to be done.
Quinn looked over at his companion, at Orlando. All five-feet-nothing of her. She'd been the one to get him to his feet. She'd tied her scarf around his leg. She was the one who led him away from the chaotic debris that had once been the van.
'How long?' he asked.
'Since the explosion?'
Quinn nodded.
She looked at her watch. 'Nine minutes.'
'My switch wasn't working,' Quinn said.
'Mine was.' Orlando pulled a phone out of her pocket. It wasn't the same model she or Quinn had been carrying. She saw him eyeing it. 'Got it off one of the guys who followed me into the woods.'
'Did you take care of them?'
'I wouldn't be here if I didn't.'
He tried to smile, but failed.
Orlando punched a number into the phone, then held it up to her ear. 'Where are you?' she said, then paused. 'You're almost here. A quarter mile at most. Hold on.'
She walked to the edge of the woods and stepped out. She was too far away for Quinn to hear her conversation, but only a few seconds later a car pulled to the side of the road. It was a maroon BMW sedan.
They helped Quinn into the back seat, then climbed into the front – Nate in the driver's seat, Orlando on the passenger side. Quinn's apprentice pulled the car back onto the road, heading south into the city.
'Just lie down,' Orlando said, looking back. 'We'll get you to a doctor.'
'No,' Quinn said.
Orlando looked back. 'You've probably got a concussion. You need help.' 'No time for a doctor,' Quinn said. 'The St. Martin Hotel. That's where we need to go.'
'Why?' Orlando asked.
'I promised you we'd get Garrett,' Quinn said.
Outside, two police cars rushed past them heading the other way, their emergency lights flashing.
'He's at the St. Martin?' she asked quickly.
'No,' he said. 'That's not what I mean. We have to follow the trail.'When he realized they didn't understand what he meant, he added, 'We didn't get it all.'
'The mints?' she said. 'I blew them all up. Hell, you're lucky I didn't blow you up, too. Some guy must have been standing pretty close to you, because you were wearing parts of him when I found you.'
'Borko,' Quinn said.
'No shit?' Nate said.
Quinn nodded, though Nate couldn't see him. 'But we didn't get all the mints.' He told them about the transferred boxes. 'Six boxes,' he said when he was done. 'More
than enough to get the genocide started. He's got two choices. Dump the boxes, or deliver what he has and still get paid.'
'But why the hotel?' Nate asked. 'You said the
tins were supposed to be part of the welcome packets.' 'Yeah, well, it's too late to get them in the packets now, don't you think?'
'So what? We try to steal the remaining boxes, and still go for the trade-off?' Orlando asked. 'That's pretty weak, don't you think?'
Quinn chose his next words carefully. 'Dahl's the one with the boxes. And Tucker's with him.'
Orlando stared at him. 'Are you sure?'
Quinn nodded. 'They'll know where Garrett is.'
Silence filled the car. Outside, the city once again surrounded them. Nate had to slow the car as traffic began to increase. He shot a quick look at Orlando.
'The St. Martin or Dr. Garber?' he asked.
She didn't even hesitate. 'The hotel.'
Nate pulled up in front of a convenience store, and Orlando ran in. While she was gone, Quinn used the small first-aid kit to dress his wound. After he had the disinfectant and gauze in place, he wrapped an elastic bandage tightly around his thigh several times. He wasn't going to be able to walk perfectly, but the support of the bandage would help a little.
It was only a few minutes before Orlando returned. Once back in the car, she handed a bag to Quinn. Inside was a box of paper napkins and several bottles of water.
'Thanks,' Quinn said.
As Nate got them back on the road, Quinn poured water on several of the napkins, then used them to wipe the blood – Borko's blood, he realized – off his hands and face.
