The Unwanted (47 page)

"Hurry up," a second voice said.

"Two seconds," the first said. A pause, then, "Okay. You're good to go."

As the cart started up again, a second came down the hallway. Again the first voice—
one of the technicians?
—stopped it for a moment before letting it move on. After that, the carts began rolling out unhindered. The technician was no doubt getting each of the IVs going before they left the room.

Quinn pulled out his cell phone. He wanted Nate to get into a position where he could observe the main ground-level exit so that he could see where they were taking the children.

There was a voice message waiting for him. He pressed Play and put the phone to his ear.

"There are four Sikorsky Superhawks in a clearing about an eighth of a mile southwest of Yellowhammer's entrance." It was Orlando. The Superhawk was a troop-transport helicopter. "You said you thought they might be leaving soon. If so, this is how. I got Marion on the other side of the fence, so I'm going in for a closer look."

That was it. There was no follow-up message. He couldn't call to get an update, either. The minute he'd open his mouth, those in the hallway would hear him. But at least he now knew how they planned to fly out. Not a plane. Helicopters.

He fired a text off to Orlando.

Status?

He didn't wait for a response before sending a second one, this time to Nate.

Have u heard from O?

He thought for a moment, then decided a third was in order.

Be ready. They're moving tonight. Be advised they have
hostages. More soon.

He chose Peter's name from his addresses, then hit Send.

Another thirty seconds passed before he got any response. It was from Nate.

Last radio contact 30 min ago when she took M out. Have tried to reach her since, but no reply. U need me to come to u?

Quinn typed:

No. They're starting to clear out of here. O left message she spotted helicopters. Meet up with her. Disable them if u can.

It took Nate ten seconds to receive and reply.

OK.

Outside the room, another gurney rolled past. Once the noise of the wheels had faded, Quinn eased the door all the way shut. There was nothing he could do now but wait.

Wait, and hope he wouldn't be too late.

Peter had pulled all-nighters before. Hell, half the time he felt like he lived at the Office's headquarters, the rest of the world seldom conforming to Eastern Standard Time.

But tonight was different. He had a team in the middle of some serious crap, but his client, the only person who could provide the help they would need, had all of a sudden gone AWOL.

"I have visual confirmation from my agent on the ground that your man Furuta has been detained at Yellowhammer," he had told Chercover the last time they'd talked.

"Visual?" Chercover asked, his tone unconcerned.

"I have a photo."

"Send it to me."

"What was he doing there?" Peter asked. "I told you I was sending a team in."

There was a pause. "I wanted my own eyes on the ground."

"That worked out well."

"Is there anything else?" Chercover asked.

"I assume you'd like us to see if we can extract him."

Again a pause. "If the opportunity presents itself."

Before Peter could say anything else, the line went dead.

That was the last time he'd been able to get through to Chercover. He'd started calling every ten minutes, but each time the line had gone directly to voicemail.

And now with this latest text from Quinn it looked like whatever was being prepped at Yellowhammer was going live, but Peter had no means with which to stop it. It was obvious now the threat had always been real. It would have been more than enough for Chercover to get actual government forces into action. But where the fuck was he?

Peter had other contacts he could go to, but it would mean bringing them up to speed, which would delay any help. Still, he didn't see that he had any choice. The only question was who to bring in?

He pulled up his contacts list on the screen of his laptop and began scrolling through it.

There had to be one, someone who would trust him. Someone who could make things happen in a hurry.

For God's sake,
he thought as he finished the L's.
Just one name.

CHAPTER
36

THE SOUND OF SEVERAL LARGE ENGINES WINDING
up startled Marion. She'd remained hidden behind the rock outcropping where the woman, Orlando, had left her. The buzzing electric fence they'd passed under was only a hundred feet away. She'd heard the familiar whirling roar before, back in Africa. Not a truck engine, not even a jet. Helicopters, and by the sounds of them, large ones.

To her it meant only one thing: those who had taken her and Iris were about to escape. But did they still have the girl? Or had Quinn, Nate, and Orlando been successful in rescuing her? Marion wanted to believe they had, but she feared the worst.

She'd been told to stay where she was no matter what. But how could she? How could she stay when Iris's life was still in danger?

The answer was she couldn't.

"Hey. What are you doing?" The voice had come from behind Quinn.

He'd been crouched in front of the elevator door, just starting to pry it open. Acting like nothing was up, he released the door, then dropped his right hand onto the grip of the SIG Sauer pistol resting on his lap. He stood, keeping his back to the new arrival.

"The doors got stuck," he said.

"Turn around!"

The man was closer now. Quinn judged fifteen feet at most. And whatever weapon he was armed with—one of the M16s no doubt—it would be aimed at Quinn's back.

Quinn pivoted around, the barrel of his gun level with the man's gut.

"Who ar—"

Thwack.

The man dropped to the ground.

Quinn kept his gun on the man as he ran over, but there was no need to pull the trigger a second time. The guard was dead.

He dragged the body over to the elevator door, then removed the M16 from the man's shoulder and set it on the floor. He ripped the sleeve off the man's shirt, knowing he'd need it for cleanup. After prying the sliding doors of the elevator apart, he used the guard's shoulders to wedge them open. He then wiped up a small pool of blood where the man had fallen, and the trail of drops that led back to the elevator.

Once he was done, he dumped the man's body and the sleeve into the shaft, slung the M16 over his shoulder, then slipped through the doors himself, and over to his waiting rope.

Tucker was pissed.

He had four Superhawk helicopters sitting on the ground, but only three with rotors turning.

"I thought you said everything was working fine," he shouted at the lead pilot.

"Everything checked out okay when we fired them up last," the pilot said. "I have our engineer looking at it now. Thinks he might be able to get it up and running in thirty minutes."

"We don't have thirty minutes." Tucker looked back at the helicopters. "God
dammit
! We'll have to get everyone in three."

"We all won't fit in three."

"Then some people will just have to stay, won't they?" Tucker said. "Get back to your aircraft. We go on schedule."

"Yes, sir." The pilot turned and walked away.

Tucker brought his radio up to his mouth. "Petersen?"

"Yes?" Petersen's voice said on the receiver.

"Split the cargo between the three working helicopters. Just don't put the juice and the special package with the triggering mechanism in the same aircraft. Then divide up the men. Nonessentials stay behind."

"So the fourth copter's out, then?"

"At least for now. Those who stay behind can take it out once it's fixed."

"Copy," Petersen said. "Is Delgado with you?"

"I told him to do a final check of both floors before coming up. If he takes too long, assign him to helicopter four."

"Copy."

Quinn found Nate on a hill overlooking the makeshift heliport. Again the rocks played into their favor by creating several nooks from which they could observe what was going on without being seen.

"What happened to disabling the helicopters?" Quinn asked.

"Very funny. The crews were already there when I got here. Kind of think they might have seen me if I walked up and started messing with their engines."

"What about Orlando?"

"I texted her what you wanted us to do, and said I'd meet up with her. She texted back 'OK,' but that was it. Haven't heard anything more from her."

"Let me see those," Quinn said, motioning for Nate's binoculars.

As soon as Nate gave them to him, he raised them to his eyes. Men were moving three-foot-long metal baskets from a truck to the helicopters. In each basket was one of the children.

"Only three of the helicopters are running," Quinn said.

"Still?" Nate said. "I was thinking they just hadn't fired the fourth one up yet."

"Looks like someone's got an access panel open and is looking inside."

Quinn continued his scan of the landing area, stopping only when he spotted a man standing on a boulder at the northwest corner. He touched the zoom. It was Leo Tucker.

He lowered the binoculars and handed them to Nate. "The man on the rock. At the far end."

"What about him?"

"Just take a look."

Nate lifted the glasses to his eyes.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered. "Is that . . . ?"

"Is that what?"

Quinn and Nate turned in unison toward the voice that had come from behind them. Orlando was a dozen feet away, crawling between two of the rocks.

Nate smiled, then glanced at Quinn.

"Where the hell have you been?" Quinn asked.

"I was trying to disable the helicopters," she said. "That's what you asked, wasn't it?"

"Doesn't look like you succeeded."

"I could only get to one before they showed up," she said. "Sorry I didn't get myself shot taking care of the other three."

"I didn't mean that," Quinn said.

"Sure you did. That's exactly what you meant."

It wasn't, but she seemed to be in an arguing mood, so he decided to change the subject. "How's your shoulder?"

"It's fine," she snapped. "What were you two looking at when I walked up?"

"Nothing," Nate said. "Just looking at the helicopters."

"Don't try to lie to me, Nate," she said. "I can always tell."

Quinn hesitated a moment, then said, "Give her the glasses." She needed to know.

Nate looked at Quinn as if he wasn't sure he'd heard him correctly, then held the binoculars out to Orlando. She took the glasses as she knelt down between the two men.

"What am I looking at?" she asked.

Quinn pointed toward Tucker. "There," he said. "That guy on the boulder."

It only took her a couple seconds to zero in on him. Once she did, she froze in place, the binoculars seeming to meld with the skin around her eyes.

When she did move them away, her gaze remained riveted on the man on the rock.

"He's mine," she said.

Neither Quinn nor Nate argued with her. How could they? She had business with Tucker—the kidnapping of her son, Garrett. The only reason the Australian was still alive was because of the deal he'd made with Quinn to reveal Garrett's location in exchange for being able to walk away. A deal Orlando had hated, but could think of no alternative solution.

But the deal expired the moment they found Garrett. Though they never talked about it, Quinn knew in Orlando's mind Tucker had been living under a death sentence to be administered at a time she deemed best—a time that looked like it might soon be approaching.

"Ah . . . unless we do something fast," Nate said, "we're going to lose him."

"What?"

Nate pointed at the rock Tucker had been standing on. The man was gone.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he said. "But it looks like they're all loaded up and ready to go. Our old friend just climbed on board the one farthest from us."

Nate was right; all but a handful of the men had boarded one of the working helicopters. Within seconds, the helicopter nearest them lifted into the air. The other two soon joined it.