Brett Battles - The Silenced

“You’re sure she wasn’t waiting there the whole time?” Wills asked.

“Yes, David. I’m sure. I was the only one who knew about the location ahead of time. When I called your ops team, I was already there, and had done several area checks. We were clean at that point. The only possibility is that she followed the others. Unless you have some other theory.”

Wills said nothing.

“I don’t like the fact someone showed up on one of my jobs any more than you do,” Quinn said. “But I did everything according to my rules. I even got you pictures.” Around him traffic was starting to pick up. “Sorry you’re not happy, but that’s not my problem. Gotta go.”

“Wait,” Wills said. “Look, I apologize. You’re right. You did exactly what you should have. I’m just feeling a lot of pressure on this one. But that’s not an excuse.”

Quinn took a moment, letting his own agitation ebb. So far Wills had been a decent client, fair even. No sense in damaging a good relationship.

“It’s fine, David. It happens.”

“I seem to be staying just a step or two ahead on this one, when I’d rather it be a mile,” Wills said. “We need to talk about the next assignment.”

Quinn looked around. Though there were more cars on the street, he was still the only one on the sidewalk. “All right.”

“After what happened tonight, I don’t want to take any chances, so I’m moving up the next phase. I need you and your team on the East Coast by tomorrow morning.”

Quinn didn’t need to check his watch to know it was almost 10 p.m. “Not possible. By the time we could get to the airport, there won’t be any flights.”

“You won’t go commercial,” Wills said. “I’m chartering a plane for you. I’ll email the details within the next thirty minutes.”

“Where exactly are we going?”

“Maine.”

Petra had told Kolya to drive straight to the airport. After leaving the car in one of the long-term lots, they grabbed a free shuttle to the terminals, taking seats in the back as far from the handful of other passengers as possible. The bus was nearing Terminal 1 when her phone began to ring. She didn’t need to look at the display. Only Mikhail and Kolya had the number.

“Where the hell have you been?” she asked. She’d been trying to reach him for the last half hour with no luck.

“Busy,” he said.

Petra frowned. “We’re at the airport. Did you get us a flight or not?”

“Winters?” he asked.

“Dead.”

Mikhail paused for a moment, then, “Continental Airlines 634. You leave at eleven-thirty.”

“Okay,” Petra said. “Have a car meet us when we arrive. We’ll see you at the hotel.”

“You’re not flying to New York.”

That caused her a moment’s pause. “You’ve found him?”

“I’ve narrowed it down,” he said.

“Where?”

“You switch planes in Cleveland, Ohio, then fly on to Boston. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“You’d better be.”

The private jet could have easily fit twenty passengers, but besides the two pilots up front and a single attendant, Nate and Quinn had the plane to themselves.

As soon as they were in the air, Quinn announced that he was going to get some sleep.

Nate knew this was more than just information; it was a suggestion that he do the same. With seats that reclined to a fully horizontal position, and the eyeshades and earplugs that had been on the seat cushions when they came aboard, sleep should have been easy.

Nate removed the prosthetic that served as his lower right leg, tilted his own seat back, and tried to get comfortable. But an ache in his missing ankle kept sleep from finding him. Phantom memories, the physical therapist had explained. “You’ll have them the rest of your life.”

Great.

Like he often did, he began to wonder why he could remember his leg, but couldn’t remember the moment it had been crushed. It had happened in Singapore outside a hawker center. Arriving at the center with Quinn and Orlando-yes, he remembered that. Racing into position to back up his boss, that too. But the moment the car had intentionally rammed into him? Nothing.

When he woke up a day later in a private hospital, his right leg had already been amputated below the knee. Doctors and nurses had come in and out in no apparent pattern, some looking at his stump, some checking his charts, but few talking to him. The ones who did told him he would be fine. That artificial limbs had come a long way from the plastic and metal boat anchors they’d once been.

At the time Nate had barely listened. Part of it was the shock, but mostly it was the almost-certain knowledge that his career as a cleaner was over. What awaited him was a return to normal life, to a life devoid of the challenges and the excitement and the sense of truly being alive that he’d had as Quinn’s apprentice. When he realized this, he almost wished the car had killed him, because he knew the boredom he was facing surely would.

But then, two nights after the accident, Orlando came to see him. It was her second visit of the day. Earlier she’d come with Quinn, who’d hardly been able to say anything.

Pity, that’s what Nate thought his boss was feeling. It had been enough to drive Nate deeper into depression.

As soon as Orlando walked back in, Nate looked to the door expecting Quinn to follow.

“I’m alone,” she said as she approached his bed. “I wanted to say goodbye.”

Nate nodded, the look on his face neutral. “Okay.”

On the table that hovered above his waist was his untouched dinner. He picked up the fork and pushed some of the rice around.

“I need to get back to Garrett,” she said. Her son was still living in Vietnam at that point.

“Sure, I get it.” He squeezed his eyes closed as pain spiked up his leg into his torso.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I could get the nurse. Get you some painkillers.”

“I’m fine!” His voice leaped from his throat, harsh and loud.

Neither of them said anything for several seconds.

“Sorry,” Nate said. “I just… I…”

“You should eat,” she said.

“I’m not hungry.”

“What are you talking about? This looks great.”

“You can eat it, then.”

She picked up the spoon from the tray and scooped up some vegetables, a piece of chicken, and some rice, then held them in the air. “You sure?”

“Be my guest.”

She slipped the food into her mouth, then smiled. “This isn’t bad.” She sat on the edge of his bed.

“I thought you were leaving?” he said.

“In a few minutes.”

He shrugged.

She filled up the spoon again, but this time held it out to him.

“I’m not hungry,” he told her.

“Just try it.”

“No.”

She moved the spoon to his lips. “Come on.”

“I said I’m not hu-”

She slipped the spoon into his mouth.

Having no choice, he started chewing the food. “I wouldn’t even let my mother do that.”

She filled the spoon again and held it back up.

“I can feed myself,” he said.

“Yeah, but will you?”

He scowled at her for a moment, then picked up the fork and stabbed a piece of chicken.

Smiling, Orlando redirected the spoon into her own mouth. “Could use a little spice. But this is a hospital, so I guess bland makes sense.”

They both chewed in silence for a moment.

Finally Nate said, “Where’s Quinn?”

“Back at the hotel.”

Probably either sleeping or having a beer in the bar, Nate thought. Moving on, no doubt. Maybe even thinking about getting a new apprentice.

“He’s trying to arrange appointments for you back in California,” Orlando said, like she was reading his mind.