The Collected

He sprinted toward the bag, and was reaching for the strap when someone knocked on his door.

“Yes?” he said without opening it.

A pause. “Sir, we have a report.”

“Come back later. I’m busy.”

“We were told to give it to you now.”

He stared at the bag for a moment, then left it where it was and turned for the door. He had to get rid of whoever it was. He couldn’t have anyone see him leave and try to get to the boat before him.

He pulled the door open. “What is it?”

The soldier standing on the other side smiled oddly at him. “Told you I knew where he was.”

Harris had never seen this man before. He was Asian, not Latin, and though there was something familiar about him, he definitely was not on Romero’s payroll.

Harris shoved the door shut in the man’s face, dropped next to the bag, and pulled at the zipper so he could get at the gun inside.

Behind him, the door banged loudly as it was thrust back open.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” the soldier who wasn’t a soldier said.

Harris glanced back, the zipper half open.

The man had a gun aimed at his Harris’s head.

Harris had waited too long. He should have left the moment things had started to go wrong. Hell, he should have left years ago.

A small, Asian woman walked in behind the man. She was also armed, her weapon also aimed at Harris. Her gaze moved down to the satchel at his feet. She smiled.

“Do I see a bag full of money?”

“Here?” Daeng asked.

It was the fourth room they’d come to since hauling Harris out of his suite. Though Daeng had asked the same question every time, Harris had yet to give him an answer.

While Daeng pulled the man out of the way, Orlando tapped on the door with her gun. “Mr. Romero?”

Nothing.

Staying to the side, she undid the latch and let it swing open.

Storage room filled with cardboard boxes.

“This one?” Daeng asked when they reached the next door.

“Go to hell,” Harris said.

Daeng slammed Harris against the wall and wrapped a hand around the man’s neck. “That’s not very polite.” He locked eyes with Harris. “Do you know who I am?”

“I don’t care.”

“You cared enough to trick me into going back to Bangkok by killing two people I knew.”

Harris’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Daeng said. “I guess you couldn’t keep me away, though.” Daeng let go of the man’s neck and pushed him down the hallway. “I will kill you before this is over. Count on it.”

Orlando knocked, then opened the door when no one responded. It was an empty room.

They came to another door and stopped.

“So?” Daeng asked.

Harris was back to his silent game.

This time when Orlando knocked, they heard someone on the other side. The door opened a foot, and a young man wearing hospital scrubs looked out.

“Can I help you?” he asked in Spanish.

Answering in kind, Orlando said, “We need to see Senor Romero.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s taking a nap.

“Oh, what a shame.”

She pushed the door open.

“Hey! You can’t-”

His words died in his mouth as he caught sight of the gun in her hand.

“I’m sorry. You were saying?” she asked.

He backed a few feet away. “Please. I’m only a nurse. I don’t know anything. I’m just here to monitor Senor Romero’s health. Please. Please don’t hurt me.”

“If that’s true, then we won’t have any problems.”

They joined him inside. The room was large, with a desk and work area at the near end, and hospital bed at the other. In between was a living area, with a couch, chairs, and tables.

Her eyes on the nurse, Orlando motioned to the couch with her gun. “Sit over there.”

He immediately complied.

“And don’t move,” she told him. “If you do, I’ll assume you’re a problem. Trust me, you don’t want that to happen. Tell me you understand.”

“I won’t move. I swear.”

Orlando, Daeng, and Harris walked across the room to the bed.

Romero was indeed asleep. Though it had been only four years since the assassination attempt, he looked decades older than the picture of him in the file Misty sent.

“Time to get up, Mr. Romero,” Orlando said in English.

The old man didn’t move.

Orlando pinched his nose and covered his mouth with her palm. It took only a second for Romero’s eyes to fly open as he gasped for air. She held on for another second, then let go.

He took in several rapid breaths. “?Quien demonios es usted?”

“I’m afraid we’re the bearers of bad news,” Orlando said, still using English. “Your little torture fest is canceled.”

“What are you talking about? Who are you?” He looked at Harris. “Who are these people?”

Harris knew he hadto forget about the money bag now. It was strung across the woman’s shoulders, and there was no way he could get it without taking a bullet first. The only thing he needed to concentrate on was getting out of the fort and off the island.

He’d remained hyper-alert as they led him down the hall, searching for Romero’s room. But then the man in the fatigues had revealed his identity, causing Harris’s mind to spin yet again.

Daeng. The man from Thailand. Quinn’s preferred assistant.

Harris had thought he played that one so well, and that he’d effectively taken Daeng out of the picture. How in hell was he here?

The next thing he knew, they were standing in Romero’s room next to the old man’s bed.

Focus! he scolded himself. Get out of here and get to the boat.

“I’m afraid we’re the bearers of bad news,” the woman said to Romero, Harris’s money bag still hanging over her shoulder. “Your little torture fest is canceled.”

Romero looked both annoyed and confused. “What are you talking about? Who are you?” He focused on Harris. “Who are these people?”

Harris hesitated, then said, “These, Senor Romero, are associates of Quinn’s.”

As the cleaner’s name left his mouth, he could see that Daeng’s and the woman’s attention was fully on Romero.

His inner voice screamed, Now!

Both Orlando and Daeng knew it wasn’t a matter of if, but when Harris would try something.

The man must have thought it was a surprise move when he swung his elbow at Daeng. If he hadn’t