“Great to see you again,” Quinn said loudly, then whispered, “If you try to draw
Both Orlando and Daeng moved in close so Burke would know they were there.
“Do you understand?” Quinn asked.
Burke swallowed hard. “Yes.”
Quinn let go and took a small step back. “Let us help you with your stuff.”
Daeng grabbed Burke’s carry-on, while Orlando took his passport and boarding card.
“I’ve got a plane to catch,” Burke said.
“Maybe. That depends on your answers to a few questions.”
“What questions?”
Quinn smiled. “Why don’t we go outside where it’s a little quieter?
CHAPTER 18
Janus led Nate down a long dark hall to the room with the washbasin and toilet. It was the second time he’d been taken there since he came into possession of the bolt. This time, though, there was a clean shirt and pair of pants hanging from a peg on the back wall.
“Wash up,” Janus said. “You want to look good for later.”
Nate held his cuffed hands in the air, silently asking how he was supposed to do that.
Janus smirked, then pulled a pair of cutters out of his back pocket and snapped the plastic tie in two. For half a second, Nate thought about making a move, but Janus quickly stepped back into the doorway, out of range.
“Now wash,” the big man said.
With Janus keeping an eye on him, Nate used the toilet, removed his shirt, and cleaned up, using the soap and washcloth next to the sink. It felt good to get some of the grime and old sweat off, but he knew it was just temporary. Unlike the room he’d been held in, this one didn’t seem to have any climate control. The air was thick and humid. Even as he was drying off, he could feel sweat forming on his skin again.
He grabbed his shirt, but before he could pull it back on, Janus said, “Uh-uh. Change.”
The big man nodded at the clean clothes. Nate hesitated. If he wanted to avoid revealing his prosthetic, the pants were going to be a problem.
He grabbed the shirt-a brown button-up with short sleeves-and pulled it on. When he was done, he turned back to Janus and took a step toward the door.
“Pants, too,” Janus said.
Nate looked at the pants he was wearing, then at those hanging on the wall. They were both jeans.
Realizing his only possible way out was to break his silence, he said, “What difference does it make? They’re the same.”
If Janus was surprised to hear his voice, he didn’t show it. His look took in both pairs of pants. He shrugged. “Change.”
“I’m not going to change. They’re the same damn pants.”
Janus’s ears grew red as his face tightened in anger. “You will change.”
“You want me to change? Fine. But I’m not going to do it with you standing there watching me.”
“Change.”
“Privacy, and I will.”
They stared defiantly at each other for several seconds.
Finally, Nate said, “What do you think I’m going to do? Steal the soap? Here.” He grabbed the bar and tossed it at Janus. “Better?”
Janus frowned, took a quick look around the room, and nodded. “One minute.” He pulled the door closed.
The first thing Nate did was remove the bolt from his pocket. He then pulled his pants off, but before donning the other pair, he bent down and opened the seam on the calf of his artificial leg. As much as he now wished there was a weapon embedded inside, that was one option his leg didn’t have. Traveling as much as he did, his prosthetic already made him a target for extra attention from airport security, so he couldn’t afford to take that kind of chance.
What it did have, though, was a small space he could use to stow the bolt. It was meant for a memory card, or a note or photograph, so it would be a little snug, but he was pretty sure the bolt would fit.
There was something else in the storage space, too. A button designed to be pushed in just these kinds of circumstances. His leg had a heart-rate monitor, which, in turn, had a dead-man switch. Unless the switch was turned off each time he removed his leg, an emergency signal would be activated if the leg was not attached to his stump for more than an hour. To help cut down on the chance of it being discovered, the signal was passive and needed to be pinged. In addition to the dead-man switch, there was also a way to activate the signal without removing the leg-a button at the top of the storage area.
He searched for it with his fingertip, found its grooved top, and pressed it.
Knowing he was running out of time, he jammed the bolt inside, sealed up his leg, and quickly pulled the new pants on. He was just buttoning the top when the door opened again.
“Happy now?” he said.
Janus grunted. “Hands.”
Nate held out his hands, wrists together.
Once Janus had secured them with another plastic cuff, he said, “Let’s go.”
The next time Janus took Nate from his cell was several hours later.
They went back down the long corridor, passed the toilet without stopping, and out a door into a large, open courtyard.
The area was rimmed by a high stone wall spackled with decades-if not centuries-of dirt. The ground was also covered with stone, big square slabs with more than the occasional weed growing up between the cracks. What was beyond the walls was impossible to see. The only things visible were scattered clouds across a dusky sky.
At the far end of the courtyard was an old wooden table surrounded by several empty chairs. On the table were burning candles and two settings of plates and silverware. At intervals along the courtyard wall beyond the table were eight unsmiling men, dressed in fatigues, and armed with automatic rifles.
“Go,” Janus ordered, pointing with his chin toward the table. “Take seat near right end.”
Nate tried to imagine what could possibly be going on here, but he hadn’t a clue. It was just all too strange.
He took his assigned place and looked at Janus, wondering what he was supposed to do now.
Janus smiled, moved around the table, and took a chair on the opposite side that had no place setting.
They sat silently as the sky continued to darken. The whole time Janus stared blankly at Nate.
It was just over thirty minutes when a door somewhere behind Nate opened. This was soon followed by the
“Good evening, Mr. Quinn,” he said. “How is everything? I trust you’ve been treated well?”
Nate looked at him but said nothing.
“Still the silent routine, I see.” He looked past Nate. “Janus, I think we’re ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
Janus rose from his chair and headed off to the right.
“You can call me Mr. Harris,” the bald man said, smiling. “It is my pleasure to have someone of your status at my table this evening. I assume you’re hungry. The chef has prepared baked swordfish. One of my favorites.”
A door opened.
“Ah, excellent.”
