“Here’s what I’m thinking. Orlando and I go in,” Nate said, looking directly at his mentor. “You watch our back.”
“The hell I will,” Quinn said. “I’m going, too.”
Orlando reached out and flicked Quinn’s neck with her finger, right at the edge of the bandage. He jerked back.
“Why’d you do that?” he said.
“You’re standing watch,” she told him. “If one of us were hurt, you’d make a similar decision. Someone has to keep an eye on things. You’re the logical choice. So don’t be an asshole. I mean, a bigger one than the one you already are.”
He glared at her for a second, but then gave her a terse nod. She was right, of course, but he didn’t have to like it.
“Head back over to the hill,” Nate said. “You’ll be able to see things better there. We’ll wait until you’re in position.”
“I know where I should go,” Quinn snapped.
Orlando stifled a laugh.
“What?” he asked, his eyes boring into her again.
She smiled and shook her head. “You don’t do injured very well, you know that, right?” She glanced at Nate. “It’s kind of funny, isn’t it?”
Nate nodded. “Maybe we should shoot him more often.”
“Oh, there have been times I’ve wanted to,” she told him.
Quinn looked from one to the other. “Everyone happy now? Got any more you want to hit me with?”
Nate considered the question for a moment, then said, “I’m good.”
Orlando leaned forward and kissed Quinn on the cheek. “You’re actually kind of cute when you’re annoyed.”
Quinn didn’t wait around to hear any more. He headed left, paralleling the row of grapevines, then cut across the far field and moved into the copse of trees that had a front view of the farm’s two buildings. He settled in and scanned the property.
“I’m in position,” he whispered into his collar mic. “Still just the two guards. One by the front door of the house. The other’s in the parking area, leaning against one of the cars. Looks like he’s having a smoke.”
“Copy,” Nate said. “We’re moving.”
Quinn shifted his gaze back and forth from where the guards were to the detention building. It was nearly a minute and a half before he spotted Nate at the front corner.
“I’ve got a visual on you,” he said, and checked the guards again. “You’re clear to the door. But do it slow and easy.”
“I know how to do it,” Nate whispered in a perfect imitation of Quinn’s earlier response.
Quinn rolled his eyes, knowing but not wanting to admit he deserved that.
He watched as his girlfriend and his former apprentice crept up to the door, opened it, and slipped inside. As soon as they disappeared, he switched back to the guards.
Neither man had moved.
Daeng sat quietly on the floor of his cell, his mind drifting on a river of nothing. Scattered images passed by: the jungle, Wat Doi Thong, a girl in Bangkok named Om he’d been seeing, the street in Rome outside Julien’s apartment. There were no meanings, no messages, just things that were.
He could see the water of the Chao Phraya flowing swiftly by, so real he could almost touch it. As the imaginary Daeng leaned toward the surface, a bright light cut across his face. It wasn’t reflecting off the river, though. In fact, it wasn’t in the world of his mind at all.
He blinked, then squinted. The glare was coming from the door, partially blocked by a shadow standing in the opening.
“So, um, next time, check the door before you close it,” Nate whispered.
“Sage advice,” Daeng said, rising to his feet.
Standing near Nate was a small Asian woman. Orlando, Daeng realized, the woman he’d heard Quinn talk about often when Dang visited him at Wat Doi Thong. She was as beautiful as the American had made her out to be, her small frame radiating with an intensity and strength that seemed out of proportion with her size.
“The girl’s downstairs?” Nate asked.
“ Someone ’s downstairs,” Daeng said.
“One guard. Correct?”
“Yes. When I checked, there was only the one, and I haven’t heard anyone else enter the building. Of course, I didn’t hear you, either, and I knew you were coming, so maybe that’s not such a good gauge.”
Nate took in the information, but said nothing.
“Are we attempting a rescue?” Daeng asked.
“Might be our best opportunity.”
“The problem is, you can’t get close to the guard without him knowing. He could set off an alarm that would bring the others.”
“Not going to be a problem,” Nate said.
He pulled his backpack off his shoulders, unzipped the top, and removed a thin, four-inch-long cylinder.
Daeng raised an eyebrow.
“Stun grenade,” Nate said. “Low power. Enough to disable one or two people if it’s close enough, but the noise should be all contained to the basement.” He handed the weapon to Orlando, and pulled his bag back over his shoulders. “Show me how you saw the guard without him knowing, then I’ll toss this in.”
Quinn’s phone vibrated. Since the only people he had any interest in talking to at the moment were on the other end of the radio in his ear, he didn’t pull it out of his pocket.
Surveying the farm again, he noted that the smoker had finished his cigarette, and that the other man was rolling his head over his shoulders, stretching his neck. Neither made any indication they were aware that one of their buildings had been infiltrated.
On the comm, reception was once more a problem, and Quinn was able to hear only about seventy percent of the conversation between Nate, Daeng, and Orlando. It was enough, though, to know that things were progressing as planned.
When all talk ceased, he assumed they had moved back into the hallway, where words would be kept to an absolute minimum in case the guard in the basement could hear them.
It was amazing how slowly time passed when he could only wait for the others to do the work he should be doing himself. Convinced he would have been finished by now, he glanced at his watch and saw that not even a minute had passed.
Just relax and wait for the click, he told himself.
That would be the signal, a simple on and off click of Orlando’s mic when Nate was about to set off the grenade.
He couldn’t help but look at the windowless building, as if there would be some sort of sign that it was time. Of course there was nothing, just the blank walls and single door. He switched his attention back to the guards. The one at the cars looked as bored as ever. As Quinn panned his binoculars over the patio to check the other one, he heard:
Click.
They walked silently down the hall to the stairwell. Once there, Nate looked at Daeng, who pantomimed how he’d stretched out over the opening earlier.
Nate nodded, removed his backpack, and set it on the floor. As a precaution, Orlando continued to hold the grenade until he was ready to throw it. He lowered himself to his stomach and slinked forward over the steps.
When he was out as far as he wanted to go, he dipped his head, and looked into the basement. The upside- down view was exactly as Daeng described, doors along one wall and the guard sitting in a chair at the far end with a book in his lap.
