Brett Battles - Shadow of Betrayal

“Oh,” she said.

“Marion,” Quinn said, “I need you to stay focused. If you want us to save Iris, we need you to do this. Okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I just didn’t know, okay?”

Quinn stared at her for a second, then nodded.

Outside they could hear the Apache flying in a circle, looking for them.

“Nate,” Quinn said, “I noticed a house not far down the road on the left. You see it?”

Nate nodded.

“After the next circuit, when the Apache is heading away from us, I want you to sprint over there, but keep low. You think you can get there before they look back in this direction?”

“I think so.”

“Will your leg hold up for that?”

Nate paused. Quinn had asked the question honestly, with no hidden agenda. Nate seemed to have sensed it. “It’ll hold up,” he said. Not a boast, just information.

“Good. When you get there, act normal. You can even look up at the helicopter as it flies over. Then find us a ride, but don’t come back until the Apache is gone.”

“Got it,” Nate said.

Quinn gave him a pat on the back. “Now get ready. As soon as it turns away, go.”

Nate moved to edge of the bridge. Above them, the helicopter circled past.

Nate smiled. “Why don’t you guys get some rest,” he said. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Then as the helicopter turned away, Nate slipped into the darkness.

CHAPTER

39

“HERE’S THE AUTHORIZATION, OFFICER,” TUCKERsaid in his best mid-American accent as he handed several pieces of paper to the Highway Patrol officer standing outside the bus.

“Don’t really need to show those unless you’re going past Cambria,” the officer said. But he glanced at the sheets anyway, then handed them back.

“We’ll have to take a look inside, though,” the officer said.

“Sure,” Tucker told him. “I’ll open the door. But do me a favor and try to keep quiet. Most of the kids fell asleep on the ride, and I’d like them to stay that way for a while longer if possible.”

The officer smiled. “No problem.”

Tucker pushed a button and the door to the school bus he was driving folded open. Two officers climbed aboard. The second one— the same guy who’d checked Tucker’s papers—whispered as he passed, “We’ll only be a minute.”

Tucker watched in the mirror as the two men walked down the aisle, looking from left to right at the sleeping children. The only two other adults on the bus were Tucker’s men, Petersen and Linden. They were all he needed now. The rest had been sent south on a detention mission that at last word had gone off without any problems. The officers nodded at Tucker’s men, but otherwise seemed not to have any interest in them.

As they made their way back out, the main officer said, “All good. Thank you. You have a big day ahead of you. Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Tucker said. “I’ll just be glad when it’s over, and I can get these kids home.”

The officer chuckled. “Yeah, I bet.”

As soon as the door was closed, Tucker put the bus in gear and headed west on Highway 1 toward Morro Bay.

The sun had come up and the world had come back to life. Quinn had finally given up any hope of spotting Tucker and the children on the highway, so they’d stopped at a café in Shell Beach to figure out what their next move should be.

When Quinn returned from the bathroom, he found Orlando sitting at their table alone with her laptop open in front of her. Marion was still in the bathroom, and Nate was out finding a new car, something that hopefully wouldn’t be reported stolen for several hours.

“There’s a report about the helicopter going down,” she said. “They think we were some kind of protestors trying to embarrass the government by attempting to enter restricted airspace. But they think they thwarted us.”

“‘Thwarted?’” Quinn asked.

“That’s what it says, ‘thwarted.’”

“I’ve just never heard the word spoken before.”

She shook her head, but she was smiling. After a moment, she said, “I got to thinking.”

“About?”

“Schedules,” she said. “Peter told you there was nothing on the leaders’ schedules that would seem to connect with whatever it is Tucker is up to, right?”

“Right.”

“What if it’s not the leaders they’re after?” she asked.

“What do you mean? Like, someone lower level? Secretary of State or something like that? Wouldn’t their schedules be pretty much the same as their bosses’?”

“No. You’re right. I was just thinking of something else.”

“What?” he asked.

But before she could respond, Marion reappeared.

“Shouldn’t we go or something?” she said. “Why are we waiting?”

“As soon as Nate gets back, we’ll leave,” Quinn said.

“But Iris?” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand.

“We haven’t given up, okay? We just need to try and figure out where she’s—”

“I know,” Orlando said.

Quinn looked at her.

“I know what they’re going to do,” Orlando said.

“What?”

“It’s not the leaders they’re after, not directly.” She turned her laptop around so Quinn could see it. “It’s their wives.”

“Wives?” He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.

But on the screen was the itinerary for the First Lady of the United States. And there listed in bold, and to begin at 9:30 a.m.: Spouses’ Tour of the R. J. Oliver School of Special Education, Morro Bay.

Quinn stared at the screen. A school focused on the teaching of the mentally disabled. A wonderful photo op for the spouses of the G8 leaders—seven women and one man, the husband of the German Chancellor. A public face of caring while God knew what their other halves were discussing behind the closed doors of Hearst Castle.

“What is it?” Marion asked.

Quinn looked at his watch: 8:20. Seventy minutes. Less than that really, because once the VIPs were on-site, it would be too late.

“You’re staying here,” he said to Marion, his tone dead serious.

“No way,” she said.

“Then we’re all dead,” he said. “You. Us.” He paused. “Iris.”

Her stare was defiant, but he could see hesitation creeping in. After a moment, she started unconsciously chewing on her lower lip, then she nodded.

“Good,” he said. “We passed a motel a couple blocks south of here, remember?”

Another nod.

He pulled some cash out of his pocket, peeling off two hundred dollars.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her. “Use a false name. Something easy to remember.”

Orlando snapped her laptop closed. “Nate,” Orlando said, nodding toward the window.

Nate was standing in front of the café, next to a Nissan Maxima.

Quinn dropped a few bucks on the table to pay for the coffee, then stood up.

“Please bring her back,” Marion said.

“That’s the plan,” he told her.

The closer they got to San Luis Obispo, the more police and Highway Patrol cars they saw. No checks yet, but Quinn knew there would be some ahead.

“Get off here,” Orlando said, glancing up from her computer screen.

The sign read Los Osos Valley Road.

“Not the PCH?” Nate asked. The Pacific Coast Highway was the direct route from San Luis Obispo to Morro Bay.

“This’ll get us there, too,” she said. “Just comes in from the back side.”

Nate nodded, then turned up the off-ramp, stopping at the top. “Which way?” he asked.

“Left.”

They passed through the outskirts of San Luis Obispo and entered a more open farm country framed to the right by a series of dramatic hills.

Quinn’s phone began to vibrate. Though Peter’s name was on the display, it wasn’t Peter’s voice that spoke. It was Sean Cooper, the guy who had gotten them the car in New York.