The Unwanted (46 page)

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 likely 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, so 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.

Forty feet away, the hallway widened out into a common area where over a dozen men were gathered. Most were big, ex-military types like the ones who had captured Furuta. A few were smaller, wearing white coats like doctors or lab workers. All were focused on the man standing in the middle. Tucker.

Quinn hesitated only a second, then crouched down and crossed the intersection. He moved as fast as he could, taking a back route to the room where he'd found the first group of children. Maybe he could find a way to block the door, and at least slow Tucker's people down. He wasn't going to be able to stop them, not on his own, but if he could throw off their timetable, he might be able to get back to the surface and figure out some way to keep them from leaving.

Only he was too late.

Four other men were already at the room. Quinn could see them through the half-opened door. They were arranging the gurneys in some kind of order.

Quinn had no choice. He reentered the same room he'd hidden in earlier, this time leaving the door opened a crack.

The first thing he heard was one of the gurneys being wheeled out of the room and back into the hallway. Just before it passed the room he was in, someone called out, "Hold on."

The cart stopped.

"Let me get the drip going," the voice said. "We don't want them waking up mid-flight."

Flight?
Quinn thought. Maybe there was an airfield and a plane that could hold all the children.