close.
He returned to the door and grabbed the metal ring. When he heard Peter yell out again, he pulled the door open enough so he could peek through to the other side. Another corridor, empty. He opened it more, passed through, and shut it behind him.
Get away and get help. That was his mission now.
The sound of Peter’s yells dropped to near nothing as he moved away from the door. The new corridor led him to a set of stairs that ended at a doorway two floors up. He listened for any sounds of life before opening it. He found himself in a small stone room, not much larger than the cell he’d been in. The difference was that this room had windows to either side, and another entrance straight in front of him. He could also feel a breeze, because there was no door covering the other opening, and no glass in the windows.
Looking out the window to the left, he could see the courtyard below, and realized the room he was in was on top of the wall that surrounded it. To confirm this, he eased over to the other entrance. Beyond it was a four- foot-wide walkway that ran down the center of the wall, lined on each side by a two-foot-high, one-foot-thick lip. To the left was the courtyard, and to the right a narrow sandy beach lining the ocean. He had to be in some kind of old sea fort that had been restored but hadn’t held up so well.
The defensive wall curved around the courtyard and disappeared behind the bulk of the central building. Though the night was moonless, he could make out the dark shapes of trees and bushes in that direction. It had to be the land side. That was the way he needed to go if he had any hope of finding a phone or a radio.
He moved through the doorway, but stayed close to the building to cut down any silhouette he might make against the night sky. He checked the beach to his right. It was a good twenty-five feet down. Not a distance he wanted to jump, but he might be able to scale the stone wall if he were careful. Centuries of storms and sea air had eaten away at it, creating cracks and nooks he could use for his hands and feet. From there he’d have to walk around, fully exposed, until he reached the far side.
The quicker route, and the one that would get him to the cover of the jungle sooner, would be to stay on top of the wall, then scale down it on the land side. He’d be able to get a better view of his surroundings from there, too. The drawback was that moving along the wall could expose him more than the longer walk along the beach.
He examined the courtyard, looking for any movements or indications that someone was there. It took him less than a minute to spot the guard standing next to one of the doors of the central structure. As he watched the man, he noted that the guard seemed to be paying more attention to the other courtyard entrances than to the wall.
If Nate stayed low behind the walkway’s lip, he should be okay.
He crouched down so that he was on his hands and feet, and moved onto the walkway. It was an awkward way to travel, but no alarm was raised.
When he reached the point he was aiming for, he peeked over the lip, back into the courtyard, and relaxed. The angle was such that the guard was now out of sight.
Nate stretched his muscles, and stood up so he could take a quick look around before he started down. He’d been right-he had a much better view.
But what he saw was not even close to what he’d hoped for.
As he’d noted earlier, the fort was surrounded on three sides by water. He could now also see that the coastlines ran parallel to each other past the fort and along both sides of the jungle area before they disappeared into the night. The problem was, they didn’t stay that way for long. Though he couldn’t see where it happened, he knew they met back together just a few miles away, because in the distance, he could see starlight playing on the ocean.
He’d suspected he was on an island. He just hadn’t realized how small it was.
He looked at the jungle for another few seconds, then lowered himself over the edge of the wall and started climbing down.
CHAPTER 43
Puerto Rico
It was after midnight by the time they landed in Puerto Rico. Earlier, while waiting for their connecting flight in Mexico City, Quinn had made a call to an associate living on the US territory. As arranged, Veronique Lucas was waiting for them when they exited the terminal.
“This way,” she said, leading them across a suspension bridge to a Suburban waiting in the nearby parking structure.
Orlando, in the backseat with Daeng, broke out her laptop as they drove away from the airport, and set to work on some items she and Quinn had discussed on the flight. Since most of their trip had been over water, her ability to log on midair had been greatly reduced.
Quinn was sitting up front next to Veronique. “Any problems pulling things together?” he asked.
“Had to sub a few items, but think you’ll be happy. Otherwise I took care of everything you wanted.”
“Thanks, Vee.”
“Is this something you need an extra hand on? If so, I’ve got some time.”
“I think we’re good. But if that changes, I’ll let you know.”
They drove through the sleeping city of San Juan, then west along the northern coast of the island. Quinn took advantage of the time to work his way through the Romero file. After a while he heard Orlando close her laptop. The look she gave him when he glanced back said she’d learned something she needed to tell him, but they both knew it was best not to say anything in front of Veronique. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust her. It was just always better to keep the information contained.
After forty minutes, Veronique turned down a two-lane road, followed it for a couple of miles, then pulled into the parking area for a small, private airfield. There was no terminal or control tower, just a runway with the appropriate strips of lighting for night operations, a cemented area for planes to park, and a windsock.
Tonight, there was also a Gulfstream G500 jet sitting there, ready and waiting.
The first thing Quinn did when they got out was to pull Orlando to the side. “Change of destination?”
“No,” she said.
“All right. Give me the rest once we’re settled.”
Veronique led them toward the plane.
“Crew?” Quinn asked.
“Two,” she told him. “Gogan’s the pilot; Unger, co. I’ve used them a lot. They’ll do what you need and not ask questions. You’ll be happy.”
Veronique’s word was good enough for Quinn. She’d always been buttoned up, and he knew she wouldn’t tolerate underperformers.
The intros were brief. Once done, Veronique held out her hand.
“I owe you a martini,” Quinn said as they shook.
“Just one?”
“Maybe two.”
She smiled. “Good luck.” She said goodbye to the others, turned, and headed back to her car.
While Orlando, Daeng, and Liz were strapping in, Quinn told Gogan where he wanted to go, then joined his team in the back.
As soon as the wheels left the ground, Orlando said, “Javier Romero was a very powerful man in Isla de Cervantes. It’s not a large place, but its strategic location has meant a
