Quinn.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have to call in some extra help, though. I want to make sure we can cover this place around the clock.”
“Fine. I’ll call you back when I have more instructions.”
Peter disconnected the call, but didn’t put the phone away just yet. There was one person who might know where Quinn was, and if he was still alive.
After five rings, a prerecorded generic voice kicked in. “Please leave your message after the tone.”
He thought about hanging up, but instead waited for the beep to end, and said, “Orlando, it’s Peter. If he’s in any condition to talk, I need him to call me right away. Can you help?”
The only light entering the room came through the dime-thin space between the bottom of the door and the floor. Not daylight, though-weak incandescence from the other side.
Mila had no idea what was out there. A corridor? Another room? There was no way to know. She’d been instructed to leave her blindfold on until after they’d locked her in her cell.
Her room was equipped with a mattress on the floor and a plastic bucket in the corner, nothing else. When she walked it off, she determined it was eight feet square. There were no windows, boarded up or otherwise, and the walls were made of stone so there was no chance she could find her way through them.
It was becoming harder and harder to keep from admitting she’d failed. She wanted to believe an opportunity would present itself, and she’d be able to get away so she could finish what she’d started, but there was a growing part of her that was convinced she was done, that there was no way she would ever breathe free air again.
She knew how this was going to go. They would come in. They would question her. And, eventually, she would tell everything. She’d have no choice. Torture in the twenty-first century was a science. There were specialized methods now that always produce results.
Once she’d been wrung dry, they’d kill her like they’d meant to years before.
I can still get away, she thought, her defiant voice growing less convincing every hour. I have to. I have to destroy him.
If I don’t, no one will.
CHAPTER 21
“Here we go,” Nate whispered into his comm as he crossed the street. What had happened outside Julien’s place, the others showing up when they did, had not been a coincidence. There was no question in Nate’s mind that there was some other reason for it, and the more he thought about it, the more he became convinced of what it had to be.
“Copy,” Daeng said. He was gazing through the front window of the butcher shop as if contemplating what he might buy for dinner.
Nate knew by now their images had already been picked up by Giacona’s security system. While the gun dealer had hopefully dismissed Daeng, Nate would be instantly recognized. Suppliers such as Giacona were always happy to see clients, but were not as keen on unscheduled visits.
Nate walked straight up to the door next to the butcher shop, made his presence known through the intercom, and pulled the door open as soon as the lock buzzed. As he passed over the threshold, he applied the piece of duct tape he was holding in the palm of his hand over the lock, then let the door close behind him. His other hand was already in his pocket, curled around the grip of his gun.
As he knew it would, the door at the far end of the hallway opened, and a smiling but somewhat bewildered Giacona stepped out. With him was another man, larger, no smile, and carrying a Smith andWesson Bodyguard 380 pistol in plain sight.
“Quinn,” Giacona said. “This is unexpected.”
Before Nate could even answer, he heard one of the hallway doors behind him open, and the sound of someone moving into a position that cut off any potential retreat.
Without moving his lips, he said as quietly as he could, “Set.” Then he raised his voice. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
Giacona shrugged. “Of course. I’m always happy to answer questions from good customers, but maybe you can come back when it’s a little more convenient.”
“It needs to be now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Giacona said, his smile unwavering, “but now is not good for me. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“Let me make sure I’m clear. You’re saying you don’t want to help me?”
“When did I say that? I’m saying I cannot help you at this time. Perhaps you can come back in the morning? Say, nine thirty?”
“ Now would be better.”
At the street end of the hall, the door flew open. Unable to help themselves, both Giacona and the man with him looked past Nate to see who had come through their supposedly locked door. That was all Nate needed. He pulled out his gun and took two steps forward before they refocused on him.
The large man started to raise his pistol, so Nate shot him in the wrist. The Smith amp; Wesson clattered to the ground. The guy tried to pick it up with his uninjured hand, so Nate sent a second bullet into his foot. The man yelled and staggered back against the wall.
“Daeng?” he called without taking his eyes off Giacona.
“All good here.”
While there had been no shots in the front end of the hallway, there had been plenty of grunts and groans and the sound of flesh hitting flesh.
Giacona stared at Nate for a moment, then took a quick look at the gun on the floor.
“You really going to try for that?” Nate asked. “I am pointing my gun right at you. But if you want to give it a go, be my guest.”
Giacona licked his lips as if his whole mouth had suddenly gone dry. “I…I don’t want.” To emphasize the point, he kicked the gun across the floor toward Nate.
“Good.” Nate smiled. “Now why don’t you wrap up your friend’s wounds, then we’ll have our little talk.”
They adjourned to the workshop, Giacona helping his injured bodyguard in, while Daeng encouraged the other one along with his SIG.
“ Dottore,” the one who’d been shot pleaded as Nate motioned for him to sit against the wall.
“That depends on how helpful your friend is,” Nate said in English. “Now sit.”
The large man seemed to understand that much, and did as he was told.
Nate turned his attention to Giacona. “You got any coffee? Maybe some tea? Anything like that?”
Giacona looked truly scared. He opened his mouth but all that came out were a few stuttering syllables.
“Never mind,” Nate said. “We can make this quick.” He moved to within just a few feet of the small-time arms dealer. “True or false: You talked to someone after my other friend and I were here.”
Giacona shook his head. “I…I…talk to no one.”
“You want to think about that answer? Because I find it hard to believe.”
“Well, no one about you. Understand? Is this not what you mean?”
“It’s exactly what I mean, and thanks for getting straight to the point.” Nate reached out and patted the side of Giacona’s face. “See, that makes things easier, and that’s something I appreciate.”
“Yeah, but then there’s the lying,” Daeng said from where he stood guard over the other two.
Nate nodded. “Very true.” He tried to lock eyes with Giacona, but the man kept looking away. “Who did you talk to about us?”
“I told you,” Giacona whispered.
“You lied.”
“I…I can’t.”
