Janus gave Nate a push toward the guest chair in front of the desk, then let go of his arm. Nate staggered forward and had to grab the back of the chair to keep from falling down.
“Sit,” Janus said.
Exhausted, Nate did as ordered, sitting up as straight as he could so his wounds didn’t touch the back of the chair. Behind him, he heard Janus step out of the room and shut the door.
The old man’s gaze stayed fixed to the tablet, and he’d smile every few seconds. Behind him, Harris continued to stare out the window.
Nate used the silence to try to refocus his mind. He was in a hell of a lot of pain, and it wasn’t going away, but he couldn’t let it control him. If he did, he might as well give up. Which, of course, was not an option.
He steadied his breathing and channeled the pain to one part of his mind. He couldn’t make it completely disappear, but he was able to box it up enough to manage it. With each passing second of silence, more focus returned, so that when the old man finally set the computer down and pulled the earphones out of his ears, Nate’s mind was as sharp and ready as he could have hoped.
The man stared across his desk at Nate for a moment, then smacked his lips and closed the folder. “You are quite accomplished, Mr. Quinn,” the man said. Though he had an accent, he spoke English like he’d known it all his life. “What you do is almost like an art form, wouldn’t you say?”
He waited for Nate to respond, but Nate kept his mouth shut.
“Not like the others, I mean,” the man went on. “They have their specialties, but what you do takes a whole different mindset. The removal of the dead. The erasing of all signs that something had happened. Not just anyone could do that. Of all of you, you’re the one I come closest to regretting bringing here. Unfortunately, guilt by association is still guilt.”
Again he paused as if he expected Nate to say something, and again Nate disappointed him.
“This morning’s session was painful, I know. And I’m not going to lie to you. It’s only going to get worse.”
Nate almost kept silent again, but then decided, what the hell. “Thanks for the breaking news.”
A momentary spike of anger flashed across the old man’s eyes, but a second later he was smiling again. “I had you brought up here, as I did with all of your colleagues, to see if you understand why you are my guest.”
“That’s an easy answer. No.”
“I thought as much. Perhaps this will clear things up.” There was a pause that Nate was sure was meant to be dramatic. “Isla de Cervantes.”
Nate had heard of the place. Isla de Cervantes was a small but strategic island nation in the Caribbean Sea. The few pictures Nate remembered seeing of the place were the typical gorgeous beach shots like all the other islands in the region, but he’d never had reason to go there.
He stared at the man, his expression unchanged. “And?”
Once more, the hint of anger, then quick containment. “You have an actor’s face. I’m sure that comes in handy sometimes. But I’m told you have an excellent memory, which means there’s no way you could have forgotten.”
Nate ran the name through his mind, trying to recall if Quinn had ever mentioned it. He was pretty sure the answer was no. But that wasn’t surprising. His mentor had a way of not mentioning a lot of things.
“Maybe I remember. Maybe I don’t,” he said. “What does it matter? It’s not going to stop you from doing whatever it is you have planned.”
That was not what the old man wanted to hear. His chair scraped backward. Harris turned quickly around, and rushed over to help as the old man stood up.
“That’s right,” the man said. “It is going to happen. You and all your friends will pay for what you tried to do. Do you understand me? This is where you will die!”
“Was that the big reveal? That we’re all going to die? Shocking.”
“You! You’re not any better than the rest of them. You’re no artist. You’re a hack. A pretender.” He shot a glance at Harris. “Put me down!”
Harris eased the man back into his chair.
“Bring me the next one,” the man said.
“Janus!” Harris called out.
The big man reentered the room.
“Take him back and bring the next one,” Harris sneered.
Janus yanked Nate to his feet.
“I can walk on my own,” Nate said. He tried pulling from the man’s grasp, but Janus held tight, and alternated between jerking and shoving him all the way back to the hallway where the cells were located.
As they passed the door of the cell farthest from Nate’s, Janus reached over and pounded on it. “Wakie, wakie, Petey. You next.”
Once Nate’s door was open, Janus sent him into the room with a shove to his shredded back. Nate pressed his lips shut to prevent any sound of the pain he felt from escaping.
He stumbled over to his mattress and lay down. Two things stuck in his mind from his trip out of his cell. The first was Isla de Cervantes. It apparently had something to do with the reason he was here. And while he might not know why, one of his cellmates should. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just come right out and ask them. One of the cards he still held was that he wasn’t who everyone thought he was, and that was a secret he wanted to keep for now. Not knowing the significance of Isla de Cervantes could betray him to the others.
The second thing he’d noted happened right before he was locked back up. Janus had knocked on the door of the far cell, the one Nate was sure belonged to the prisoner who had called himself Jonathan.
Only Jonathan wasn’t what Janus had called him.
Wakie, wakie, Petey.
Now Nate realized why the guy’s voice had sounded so familiar.
CHAPTER 36
Whoever was in the Ford sedan would want to be in a position where they could see the car Quinn, Orlando, and Daeng had left at the gate, but not be seen by the three of them as they walked around the property.
Daeng figured that after the last time the car had driven by, it would have probably parked in the trees along the gentle rise in the road less than a quarter mile back toward the highway.
Quinn scanned the fence that ran parallel to the road. “They shouldn’t be able to see us approach from the end of the runway, and that should put us on their far side.”
It was agreed, with some resistance, that Orlando would wait until she received the signal from Quinn before proceeding to the car and driving it toward the highway. That settled, Quinn and Daeng skirted along the edge of the runway until they reached the end, then sprinted across the empty field up to the fence.
There was no conveniently loose barbed wire there. Quinn climbed up first, and draped his jacket over the wires for protection. Daeng followed. Once on the other side, they worked their way over to the road.
Sure enough, the Ford sedan was there, a man sitting in the driver’s seat. A second person stood outside just beyond the vehicle, partially hidden in the brush and looking toward the gate where the rental was parked.
Quinn pulled out his phone and sent Orlando a text:
NOW
He and Daeng moved in as close as they could safely get without being detected. Since neither of them was armed, Quinn thought it best to avoid a confrontation. He simply wanted to get a look at whoever the people were and note the car’s plate number. What he really wanted to do was turn the tables on them later and see where they went, because nine times out of ten, it was who the tail reported to that was important, not the followers themselves.
When the person standing in the brush suddenly tensed, Quinn guessed Orlando had been spotted. A moment passed, then the watcher headed quickly out of the bushes toward the car.
Quinn jerked his head back, sure his eyes were playing tricks on him.
The passenger door of the Ford opened, and the woman who’d been outside started to climb in.