It was weird to be there without the guards pushing her around. It felt almost like she was doing something wrong. As they approached the entrance to the main corridor, she glanced into the open door of the first cell, and jerked to a stop.
There was a man covered in blood lying in the middle of the floor.
“He’s dead?” she asked, surprised she could manage the words.
“Yes,” Quinn said.
“I heard gunshots,” she said.
“I heard them, too.”
“I tried to let him know I was here. That he wasn’t alone.”
“I know,” the man said. “That’s how we found you. He told us.” “He … told you?”
But he didn’t answer. Instead he ushered her toward where Nate stood near the exit.
“Later,” he whispered to her as she passed.
“Back to the tunnel?” Nate said.
“Yes,” Quinn said. He looked at Marion. “Ready?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know.”
He gave her one of his warm smiles again. “That’ll have to do.”
Quinn let Nate take point, and had Marion Dupuis walk between them.
It had been touch and go with her back in the cell. She’d understandably associated him with her kidnappers. Given the circumstances, Quinn would have done the same. But at least they’d gotten her to come along, and even better, she seemed to be starting to trust him.
They had made it almost halfway back when Nate stopped abruptly. His hand flew up, palm toward Quinn and Marion, telling them to freeze. They were about ten feet from where the hallway took a ninety-degree right turn.
Footsteps. Heading their way.
Quinn did a quick scan of the immediate area. No doors, no alcoves, no place to hide. They would never make it back to the previous section without being either heard or seen.
He listened again. It sounded like it was just a single person. Tucker perhaps?
He put his hands on Marion’s shoulders and pushed her against the wall.
“Stay here,” he mouthed.
She nodded, her eyes were wide with fear.
To Nate he mouthed, “Quietly.” Then motioned for him to get as close to the corner as possible.
Once his apprentice was in position, Quinn took two steps out into the center of the corridor, then waited.
The steps were steady but hurried, as if whoever it was had somewhere to be.
Two steps away.
One.
A man—not the Australian—rushed around the corner, his forward momentum taking him within three feet of Quinn before he realized he wasn’t alone. He was wearing fatigue pants and a black T-shirt. The barrel of an M16 peeked above his shoulder.
“Who the hell are—” the man started to say.
Nate smashed the butt of his pistol against the back of the man’s head, forcing him to stumble into Quinn.
Nate hit him again, and the man sagged against Quinn, unconscious.
Blood from a cut caused by the blows trickled down his neck and onto the floor.
Without missing a beat, Quinn tossed the M16 to Nate, then hoisted the man over his shoulder. Nate was already kneeling on the floor, wiping away the blood with a piece of cloth he’d gotten from his backpack.
“Come on,” Quinn whispered, motioning to the woman.
“You’re taking him with us?” she said.
“We can’t leave him here.”
She didn’t seem to like the idea, but she didn’t protest further.
Soon they were back in the unused northern hallway that led to the facility’s neglected emergency exit, no one else interfering with their escape.
“All the way into the tunnel,” Quinn said.
Once they were surrounded by the old concrete again, he set the man on the ground. He patted the prisoner down. In the guy’s pants Quinn found a roll of cash and a cell phone.
“Tie him up. Gag him,” Quinn said to Nate. “Shoot him if you have to.”
“He’s one of the guards,” the woman said. “You weren’t lying to me, were you?”
“No. I wasn’t.”
