Quinn leaned in as he skimmed through the piece, stopping a third of the way down. There was a quote from a captain in the Federal Police, and a photograph that must have been his official police portrait.
“This guy,” he said. “Captain Eduardo Moreno. Can you find a number where we can contact him?”
“Give me a second.”
It took more than a second, but not much. “This is interesting,” she said. “He’s not based in Reynosa.”
“Where, then?’
She glanced at him. “Monterrey.”
Quinn felt the tingling he got when he started making connections. Monterrey, where the job Nate had been working on was located. Where, if Burke was to be believed, several police cars had been waiting to intercept them. If they were actual officers and not just men dressed up in uniforms, someone would have had to organize them. Someone in a position of authority.
“Maybe it would be better if we talked to the captain in person,” he said. If Moreno was involved, he was the best lead they had so far, and the last thing Quinn wanted to do was scare him off with a phone call.
As Orlando returned her attention to her computer, Quinn looked over at Daeng. “US passport?”
“I have two.”
“Break one out. We’re going to Mexico.”
CHAPTER 22
At what he guessed was around eleven a.m., Nate heard a door open somewhere outside his cell. It was too far away to belong to one of the rooms his neighbors were being held in, and seemed to be coming from a different direction than that of the courtyard he’d had dinner in the previous evening.
Several seconds passed, then he heard footsteps. Three…no, four pairs. As they neared, he moved over to the vent and scrunched down so he could look through the thin slats.
The light in the corridor was dim, but more than enough for him to see the feet as they walked by. There were three pairs of dark work boots, and one of men’s black sneakers. The person in sneakers was between two of the people in boots, and it was clear they were assisting him.
The steps went on for another couple of seconds, then stopped. A door opened, this one much nearer than before. Intermixed with the shuffling of feet was a firm “In,” then the door slammed shut, the locking rods shifted up and down, and the three booted pairs of feet walked away.
Apparently the new member of their party had arrived.
Things remained quiet for twenty minutes, then Lanier called out like he had with Nate. The new guy, though, didn’t respond. Nate was willing to bet he’d been nearly unconscious when he was dumped off and completely knocked out now.
Back on his mattress, Nate pulled the threadbare blanket over his legs and leaned against the wall. It wasn’t that he was cold. He wanted to access the storage compartment in his prosthetic leg. Though he hadn’t spotted a camera, it was safer to assume one was tucked away somewhere, keeping tabs on him.
Acting like his leg itched, he reached under the blanket and pulled his pant leg up over his fake calf. He separated the seam just enough so he could open the storage container and remove the bolt he’d hidden away. It was doing him no good just hitching a ride. If he was going to use it-as a weapon or whatever-it needed to be accessible.
He pulled at the shaft, but the bolt didn’t move. Confused, he tried to get the tip of his finger all the way around it so he could give it a tug. The bottom end seemed to be jammed into the crevasse where the back panel and the side one met. The head of the bolt had been shoved up into the top of the container.
It took him a moment, but finally he got it to pop free. It wasn’t the only thing he suddenly felt in his hand. He pulled it up so he could take a look. In addition to the bolt was a black piece of plastic that looked very much like part of the button that activated his emergency beacon.
He slipped his finger back into the container. It was part of the button, all right. He could feel where the bolt had pressed against it and broken it off. He wiggled his finger around and found that the entire button felt loose.
Was the beacon still on?
He cursed under his breath. He knew the container had been a tight fit for the bolt, but he hadn’t had a choice. He played with the button for a moment, hoped the beacon was still active, and closed his leg again.
Clenching the bolt in his fingers, he lay back down and closed his eyes.
Whether that was true or not, there wasn’t a thing he could do about it, so he focused on trying to figure out why he was here. Once more, he was unable to come up with a satisfying answer.
At some point he drifted off, and found himself standing on the beach in Santa Monica, Liz beside him.
“Don’t leave,” she told him.
“I’m just going for a swim.”
“Stay here.”
“Liz, I’ll be right there,” he said, pointing at the water. “You can watch me the whole time.”
He swam out through the waves and stopped just past where the swells began. He treaded water in a circle, turning back to the shore, intending to give Liz a wave.
Only the shore wasn’t there. Just more ocean.
“Liz?” he called out. “Liz?”
There was no answer.
“Hey, new guy. You awake yet?”
Nate shook off his sleep and rose on an elbow.
“New guy. Can you hear me? Hey!”
For a few seconds, Nate thought Lanier was talking to him. Then he remembered the person who’d been escorted in that morning.
He moved over to the door and leaned down by the vent.
“I think it’s a trick,” Berkeley said. “No one’s down there.”
“There
“You’re right,” Nate said. “They put him in a room down here by me.”
“Have you heard him?” Lanier asked.
“No. Nothing since he arrived.”
“I still think it’s a trick,” Berkeley said.
“New guy,” Lanier whispered loudly. “Can you hear us?”
No answer.
“New guy.”
Silence.
CHAPTER 23
Harris entered the suite and found Romero sitting in his wheelchair behind his desk, writing.
“Well?” his employer asked, without looking up.
“The shooter has arrived. He’s a little banged up.”
Romero’s head shot up. “Why?”
“He apparently wasn’t in a cooperative mood when he was taken.”
Romero thought for a moment, then waved a hand in the air. “As long as he’s alive, that’s all that matters. So, they’re all here now.”
