“No! Stay in here.”
“If I stay here, we’re dead for sure. Out there, I might be able to do something to stop this.”
Not waiting for a response, he ran out the door, making sure to shut it behind him.
Quinn was waiting five feet away when Peter exited the room at the back of the plane. He motioned for his former client to run past him. Once Peter was clear, Nate threw himself against the wall again, this time letting out a loud groan.
Quinn aimed the gun that was loaded with blanks at one of the empty seats, and pulled the trigger twice. As soon as the echoes of the shots died down, he motioned for everyone to stop making any sounds.
He gave it ten seconds, then walked to the door and threw it open. What he’d expected to find was either Olsen cowering in the corner, or perhaps using Mila as a shield. Instead, Olsen was on the floor and Mila was straddling his chest, one leg pressed down on each of his arm.
“Hope you don’t mind,” she said, looking back at Quinn.
He shook his head, and removed a syringe from the case on his belt. “Would you like to do the honors?”
“Please.”
Quinn released her from her cuffs, and handed her the syringe.
“Goodnight, Mr. Olsen,” she said as she stuck the needle in the man’s arm.
Brett Battles
CHAPTER 41
Mygatt, Green, and Olsen were propped next to each other against the wall of the back room, black bags over their heads, their hands and legs restrained. The amount of Beta-Somnol they’d been given had been carefully measured so that they’d only be out for approximately thirty minutes.
Right on schedule, Nate exited the room and said, “Two of them are waking up.”
“Good,” Quinn said.
He rose from his seat, walked into the room, and closed the door behind him. There was only one chair inside now. He pulled it as far from the three men as possible, and sat down.
It was another five minutes before the first one was fully alert.
“Hello?” Olsen said, his voice at first tentative, but quickly growing in strength. “Hello? Is anybody there? Hey, anyone!”
Quinn remained silent.
“Hello? Somebody! Anybody!” As Olsen tipped to the side, his shoulder knocked against Mygatt. “Who’s that? Hey, who are you?”
Mygatt groaned.
“Shit,” Olsen said.
A few seconds later, Green moaned and said, “What the hell? Take this thing off my head!”
“Mr. Green?” Olsen said.
A pause. “Olsen? What are you doing? Get this off my head!”
“Sir, I can’t. I’m tied up and my head’s covered, too.”
“Have you tried to get free?”
“I’ve only been awake a minute or so, sir.”
“Dammit,” Green said, his tone even more urgent than before. “Is the senator here, too?”
“I don’t know.”
“Senator Mygatt?” Green called out. When there was no reply, he said, “Olsen, what the hell happened at the plane?”
“We were attacked. I’m pretty sure they killed the other men. Peter, too. He went to see what he could do, but I heard gunshots right after. Then a man came into the room who seemed to know Voss. They shot me up with something. That’s all I remember.”
“Same thing happened to us. Hit us in the trailer. Goddammit! Any clue where we might be?”
“Sir?” Olsen said. “Don’t you hear it?”
“Hear what?”
“The drone? We’re on the plane, sir. Or a plane, anyway.”
Quinn decided this was as good a time as any to give them something else to think about. He shifted in his chair, intentionally causing it to creak.
The two men’s heads jerked toward the sound.
“Who’s there?” Green asked. “Senator Mygatt? Is that you?”
Quinn said nothing.
“Who’s there? I can hear you! I know you’re there!”
For several more minutes, Green and Olsen took turns trying to get Quinn to talk. Finally, as Mygatt was waking, Quinn stood up, and noisily left the room.
Peter watched the plane until it disappeared into the night. Not that he would have, but there were points during the last twenty minutes when he could have turned the tables, and stayed in the good graces of Mygatt and Green. Now, there was absolutely no turning back.
He headed to his car. He’d been able to set up most everything before he drove to the airfield with Olsen, but there were still a few things that were incomplete and one very important phone call he had to make.
Despite Helen Cho’s stated desire not to discuss the Gorman matter any further, Peter had called her three hours earlier as he was helping to put Quinn’s plan in motion. Now, as he drove back toward DC, he punched in her number again.
“What?” she said as she came on the line.
“Do you have it?”
“I swear to God, Peter, I should just-”
“Do you have it?”
She was silent for several seconds. “Yes.”
“Is it enough?”
“More than enough. But…”
“But what?” he asked. “Helen, you know who Mygatt really is. You know what he and Green have done. What’s going to happen to you and your little group there if Mygatt becomes the director of the CIA?”
“I get it. You don’t have to lecture me.”
“Noted.”
Knowing that Mygatt and Green were guilty was one thing; making people believe it would be an entirely different matter. Helen now had in her possession the hard proof.
He gave her a timeline of what she had to do next.
“If this ever comes back on me, I’m coming after you. You know that, right?” she said.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“As long as we’re clear.”
“There’s one more thing.”
He could hear her take a deep breath. “What is it?”
He told her the final part of Quinn’s plan.
“You have got to be kidding. No way!”
“All I need you to do is open the door. Do that, and you won’t have to deal with either man ever again.”
“And if I don’t?”
“It’s going to come out anyway, and, naturally, there will be some collateral damage.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m informing you. So what’s it going to be?”
This time she was quiet for nearly half a minute before she said, “You asshole.”
Over the next couple hours, Quinn took turns with Nate and Orlando silently sitting in the room for ten or fifteen minutes at a spell, then leaving again. At first, their three guests were belligerent and demanding, then they became more imploring, offering to make some kind of deal. Finally, the perceived reality of their situation set in, and fear took full control.
At this point, Quinn and the others left the men alone, letting them live with their imagination of what might happen next.
“Will Peter be able to pull it off?” Orlando asked as they waited in the main cabin.
Before Quinn could answer, Mila said, “I don’t trust him. He tried to kill me.”
“Who? Peter?” Quinn said. “That may be, but he was only doing the job he’d been hired for, and it seems to me he’s trying to make up for it now.” He glanced at Orlando. “So, yes, I think he’ll be able to pull it off.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said.
It took longer than Peter had hoped for all the parts to come together. By the time he was ready to make his second-to-last call, he’d been back in the townhouse for several hours.
He picked up the phone and dialed the number.
“Prime Cable News,” a pleasant female voice said.
“Dick Tillman, please. He’s expecting my call.”
She transferred him to a secretary who put him through to Tillman.
“I hope to hell you’re not fucking with me,” the network executive said.
“I’m not. I assume you contacted our mutual acquaintance?”
His voice lost some of its aggressiveness. “Yeah. He vouched for you.”
Peter had needed to pull several strings to get the retired general to talk to Tillman, but he knew it would do the trick. “And your camera teams?”