As soon as they’d dropped off their prisoner and left, Nate seated the frame the rest of the way in the hole, removed the strings, and put the rear portion back in place.
CHAPTER 26
NORTHEASTERN MEXICO
QUINN SPENT THE flight to Mexico thinking once more about the names on the Post-its.
Nate, Peter, and potentially Berkeley? Quinn, Peter, and potentially Berkeley?
Whatever the combination, he couldn’t see the through-line yet, the connection.
Breaking it down to smaller groups made it even worse. He and Peter had interacted so much over the years, it would be nearly impossible to pinpoint anything specific the disappearances might be related to.
To a lesser extent, the same was true of Nate and Peter’s relationship, the difference being only the number of jobs Nate had worked on since he’d entered the business versus those Quinn had done for the Office.
The wild card was Berkeley.
As far as Quinn knew, there were only six missions they had worked on together. He’d also never had a lot of interaction with the guy, more just “hello”s and “how you doing?”s during briefings.
The image he had of Berkeley was of a quiet man, efficient, a guy who stuck to whatever guidelines he’d been given until told to do otherwise. A team player, not a mission leader.
Quinn spent an hour thinking through each job they’d shared. The gigs had been spread out over a five-year period. None, as far as he knew, were tied to each other. Each mission had gone smoothly—the target taken down, the body disposed of.
Think wider, he told himself. What about the others on each job? He created a list in his head of names, and checked them off against his mental picture of the twenty-two green Post-its Orlando had created of the potential missing.
On three of the jobs, there were no matches at all. Two jobs, though, had single matches, and the final job actually had two. But none of the missions were filled completely by the names that had been on his window.
He focused on the three with matches, but still nothing stood out.
Frustrated, he looked past the sleeping Orlando and out the window at the night sky.
Maybe it had nothing to do with the jobs at all. Maybe it was random. Maybe the disappearances were not even connected.
Words echoed through his head. Maybe Nate’s already dead.
No. Not possible. And not even something he wanted to consider.
But try as he might, he could only dampen the voice, not silence it.
__________
THE RED EYE got them into Monterrey at just after five a.m. As soon as they cleared Customs and Immigration, Orlando pulled out her computer and pinged Nate’s emergency beacon.
“Nothing,” she said, annoyed.
“Maybe his battery died,” Daeng suggested.
“Impossible,” Orlando said. “The signal’s passive, so it draws very little power. The battery that feeds it could last months.”
“We’ll try again later,” Quinn said. “Let’s go.”
Much to Orlando’s displeasure, she had been unable to locate Captain Moreno’s residence, so they would have to talk to him once he was at work. Given the time, that wouldn’t happen for several hours. There was something else, though, that Quinn wanted to do in the meantime.
They picked up a rental car, and skirted around the edge of the still-sleeping city. Their destination was the set of coordinates Orlando had been able to dig out of Pullman’s computer for the warehouse where Senator Lopez had been terminated. Quinn didn’t expect to find anything there that might tell them where Nate was, but he wanted to take a look at it and get a feel for the mission his former apprentice had been on.
They found the large gray building just after the sun came up. It had multiple loading bays lining one side, and two cars parked at the end. The gate of the chain-link fence that surrounded the property was closed, but there was an intercom box mounted to a standalone pipe off to the side.
“I got this,” Orlando said. She jumped out of the car.
She was at the intercom for half a minute, then jogged back and climbed in.
Quinn looked over. “Well?”
“Patience,” she told him.
Several seconds later, a door at the near end of the building opened. A lean man with black hair and sun-darkened skin, wearing a security guard uniform, exited. As he walked across the dirt lot, Orlando climbed out again and met him at the fence.
After a quick conversation, the man unlocked a chain and rolled the gate out of the way. Orlando motioned for Quinn to drive through, and she and the guard followed on foot.
“This is Hector,” she told Quinn and Daeng once they’d climbed out of the sedan.
“Buenos días,” Quinn said.
“Buenos días, señor,” Hector replied. He exchanged similar greetings with Daeng.
“Hector, necesito un momento para hablar con mis colegas,” Orlando said.
“Por supuesto.” Hector smiled and walked several feet away.
Orlando, Quinn, and Daeng circled together.
“I told him we’re from an American company looking for new warehouse space,” she said. “I think he doesn’t much care who we are, but I promised him a hundred dollars if he lets us look around.”
“I’m assuming he’s not alone here.”
“Just him and another guy.”
“Either of them speak English?”
“Hector doesn’t. I don’t know about the other one.”
“Okay,” Quinn said. He pulled out a small stack of folded bills, peeled off five twenties, then added three more. “Tell him the extra’s for his friend.”
While Quinn could have easily told the man himself, it was always better in situations like this for one person to act as translator.
Orlando gave the money to Hector, and he led them inside. The warehouse space was like most warehouse spaces—big, wide, and full of boxes.
“Ask him how long this stuff has been here,” Quinn said.
“¿Normalmente, cuanto tiempo se quedan aquí los envíos antes de salir otra vez?” Orlando asked Hector.
The man shrugged. “Tres o cuatro días. A veces una semana.”
She nodded as if she’d learned something interesting. “¿Y este inventario? ¿Cuanto tiempo lleva aquí?”
“Cinco días. La mayoría sale esta tarde y en la noche llegan más.”
“Ah. Okay, gracias,” she said. She turned to Quinn and Daeng, and played the part of interpreter. “Their turnover’s a little slow. He says sometimes up to a week. The stuff here’s been waiting for five days. Says it’ll be gone this afternoon, though.”
“Thank you,” Quinn said, looking over at Hector. Then, with an intentionally imperfect accent, added, “Gracias.”
“De nada,” Hector said.
“Can we wander around?”
Orlando translated the question, and Hector nodded, telling them they could go wherever they wanted, and that he’d be in the small office near the front when they were done.
“Gracias again,” Quinn said.
Once Hector was gone, they headed down the middle of the aisle, and turned down the row Burke had told them had been used for the Lopez hit. Nate had done an excellent job of cleaning up. There were no bloodstains and no signs of any struggle. In fact, the only thing unusual was that about a dozen of the boxes were empty.
“All right,” Quinn said. “So this is where it started.” He crouched down in front of the empty boxes. “Wrap up the body, clean up any loose ends.” He looked back down the aisle. “And get the hell out of here.”
“Same as always,” Daeng said.
“This part,” Quinn agreed. “But not the rest.” He stood back up and looked over at Orlando. “Find out from our friend if anyone else has been out for a visit in the last couple of days.”
Orlando nodded, and headed off toward the office. Quinn gave the vanished crime scene one final look-over before he and Daeng headed out.
They foun
d Orlando standing in the doorway to Hector’s office.
“No one unusual,” she said.
“Not even the police?”
“Nope.”
Hector accompanied them back outside.
“Gracias,” Quinn said as he shook the man’s hand. “Muchas gracias.”
Back on the road, they followed the route Burke had told them Nate had taken, stopping briefly near the point they guessed Nate had done his lights-off-turn-around maneuver, but instead of going back toward Monterrey, they continued on to where the cops had been waiting. There they stopped and climbed out. Dozens of tire tracks covered the ground, some less eroded than others, but they could have belonged to anyone. Down the canyon, they found the hole Nate had dug in the ground, untouched and waiting for its body.
Back on the highway, they drove toward Monterrey, looking for where Nate had dumped his van. Burke had said they’d driven behind a row of buildings near a gas station. It wasn’t the most exact description ever, but when Quinn spotted the Pemex sign, he had a feeling it was the one Burke meant. He turned down the road between the station and a row of shops that faced the highway, and again down the road behind the buildings.
Two thirds of the way down, he knew for sure they had found the right place. Though Nate’s van was no longer there, there were scorch marks and soot on the cinderblock wall. Not a lot, but enough to indicate a fire that was started but not allowed to reach its full potential.
“And from here, he ran,” Orlando said as they stood in front of the wall.
“Apparently not far enough,” Quinn said.
He stared at the black marks, his frustration returning. He glanced at his watch. “All right. We’ve seen it all. It’s time to talk to the cop.”
CHAPTER 27
WHEN LIZ SAW her brother and Orlando waiting at the departure gate at LAX for the flight to Monterrey, she had not been surprised in the slightest. Though they hadn’t mentioned on the recordings she’d listened to what airline they would be taking, Orlando had mentioned the time of their flight. Liz would have preferred to take another flight, but she knew her only chance was if she arrived before or at the same time they did. Before wasn’t an option.
She noticed a man standing with them, and realized he had to be the third voice she’d heard. There was no mistaking Daeng. He looked just like the picture Nate had shown her once.
Hanging back, she waited until boarding was all but completed, then presented her ticket and walked onto the plane as the last passenger. Her hope was that if she got on board right before the doors closed, even if her brother did see her, it would be too late to leave her behind without causing a scene—something she was sure he would not want to do.
But she needn’t have worried. He didn’t see her. Upon entering the aircraft, she had turned right and headed to her seat two rows from the back, not seeing either her brother, Orlando, or Daeng anywhere in the economy section. Apparently, they had booked themselves business-class seats, and instead of going right had gone left when they entered.
At passport control in Monterrey, she’d pressed her luck and followed as closely as she could, afraid that if she gave them too much room, she’d lose them. She positioned herself so that she would be helped by a different passport officer a few stations down, and was fortunate enough to actually finish before them. She walked quickly through Customs and lost herself in the crowd on the other side, keeping an eye on the exit.
When the three others emerged, they paused for a moment to talk before heading through the terminal to one of the booths along the wall. Though her Spanish wasn’t perfect, the sign above the booth clearly indicated it was a car rental agency.
She tensed, knowing that if she tried to rent a car herself, she’d never be able to keep up with them. Her only option would be to grab a taxi.
Once Jake and the others finished up, one of the clerks led them over to the door and outside. Liz took the exit fifty feet away, and watched as they climbed into a van with the name of the agency on the side.
She looked around until she spotted the line of taxis. She sprinted over to the one in front and jumped in.
“¿A donde? ” the driver asked.
“That van,” she said in English, pointing out the window. “Follow it.”
CHAPTER 28
“UP!” THE SHOUT came from down the hall. “Up, up, up!”
Every word was emphasized by a loud bang of something knocking against the wall.
Nate opened his eyes, suddenly alert. The lights in the hallway had come on, and seeped through his door vent, creating a rectangle of illumination on his floor.
“Up! Everyone. Wake now!”
As Nate pushed himself to his feet, the overhead bulb came on. He blinked several times, shuffled over to the toilet, and relieved himself. As he was zipping up his pants, the door behind him opened.
Janus took a step into the room, with one of the fatigues-clad soldiers following.
“I said up. I not say play with self,” Janus said.
A thousand comebacks played through Nate’s head, but he kept his mouth shut.
“Put this on.”
Janus tossed something at him. As Nate caught it, he realized it was a black bag similar to the one put over his head when he’d been captured.
“Put it on,” Janus repeated.
As much as Nate wanted to just throw it right back, doing so would only result in him being used as a punching bag. He pulled it over his head.
“Tie string,” Janus said.
Nate started to tie off the cord that encircled the opening.
“Pull tighter first, so cannot take off your head.”
Nate decreased the size of the opening and then tied it off.
“Good. Now hands out front.”
Nate held his hands out. Instead of the plastic ties that had been used to this point, his hands were locked together in a much heavier set of cuffs that were wide, almost like wristbands.
“Bring him.” This time the words weren’t for Nate.
A hand he assumed belonged to the soldier grabbed his arm and yanked him into the hallway.
“No move.” A different voice, the soldier’s.
Nate stood in the middle of the hall and listened as Janus repeated the bag-and-cuffs routine from room to room. Soon, though he couldn’t see them, he knew his four fellow prisoners were standing in the corridor with him.
“Everyone. Turn to my voice,” Janus ordered.
As soon as Nate turned, the soldier grabbed him again and started pushing him forward.
It must have been an odd sight, the five black-bagged men walking down the stone hallway with at least one fatigue-wearing escort and probably more And Janus—can’t forget him, Nate thought—the big dumb blond man leading the way.
If Lanier was right, and he and the others had been pretty much left alone since they’d arrived, then this little exercise was something new. Of course, the bald guy—Harris—had intimated they were waiting for only one more person to arrive. That had happened the day before, meaning the period of just sitting around was apparently over.
They were moved through several doors, and the echo of the hallway disappeared. A breeze pushed the side of the bag against Nate’s cheek. They were outside. The courtyard again, Nate suspected, given the stone beneath his feet.
“Stop!”
The soldier clamped down on Nate’s arm, halting him.
“Put them in their places.” Harris’s voice.
The soldier turned Nate forty-five degrees, then pulled him backward until Nate’s heel bumped into a solid surface.
“Step up,” the soldier said.
Reluctantly, Nate raised his foot, sliding his heel against the surface until he passed above it. He moved his foot back, set it down, and pulled up his other foot.
“Back again,” the soldier said.
Nate moved his foot backward and hit another rising surface. Stairs?
“Up!” the soldier said impatiently.
Nate did as he was told.
“Stay,” the soldier said.
Okay, maybe not stairs. Whatever it was, he was now a good two and a half feet above the level of the courtyard. He tried to remember if he’d seen anything the night he had dinner with Harris that might match what he was standing on, but he couldn’t recall anything.
He stood where he was for what seemed like forever, with only the sound of the breeze blowing against his hood as company. The others must be nearby, but no one was talking. After a while, he could feel the air warming, and knew the sun had risen.
“Hey!” It was Lanier. “Hey, what’s going on? You can’t just let us—” His words were capped by a thud, followed by a grunt of pain.
Then silence again.
More heat as the sun continued to climb into the sky.
Finally, there was a noise, at first nearly unnoticeable, a distant whine that could have easily been just a trick of his mind. But as it grew louder, it became impossible to ignore.
A motor. Electric, if Nate wasn’t mistaken.
It entered the area they were in, moved along behind them, then circled in front and stopped.
The quiet returned, only this time it was short-lived.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Harris said.
From the sound of his voice, he was standing very near where the motor had stopped. Nate also got the sense he was lower, still at ground level.
“I trust you’ve enjoyed your stay so far,” the man said.
No one replied.
“I’ll take that for a yes. To start off this morning, my employer—your host—would like to have a word.”
The sound of a throat clearing, then, “It pleases me to no end to see you all here.” Though there was no denying the strength underlining this new voice, it also had a tremor that belied an older man. And an accent, Nate noted, like the soldier who’d grabbed him. Latin American, but Nate wasn’t well versed enough to pin it down further than that. “This moment is one I have been anticipating for a long, long time. Just identifying you all was…an effort. But you’re here now, and I no longer have to wait. Neither will you. So welcome, and we’ll speak more later.”
The Collected Page 14
