“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 telegraphed it by tensing his shoulders, it might have worked. But by the time his elbow reached the point where Daeng’s gun had been, Daeng had already taken a step back, out of the way.
Harris didn’t give up, though. He whirled around, his fist flying out and catching the tip of Daeng’s chin. Leading with his shoulder, he knocked Daeng to the side and started running for the door.
Orlando’s shot went wide but Daeng’s flew true, his bullet puncturing Harris’s back before exiting the other side.
Momentum carried Harris forward another few feet before he toppled to the floor.
“?Dios mio!” the nurse cried out.
Orlando gave him a quick look. “Remember what I said about moving.”
The nurse nodded rapidly as he pulled his arms and legs toward his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible.
Daeng reached Harris first and shoved him over onto his back. The man’s breathing was ragged, but his eyes were open.
“That’s a nasty wound,” Orlando said as she moved in next to Daeng. “Good thing we don’t need him for anything else, because he’s not going to be around much longer.”
“Still too long, I think,” Daeng said.
“True.”
“May I?”
“Absolutely.”
Daeng stepped closer so that he was looking directly down at Harris. “Look at me.”
Harris’s gaze jumped around.
“Here,” Daeng said, pointing to his own face. “Look at me!”
The man did so.
“You killed my friends and have been torturing another. That’s why you are on the floor now. That’s why you can barely breathe. And that’s why I am the last thing you will ever see.”
Daeng’s gun, already aimed at the man’s head, fired.
The nurse let out a yelp, but quickly covered his mouth with his hand.
“You all right?” Orlando asked Daeng.
He nodded and headed back to the hospital bed without saying a word. Orlando followed.
Romero had barely moved, his face even paler than before.
“There are consequences for every action, Mr. Romero,” Orlando said once she was standing beside him again. “You understand this because you were trying to pay back the men who attempted to kill you. I can sympathize to a point, but the problem is, those you went after are our people. No one goes after our people without consequences.”
“If you are going to kill me, fine. Kill me.” He tried to pump his chest out as if he were making it a target.
“Whether we kill you or not isn’t up to us.”
“Who, then?”
“The man you’ve been calling Quinn.”
Quinn and Nate raced down the stairs, back into the cellblock. Quinn was glad to see all the cell doors open, the rooms empty.
“Janus is probably trying to get out of the fort,” Nate said. “Which means he’ll probably head down to the wall exit.”
“The others are there. They won’t let him through.”
Nate threw open the door at the end of the block, and started to step into the intersecting hallway. “Yeah. We can trap him between-”
A loud crack echoed down the other corridor and through the doorway.
Nate yelled out in pain as he thrust himself back into the cellblock, hugging his left arm to his chest.
At first Quinn thought it had been a gunshot, but then he saw the wound on Nate’s forearm-a long red mark, not unlike those on Nate’s back.
A whip.
“He’s not downstairs,” Nate said through clenched teeth.
Quinn moved around him so he was closer to the threshold. “Which way?”
“To the left somewhere.”
Nate lowered his arm, fighting the pain.
“You going to be all right?” Quinn asked.
“Fine,” Nate answered quickly.
Keeping the suppressor tight against the wall, Quinn thrust his gun through the doorway and aimed it roughly in the direction the whip had come from. He let off three quick shots, spreading the fire from side to side.
There was a whoosh as the whip lashed out again. The tip hit his gun, missing his finger by less than half an inch. He shot again before pulling the pistol back.
“Together,” he told Nate, as he popped the nearly empty mag out of the gun’s grip and shoved in a new one. “I’ll take high.”
This time, they both swung their guns around and opened fire. When they heard the whoosh, they pulled their guns back. As soon as the whip cracked, Quinn rushed out into the hallway.
Janus was twenty feet away, using the corner of another passageway to stay out of line of fire. He was pulling the whip behind him, getting ready to strike again.
“Drop it!” Quinn ordered.
The whip flew out, and Quinn pulled his trigger.
Instead of a whoosh and a crack, there was a whoosh and a thud as the whip fell to the ground. Clutching his hand where his middle finger had been a moment before, Janus disappeared around the corner.
“Come on!” Quinn said to Nate, and started after the big man.
The narrow hallway Janus had been hiding in went back only fifteen feet before jogging right, so the big man was already gone when Quinn rounded the corner. At the next turn, Quinn slowed just in case Janus was waiting there to jump him, then stepped around it, his gun held ready.