Shadow of Betrayal jqt-3

by Brett Battles

  But not the delivery device itself. That was also a stroke of genius. No one would suspect a thing. And when it was over, not only would the targets be eliminated, but the unwanted brats, too. The fact that Mr. Rose was using them in this way made perfect sense to Tucker. It was economical. No waste at all.

  After the cargo was in the storeroom, they packed up the remaining materials and wheeled everything on carts to the small trash incinerator at the far end of the second level. There could be no evidence left.

  “What time is it?” Mr. Rose asked as the last cart was wheeled down the hall.

  Tucker looked at his watch. “Eleven fifty-three.”

  “They’re running slow. This should have been done twenty-three minutes ago.”

  “We’re still ahead of schedule.”

  Mr. Rose turned his laser eyes on Tucker. “That is not the point. Done by eleven-thirty was what we agreed to.”

  Knowing it was useless to argue, Tucker said, “You’re right. My apologies.”

  “I don’t want your apologies, Mr. Tucker. I want your efficiency. Tomorrow is a very important day. Everything must run smoothly.”

  “It will. We’ve gone over it dozens of times. My men know what to do.”

  “They’d better, because if something goes wrong and you somehow get away, I will find you. And I promise, I will not kill you.”

  Despite himself, Tucker felt a shiver go down his back. He knew Mr. Rose had vast resources. Hell, he’d been able to assemble and pay for this operation in a matter of months. And it hadn’t been cheap, not even close. Forget what he was paying everyone. The travel, the special equipment, Yellowhammer, it had all cost big-time.

  “I understand,” Tucker said. “Everything will be fine.”

  Mr. Rose stared at him for another several seconds, then said, “I want the helicopters in the air by one-thirty.”

  “I thought the plan was to go at two.”

  “One-thirty,” Mr. Rose said.

  There was no need for Tucker to respond. Mr. Rose had already turned and walked away.

  * * *

  Quinn had waited in the elevator shaft for forty-five minutes before he felt it was safe to sneak into the lower level. Even then, he’d been forced to duck into an unused office before he’d been able to get very far.

  Several people had gone by. There had also been the unmistakable sound of wheels rolling over the metal floor. Less than a minute later a second set of wheels passed his door. This went on for a quarter hour, with another cart each minute.

  The only time he heard any conversation was when the last cart passed by.

  “… of there. I don’t want to leave anything for …”

  The voice trailed off, and was replaced by just under sixty seconds of silence before Quinn could hear the footsteps returning. It was the same pattern that had occurred every time. The cart would go by, and, soon after, footsteps would return on their own.

  But this time after the steps receded, no new cart wheeled past. Quinn waited several more moments, then opened the door just enough so that he could listen unimpeded.

  There were voices off to the left. Distant and indecipherable. He also thought he heard another cart. He waited to see if it might be headed in his direction, but it never grew closer. He opened the door wide enough to slip through, then stepped out into the corridor and looked to the left toward the noise. The majority of the facility was in that direction. Whatever Tucker’s people were up to was going on in that area. Quinn was sure of it.

  It took him less than a second to make his decision. Right first. See what they were doing with the carts. Maybe it would help explain what was going on. If not, he would have only lost a few minutes tops.

  He headed down the corridor. There were three doors between where he’d been hiding and the elevators. The first was another empty room like the one he’d been in. The second was the same again.

  But the third was different. Even though it was dark, Quinn could tell it was larger than the other two. He sensed depth. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He then pulled out his flashlight and turned it on.

  He started to move the light across the room, but he didn’t get far before he froze.

  In the beam were two of the carts and part of a third. Not carts. Gurneys, like in a hospital, complete with an attached IV stand, plastic bag full of liquid, and a tube leading down to the distinctive form of a human being under a sheet.

  Holy shit, he thought.

  He started to move the light again, scanning the room. More gurneys, each with its own lump on top. He could see now there were straps holding each of the bodies in place. He counted seventeen total.

  He took a deep breath, then approached the nearest one.

  A head stuck out from under the sheet, lying on a pillow. A mop of brown hair hung down over the face. By its length Quinn guessed the person was female. He glanced at the sheet and watched it move up and down several times.

  Alive.

  But there was something about the person that seemed off. He moved the light from one to another of the nearby gurneys. They all looked similar. The bodies under the sheets were small, taking up little more than half a bed’s length.

  Children.

  He played the light through the rest of the room.

  The same.

  The same.

  The same.

  On each gurney, the sleeping form of a child.

  “Oh, God,” he said under his breath.

  He knew it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise. He was looking for the girl who had been with Marion Dupuis, after all. But this was not what he’d expected. Not a room full of kids strapped to hospital beds.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and brought up the picture of Iris he’d seen on the passports Marion had left in Montreal. Then he began moving from bed to bed looking for the girl. But he didn’t get too far before he noticed an even more disturbing pattern.

  None were the regular kids he’d see playing in the park, or clinging to their mothers at the sight of a stranger. These children were different. “Special,” Quinn’s mother would have called them. “Gifts from God.”

  Three of the first five children he looked at had the unmistakable facial features of Down syndrome. He knew the look, had seen it himself as a kid in the face of his cousin. She was the “gift from God” his aunt had been given. Sarah. So sweet, so trusting. A bad heart had taken her life when she was just eleven. Quinn hadn’t thought about her in years, and was surprised by the level of sadness he felt at the memory.

  Though the other two children did not look like they had Down’s, it was obvious they had some other genetic affliction. Quinn continued through the room, going bed to bed. More disabled children. They all must be, he realized.

  What the hell was going on?

  A mix of anger and horror and compassion welled in his chest. It was all he could do to keep his feelings from taking over. He needed to remain objective and alert. He needed to figure—

  A noise to his right stopped him.

  It was only a few feet away. A moan, soft but pleading.

  Quinn turned toward it, his light sweeping over the nearby beds.

  The moan again.

  He zeroed in on it. A young boy, his half-open eyes squinting at the light, but still looking in Quinn’s direction. Like just over half of the others he’d seen, he appeared to have Down’s.

  As the boy moaned again, there was a movement under his sheet. A hand, Quinn guessed, trying to reach out but held in place by the strap.

  Quinn hesitated a moment, trying to keep his emotions in check. He was already halfway to the boy’s bed before he realized he’d even moved.

  “Aaaa,” the boy said.

  Quinn knelt down beside him.

  “Hey, buddy. It’s okay,” he said, then stroked the boy’s hair. He wasn’t sure if the kid understood him or not. Iris was from Côte d’Ivoire, so God knew where he was from. His pale skin meant he could have most l
ikely come from Russia, any part of Europe, North America.

  “Mowno.”

  The sheet moved again.

  Quinn reached over and slipped his hand under it, taking the boy’s hand in his. “It’s okay,” Quinn said. “Go back to sleep.”

  The boy smiled, his eyes continuing to look into Quinn’s.

  “Sleep,” Quinn said.

  “Aaaa mowno.”

  Quinn gently rubbed the boy’s hand. “Sleep,” he whispered.

  The boy’s eyes fluttered, then shut, before popping open again, his hand squeezing Quinn’s as if he were afraid it wasn’t there anymore.

  “Shhh. Sleep,” Quinn repeated.

  Even though he knew the others could return at any moment and find him there, he stayed where he was for another five minutes, long after the boy had fallen asleep.

  * * *

  There were four children with skin dark enough to indicate they might have come from Africa. But they were all boys. There was no sign of Iris.

  Quinn checked again, but the result was the same. No Iris. Not in this room anyway. There must have been another room with more children. The thought was at once comforting and disturbing. At least it would mean Iris might still be alive, but more sleeping children?

  He’d have to find out. But first he knew he was long overdue checking in with Nate. He toggled a switch in his pocket that changed his microphone from off to active.

  “Nate, can you read me?” he said. “Nate?”

  Nothing at all. He’d feared as much when he realized just how far this level was below the other.

  “Nate?” he said.

  Only silence.

  He pulled out his phone and was happy to see that the signal strength was as strong as it had been above. Whatever boost they had used on the first level must have also been implemented here.

  He was not surprised to see that he had several text messages. His phone was on silent, so he hadn’t known they’d come in.

  Four of the messages were from Nate. One, though, was from Orlando. He read them in the order received.

  From Nate:

  10:23

  Checking in. Don’t think we have radio sig.

  From Nate:

  10:47

  Everything all right? LMK

  From Nate:

  11:13

  Pls respond. Do U need help?

  From Orlando:

  11:33

  What the hell do you think UR doing going in alone?

  From Nate:

  11:49

  Assuming no signal, but just in case. Orlando’s outside the fence, and she’s pissed.

  Instead of typing a response, Quinn called.

  “Are you all right?” Nate said.

  “I’m fine,” Quinn told him, keeping his voice low. “But it might be a while before I’m done. Get Marion out of there. See if Orlando can create some kind of distraction so you can get out the gate.”

  “She’s on the other line,” Nate said. “Let me conference her in.”

  “No. Don’t do—” But Quinn’s words came too late. He was already on hold.

  A second later the line clicked live again.

  “Quinn?” Nate said.

  “I’m here.”

  “Orlando?”

  “Are you crazy?” she said. “What the hell do you think you’re doing in there? You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  “Listen,” he said.

  “No. I’m not going to listen. You pull out now. We’ve got more than enough for Peter to act on. Let’s leave it to him.”

  “He’d never be able to get here in time. They’re moving out soon. Within the next hour or two would be my guess.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You should not be down there by yourself.”

  “Listen, goddammit,” he said. “I’ve found something.”

  “I don’t care what you’ve—”

  “Children,” he said.

  That stopped her. “What?”

  “I’ve found children. At least seventeen and probably more.” He told her about the room full of gurneys.

  She didn’t say anything for several seconds, then when she did speak, her voice was low and controlled. “You’re sure they’re all alive?”

  “As far as I can tell.”

  “Iris?” Nate asked.

  “Who’s Iris?” Orlando asked.

  “The child who was with Marion,” Nate said. “That’s what she calls her.”

  “Can Marion hear you?” Quinn asked Nate.

  “No, I’ve moved up the tunnel.”

  “She’s not here.”

  Nate and Orlando fell silent.

  “That means one of two things to me,” Quinn said. “Either they’ve … gotten rid of her …”

  “Jesus,” Nate said.

  “Or,” Quinn went on, “there’s another group of children somewhere.” He explained about hearing the gurneys being wheeled into the room, then his discovery of them. “But I also heard something else being pushed in the other direction. Sounded similar to the gurneys that had rolled past me. So I think it’s likely there’s another room with more kids in it.”

  “What the hell are they doing?” Nate asked.

  “I don’t know, and at the moment it doesn’t matter,” Quinn said. “That’s why I can’t leave yet. I have to find them. I have to see if there’s something I can do … we can do.”

  Orlando, who had been silent through the entire explanation, said, “I think I can get onto the base without anyone knowing. I found a weak spot, a dry riverbed that’s been eroding the dirt from under the wires. I think I can dig myself under.”

  “No,” Quinn said. “Just stay out there. See if you can cause a distraction for the guards at the gate. Everyone’s tied up here, so I don’t think they’ll get any immediate help. It just needs to be enough to allow Nate and Marion to get out without being caught.”

  “That’s a stupid idea,” she said. “I’m coming under. I’ll meet up with them at the tunnel, then bring Marion out myself the way I came. That way Nate can stay in case you need him.”

  “It’s too much of a risk,” Quinn said.

  “Don’t talk to me about too much risk,” she shot back. “This is not open for discussion.”

  There was a click on the line.

  “Nice going,” Nate said. “She hung up.”

  Quinn took several breaths, allowing himself to calm down. “Text me when she gets there,” he said, then disconnected the call.

  He gave one last look at the gurneys spread out behind him. Then, without realizing what he was doing at first, he found the bed with the boy who’d woken up.

  “I’ll take care of this,” Quinn said to him.

  He then doused his flashlight and stepped back into the corridor.

  CHAPTER 35

  Tucker entered the level one cafeteria at precisely 12:45 a.m. and found all four of the helicopter pilots sitting at a table finishing their meals. Their crew members sat at a nearby table silently scarfing down the remains of their sandwiches.

  “It’s time,” Tucker said. “We’ll have everything on board in forty minutes, then lift off right after that.”

  “All right,” the head pilot, a guy named Seizer, replied. “We’ll meet you topside.” He stood and looked over at his crew’s table. “Let’s go.”

  Almost as one, the crew members and the remaining pilots all stood.

  “We’ll be ready,” Seizer said.

  They filed out of the room.

  Tucker glanced over at the table in the back where several of his men sat drinking coffee. “We’ve got forty minutes to get the cargo up to the surface and into the helicopters,” Tucker said. “You should be able to fit four packages per elevator car. I want both cars in constant operation. Should be able to have everything all topside by,” he paused, looking at his watch, “fifteen after. Petersen’s bringing the truck around.”

  One by one they stood.

  “This is what we’re getting paid for, s
o let’s not fuck it up,” Tucker told them.

  As soon as his men were gone, he pulled out his cell phone.

  “It’s Tucker,” he said. “We’re in final prep and should be off the ground by one-thirty. Flight time a little less than two hours, so figure three-thirty worst case.”

  “We’re ready and waiting,” the man on the other end said.

  “No problems?”

  “None at all.”

  “And the targets’ schedule?”

  “Unchanged. They’ll be at the center at nine-thirty a.m.”

  “Good. And the distractions?”

  “Both cars already in place. I’ll give you the detonators when you arrive.”

  “Perfect,” Tucker said.

  The distractions were a little extra something he’d added into the mix that Mr. Rose didn’t know about. It was going to be his ass on the line, after all, so anything that could help with a successful escape was welcome.

  He disconnected the call and headed for the exit, wanting to get down to the second level so he could supervise the first load himself. As he did, he checked his watch again, then smiled.

  With any luck they’d actually be off the ground ahead of schedule.

  * * *

  Quinn had just begun his search for the second room when he heard someone talking. The voice was distant, but that could have been a trick of the corridors. And, he soon realized, it wasn’t just a single voice, it was several.

  He knew he should find an empty room and hide out until he could move freely again, but he also knew he was running out of time. So he increased his pace, checking the rooms he passed, but finding nothing.

  When he turned down an intersecting corridor, the voices grew louder. He crept forward, passing two hallways, then stopping before he reached the third. The voices were coming from around the corner. Though they were distant enough that he knew they were down the hall a bit, he could make out snippets of conversation.

  “… time to take … fine.”

  “We need … think?”

  “… promise anything … best.”

  He checked the lighting and realized he was in a deep shadow. He knew if he took a look around the corner, the risk of being noticed would be minimal. Keeping his motions slow, he leaned out just enough to see around the edge.