understaffed at the moment,” Harris said. “Most of the men are out looking for him.”

Romero narrowed his eyes. “How many men to do you really need? The prisoners are beaten and weak. They’ll be cuffed and hooded, too. We could do it with just Janus if we needed to.”

Quinn is beaten and weak, too , Harris thought, and look at what he did . He knew there was no sense in arguing the point, though. “Yes, sir. I’ll get things moving.”

“Good. I’ll be out in the courtyard in twenty minutes. They’d better be there.”

The guard didn’t know Nate was there until the rock slammed into his head, and even then, the realization probably lasted only a microsecond before he dropped to the ground.

Nate checked his pulse. Weak, and getting weaker. There was a very good chance the man wouldn’t live for long.

Bummer . That was about as much sympathy as Nate could muster.

He grabbed the guard by the shoulders and dragged him into the brush, out of sight. A quick search netted him not only the rifle and some spare ammo, but also a GLOCK pistol, a five-inch hunting knife, and a palm-sized, handheld radio. Once he was geared up, he masked the marks he and the soldier had made in the sand, and went in search of number two.

It wasn’t until Janus was hauling the prisoners outside that Harris realized he hadn’t heard back from Porter. He tried calling him, but after four rings only reached voice mail.

“It’s Harris. Update. Now.”

They drove South through Cordoba-Orlando behind the wheel, Quinn and Daeng in the backseat with Porter between them, and Liz up front with Orlando’s computer.

“Here we go,” Liz said, looking at the laptop’s screen. “The island’s called Duran, and is thirty-one miles south-southeast of Isla de Cervantes. Apparently, it was first spotted by Columbus on his final voyage in 1503. Says he didn’t stop there, though. Not big enough, I guess.” She began to read aloud. “‘In the early 1600s, Charles Duran, one of the early Spanish governors of Isla de Cervantes, decided the much smaller Isla Helena, as Duran was first known, could serve as an early warning outpost, alerting the bigger island of approaching enemies by lighting bonfires at its highest point, a low-slung hill at the southwest end of the island.’

“‘Over the years, the outpost’s few buildings were renovated and added to until it became known as Fort Duran.’” She paused as she read on silently. “It does say the island eventually fell into private hands. Nothing about whose, though.”

According to Porter, the private hands in question belonged to the Romero family, and they’d made Duran their private retreat for over a hundred years. Javier had apparently taken sole control of the island a year prior to his faithful run for the presidency, and had moved there permanently-with the blessings of the government he’d tried to oppose-when he was released from the hospital.

“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 Cordoba 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.