He pushed the pain as far back in his mind as he could, then stumbled over and retrieved his gun. It was wet and covered in mud. He checked the end of the suppressor and wasn’t surprised to find it full of crud. He detached it and threw it to the ground. There was no time to clean it, but at least the actual barrel of the gun was clean.
He forced himself back into a run. Pain shot out from his shoulder with every step, but it was just one more thing to ignore. Ahead was the path Jenny had been on, but he knew there was little chance she’d still be in sight.
He took the corner fast, hoping he was wrong. It turned out he was.
He barely made it halfway through the turn when a fist smashed into his cheek, sending him to the ground. Before he could even move, a foot landed on the gun in his hand.
“You’re an annoying son of a bitch, aren’t you?” Jenny said. Her gun was aimed at his head. “Now you’re going to be a dead one.”
Quinn let go of his own gun, then thrust his hand forward, grabbing the back of her calf and pulling her leg out from under her. She stumbled but caught herself, using her gun hand against the container.
Quinn lunged at her, his good shoulder leading him, and knocked her hard against the container.
He twisted her body as she started to bring the gun around, knocking the barrel against the metal box. Her grip slipped, but not enough for the gun to fall out of her hand.
He rammed her against the container again, but still she held on.
As he attempted to do it once more, she swung her leg up and back, pressing her foot against the container so that her knee was jutting out toward him. When he slammed into her again, her knee caught him square in the stomach and nearly knocked the air out of him.
She began to turn her gun on him as he staggered back a few feet. He had only one option. He whipped his SIG upward, knocking it into her pistol a second before she pulled the trigger. His gun raked against her thumb and cut a groove across her knuckle.
“Fuck!” she said.
Quinn hit her hand again. This time she reflexively opened it and let her gun tumble to the ground.
Her eyes grew wide with anger as she realized she had no chance to pick it up before Quinn would shoot her. So she kicked Quinn hard in the stomach, then took off running as he stumbled backward.
Quinn fell against the container, then pushed himself off and continued the pursuit.
Jenny was weaving in and out of the containers, making it impossible for him to get off a clean shot. Less than a hundred feet ahead, the stacks of containers came to a sudden end against a chain-link fence. Beyond the fence were bushes.
As they neared the end of the aisle, the rain began to lessen.
Jenny turned right, moving out of sight again. Quinn accelerated, taking the corner only seconds later. Only she wasn’t there.
He raced ahead to the next aisle. No one.
As he glanced back the way he had come, he saw her. Not in one of the aisles, but on top of one of the container stacks. They were only two boxes high along the back of the compound. Quinn realized from there someone could easily jump over the fence.
He found a stack he thought he could climb, then made his way up as quick as he could with one good arm. When he reached the top, he could see Jenny at the far end, getting ready to jump.
“Don’t!” Quinn said.
He pointed his SIG at her, but she looked at him, laughed, then jumped over the fence.
Quinn cursed under his breath as he ran across the top of the stack to where she’d been. The rain was finally stopping, but there was still a distant rhythmic rumble. Quinn barely noticed, his concentration completely on Jenny.
He took three seconds to examine the other side of the fence, found a landing spot as good as any, then launched himself into the air.
The dirt was soft, loose, and wet. But it wasn’t enough to keep his shoulder from yelling at him again. He clenched his teeth together to fight the pain as he quickly regained his feet.
Jenny was nowhere in sight, but the rain had turned the soft sand into a more than passable tracking system. Her footprints led south through the vegetation.
Quinn followed them, cautious and alert. The rumble he had heard from the top of the containers grew louder the further he got into the brush.
The tracks kept moving him forward. Then suddenly the bushes receded, and the source of the noise became evident. Across a small strip of sand was the Singapore Strait, its waves ending in mellow crashes onto the beach.
Out on the water, dozens of vessels, mostly container ships, moved through the strait. And beyond, he could see Indonesia. No rain there. Only blue sky.
Quinn looked left and right down the beach. If there had been anyone out enjoying an afternoon in the sun, the rain had chased them way.
But the beach wasn’t completely empty. Jenny was standing near the water. She was looking at him, her back to the sea. Her hands hung at her sides, empty.
Quinn walked slowly toward her. He held his gun in front of him and kept it trained on her torso.
When only ten feet separated them, he stopped.
They stared at each other for nearly a minute, neither blinking nor moving.
