The Unwanted (39 page)

Guards two, three, four, and six all replied with "Roger."

Then the radio went dead again.

"I've got movement."

Nate's voice was so low, Quinn almost thought he was imagining it. As if he could see where Nate was, he turned to the west, but the only thing there was the hill that separated them.

"What is it?"

"Looks like one of the guards. He's at my two o'clock, a hundred and twenty feet away, but coming in this direction."

"Standard patrol?" Quinn asked.

"Definitely not. He's sweeping, and keeping low. He's looking for something."

"Is he alone?"

"I . . . don't see anyone else." Nate's voice lacked confidence.

"Where are you?"

"I found a crevice between two boulders. Southwest corner of the hill." He paused. "I can also see a motion sensor. It's about forty feet in front of me."

"Did you trip it?"

"I . . . I don't think so."

"If you think you can, back out of there," Quinn said. "Otherwise hold tight until they're gone. I'll go up the hill and see if I can get an overview."

"Copy that."

Quinn turned to his right and began ascending the hill.

"B-4 clear," two said.

Several seconds later, six added, "A-4 also clear."

Good,
Tucker thought. He's alone.

He pushed the transmit button on his radio. "Close in and apprehend. I want to talk to him, so don't kill him."

"Roger," Base said. "All units close in on A-2, but hold at least fifty feet out from intruder, then report when in position. Five, you have ground command."

"Roger," five said.

The first "in position" came forty-five seconds after the order was given. The last, a minute and a half later.

"Close to twenty-five feet," five said.

Silence.

"Hands in the air!" five called out, his voice booming from the receiver.

It was followed in quick succession by similar calls from the other guards.

Tucker waited for the sound of gunfire, but there was none.
Good,
he thought.

"On your feet," one of the guards called out. Tucker had lost track of who was who. "On your fucking feet!"

"Get up! Get up!"

"Drop your backpack to the ground, and put your hands on your head!"

"On your head, goddammit!"

"Four, six, search him."

"I've got a gun," a guard said. Six? "Spare mag in his pants pocket."

"Backpack?" Tucker recognized the voice this time. Five.

"A couple more mags. Surveillance equipment. Some rope."

"Use it to tie his hands."

"Left hand down." Several seconds passed, then, "Now your right."

"Intruder secured." Five again, his calmer tone denoting that this message was meant for Base and Tucker.

"Who is he?" Tucker asked.

"Name!" five shouted.

There was silence.

"I said give me your goddamn name!"

More silence.

There was a loud thwack. Tucker knew the sound well, rifle stock against flesh.

"Get the fuck back on your feet and tell me your name."

Silence, then another smack.

"Doesn't seem to want to cooperate, sir," five said.

"Take him to the guardhouse and put him on the camera," Tucker said. "I want to see his face."

"Roger," five said, then to the others, "Let's move."

Ten feet from the top of the hill, Quinn heard yelling coming from the other side.

"Nate?" he said.

No response.

He scrambled to the crest on all fours, crawling over the rocks and stopping only when he had a shielded position from which he could see what was happening.

At the base of the hill was a fifty-foot-wide gap of scattered boulders and sand. And standing in the middle of it were five men. Five armed men, Quinn noted. They stood in a loose circle around a sixth man who lay on the ground.

"Nate?"

Still nothing.

Quinn pulled out his binoculars and aimed them at the group. It was apparent the guards were not happy with the guy they were surrounding. Several aimed their weapons at him.

"Get the fuck back on your feet and tell me your name," the guard closest to the man's head yelled.

As the man stood up Quinn trained the binoculars on him, knowing what he'd see.

Only he was wrong. The captive wasn't Nate.

"Nate," Quinn said. "Where are you?"

The response came in two short, low bursts. "Can't. Talk."

Quinn swept the binoculars back toward the hill he was on, but didn't see anything. He tried again, this time turning on the thermal-imaging overlay first. Unlike before, this time two small ovals stood out. They were poking out of the back of a crevice created by a couple of the large rocks that were leaning together.

"Tap your toe," Quinn said.

"What?"

"Tap your toe."

Quinn watched as one of the ovals moved upward, then tapped back down against the rock it had been lying on.

"I can see your feet."

"You can see my feet?" Nate whispered.

"Just me," Quinn said. "They don't have an angle on you."

Quinn returned his gaze to the group in the clearing. Who the hell was the guy they had caught? Was he out here alone? Quinn sensed he must be, because they had seen no sign of anyone else. One man, okay. Maybe Quinn could account for having missed a single person,
if
the guy was ahead of them. But two or more, no way.

What were the guards thinking, though? They had to be wondering if there were more people out here. If they started looking, Quinn and Nate were going to have to make a serious effort not to be found.

Down below, two of the security men had hold of their captive, while a third was saying something, this time his voice too low to be heard. A few seconds later, they started walking as a group in the direction of the guardhouse.

"We're moving," Quinn said.

"Back to the car?" Nate asked.

"No. We follow."

"What about the sensors? We'll trip them."

"I know," Quinn said. "Wait where you are. I'm coming to you."

Quinn took two chances. First, he decided that any motion sensor alarms they might set off would be attributed to the group with the prisoner. Since no one had come looking for them, that part seemed to have worked fine. Second, he decided to see if they could get to the guardhouse before the others. He figured that by keeping close to the fence, the guards wouldn't notice them as they passed in the darkness. That, too, had paid off.

A ridge of stones standing upright like a collection of monoliths less than a hundred feet from the concrete structure acted as perfect cover. Quinn found a gap between the rocks that gave him a good view of both the guardhouse and the short valley that led up to it.

"Don't know if this is the right time to mention this or not, but we're kind of trapped here, aren't we?" Nate said. "I mean, when we head back, we're going to trip the sensors again. And this time I don't think they'll ignore it."

"We're not going back," Quinn said. "At least not yet."

"Wait, we're going to try to get
inside
the fence?"

"Maybe."

"Didn't you promise Orlando this was just a simple recon, and we wouldn't be doing anything that could get us into trouble?"

"I guess I was wrong."

The truth was Quinn hadn't planned on making an incursion at all, but the opportunity presented itself, and instinctively he realized it might be their best chance at getting in. In his job, listening to those instincts wasn't a luxury. He trusted them, and this time they had said, "Move!"

From the left, toward the other end of the valley, there was the sound of several footsteps. The others had arrived.

Quinn peeked between the rocks at the guardhouse. The door had opened halfway, and there was the shadowy form of a man standing just inside. As Quinn angled to the right so he could get a look at the guards, he pulled out his camera phone. They had closed into a tight group around their prisoner. Quinn snapped several photos as they approached the guardhouse. Once everyone was inside, he chose the best pics and attached them to a hastily prepared email.

Need ID on man tied up.

He started to address it to both Orlando and Peter, then changed his mind and sent it to Peter only. Best to let Orlando relax and not worry.

"You've been checking for sensors?" Quinn asked Nate.

His apprentice nodded. "They were placed about every fifty feet through the hills, but the last one's more than a hundred feet back there."

"So there's none up here?"

"I didn't say that. I just meant I hadn't seen any more."

The lack of sensors this close to the guardhouse made sense. If there had been any, every time a guard went for a walk or to relieve himself the alarm would sound. That was an annoyance no one would want to deal with.

"Okay," Quinn said. "As close as we can get."

He stepped out from behind the rock and hoped to God that he was right.

CHAPTER
28

"I SEE THEM," BASE SAID.

Tucker picked up his radio. "About fucking time."

It was unfair, he knew. The rocks out there were a bitch. But dammit, he hating waiting this long. He wanted to know who was sneaking around their operation, and what he wanted.

Two minutes later, Base said, "Ready for video hookup."

Tucker already had the video window open on his computer. The light level was a little low, but he could still make out several of his men moving around in the background. Then a face appeared on the screen. Tucker recognized him as a guy named Carter.

"You have a picture?" Carter asked.

"Yes. Could use a little light."

"Hold on."

A few seconds later, the picture lightened up by twenty percent.

"Better," Tucker said. "Let me see him."

"Over here," someone barked on the other end.

A body moved into the shot. Male, dark clothes.

"Can't see his face. I need to see his face," Tucker said.

Someone adjusted the light on the other end, illuminating the intruder's face. Tucker couldn't help feeling a moment of disappointment. He'd been hoping the man was Jonathan Quinn. He would have liked to have seen the look on the cleaner's face once he realized who was in charge here. A fucking laugher that would have been. But apparently Mr. Quinn had lost the Dupuis woman's trail.

"Who the hell are you?" Tucker asked.

The man kept his face neutral and his mouth shut.

A rifle butt swung into the frame and slammed into the captive's stomach. The man doubled over and fell out of the frame.

"Get the fuck up," a voice off camera yelled. "You hear me? Get the fuck up."

Tucker could hear retching off camera, then something scraping against the concrete floor. For several seconds nothing happened, then the captive's head moved back into the frame, rising unsteadily from the bottom.

"Let me ask you again," Tucker said. "Who the hell are you?"

"No," the man said.

This time the rifle hit him in the kidney. The man flew forward, screaming, almost running into the camera.

Tucker smiled. Not because of the man's pain, he was ambivalent about that. He smiled because the man spoke, and in Tucker's experience once someone opened his mouth, he would eventually tell whatever he knew.

"Bring him in," Tucker said.

He could hear Carter starting to say "Yes, sir," but the guard was cut off as Tucker quit the program.

He pushed himself away from his desk and stood up. There were two empty cells along the hall where they were keeping the woman. One of those would be fine for their new guest.

He took a deep breath, then picked up the phone and punched in the number for the lab.

"Yes?" The voice was young. One of the technicians.

"I need to talk to Mr. Rose," Tucker said.