The Collected

CHAPTER 48

So far Nate had counted eighteen soldiers leaving the fort and moving into the jungle.

They wouldn’t send everyone out, he knew, but he felt confident, based on the yelling he heard coming from beyond the wall, that they would send the majority.

Under the cover of darkness, he had snuck all the way back to the wall, where he had momentarily considered climbing up and finding someplace within the complex to hide. But he felt he could control things better out here.

Surveying the wall, he spotted a heavy wooden door that, as far as he could tell, was the only ground-level exit to the complex. Choosing the location carefully, he dug a ditch between a couple of trees, just deep enough for him to lie in, and covered himself with dead palm fronds and other vegetation. The position gave him a perfect view of the door, with very little chance he’d be discovered.

That’s where he was when the men had begun coming out.

Eighteen fighters.

He figured half that many were still inside. That would make twenty-seven total. Round that up to thirty, just to be safe. Add in Janus, Harris, and the old man. Thirty-three. Staff? Cooks? Medical personnel for the old man? That seemed likely. Figure forty people total, not counting the prisoners.

Looking at the whole number was a bit daunting, but one by one, not so bad. Especially if Nate could get his hands on a weapon.

The door opened again, and a nineteenth soldier came out. Nate recognized this one. He was the jerk who’d come in with Janus and slammed the butt of his gun into Nate’s back the first day. Nate could see the offending rifle slung over the guy’s shoulder, and suddenly knew which weapon he’d like to start with.

As soon as the soldier passed by, Nate slipped out of his hidey-hole.

Someone knocked on Harris’s door. He opened it to find one of Romero’s nurses.

“Yes?”

“Sorry to disturb you,” the nurse said. “But Senor Romero wants to see you.”

Harris wanted nothing more than to tell the nurse he’d come when he could, but he knew that would only enrage his employer, and the nurse would be sent back again.

“I’ll be right there,” he said, and shut his door.

Despite the early hour, he poured himself a whiskey and slammed it down. The alcohol helped mute the voices that were telling him everything was beginning to unravel. Of course, it wasn’t. He still had control of the situation.

So what if one of the prisoners got away? So what if it was Quinn? He was just one person. And they would find him. He could only hide for so long. This was an island, for God’s sake. A small island. If need be, they’d search it inch by inch.

What about whoever had been searching Romero’s and Quinn’s names at the hospital?

Porter will handle it.

No, everything was going to be fine. Things were too close to the end for them not to be.

He fought the urge to have another drink, and forced himself to head over to Romero’s office.

“Have they found the cleaner?” Romero demanded as soon as Harris entered.

“It hasn’t been that long. They need a little time.”

“Unacceptable! They should have him by now.” The old man fumed for a moment. “I want to continue as planned.”

“You mean now?”

“Yes, now. Of course, now. We’re wasting time.”

“I’d be more comfortable once we have Quinn back.”

“I will not let one person delay us. Do you understand me? Assemble the prisoners.”

“We’re understaffed at the moment,” Harris said. “Most of the men are out looking for him.”

Romero narrowed his eyes. “How many men to do you really need? The prisoners are beaten and weak. They’ll be cuffed and hooded, too. We could do it with just Janus if we needed to.”

Quinn is beaten and weak, too, Harris thought, and look at what he did. He knew there was no sense in arguing the point, though. “Yes, sir. I’ll get things moving.”

“Good. I’ll be out in the courtyard in twenty minutes. They’d better be there.”

The guard didn’t know Nate was there until the rock slammed into his head, and even then, the realization probably lasted only a microsecond before he dropped to the ground.

Nate checked his pulse. Weak, and getting weaker. There was a very good chance the man wouldn’t live for long.

Bummer. That was about as much sympathy as Nate could muster.

He grabbed the guard by the shoulders and dragged him into the brush, out of sight. A quick search netted him not only the rifle and some spare ammo, but also a GLOCK pistol, a five-inch hunting knife, and a palm-sized, handheld radio. Once he was geared up, he masked the marks he and the soldier had made in the sand, and went in search of number two.

It wasn’t until Janus was hauling the prisoners outside that Harris realized he hadn’t heard back from Porter. He tried calling him, but after four rings only reached voice mail.

“It’s Harris. Update. Now.”

CHAPTER 49

They drove South through Cordoba-Orlando behind the wheel, Quinn and Daeng in the backseat with Porter between them, and Liz up front with Orlando’s computer.

“Here we go,” Liz said, looking at the laptop’s screen. “The island’s called Duran, and is thirty-one miles south-southeast of Isla de Cervantes. Apparently, it was first spotted by Columbus on his final voyage in 1503. Says he didn’t stop there, though. Not big enough, I guess.” She began to read aloud. “‘In the early 1600s, Charles Duran, one of the early Spanish governors of Isla de Cervantes, decided the much smaller Isla Helena, as Duran was first known, could serve as an early warning outpost, alerting the bigger island of approaching enemies by lighting bonfires at its highest point, a low-slung hill at the southwest end of the island.’

“‘Over the years, the outpost’s few buildings were renovated and added to until it became known as Fort Duran.’” She paused as she read on silently. “It does say the island eventually fell into private hands. Nothing about whose, though.”

According to Porter, the private hands in question belonged to the Romero family, and they’d made Duran their private retreat for over a hundred years. Javier had apparently taken sole control of the island a year prior to his faithful run for the presidency, and had moved there permanently-with the blessings of the government he’d tried to oppose-when he was released from the hospital.

“Is there a map?” Quinn asked.

“Yeah, but it’s small,” Liz said. “Let me see if I can find something better.”

A few moments later Orlando said, “Highway 3 south? Or is there another way?”

Ahead was a sign with an arrow pointing toward the entrance to the highway.

“Yes,” Porter said. “Highway 3.”

Orlando gunned the engine and transitioned them off the city street onto the faster road.

Their destination was a private marina just south of town, where Porter said there was a boat that could take them to Duran. Porter was more a behind-the-scenes guy, who became even more cooperative after a demonstration of how easy it was to dislocate a finger if Quinn wasn’t happy with a response.