The Unwanted (49 page)

"Jesus," Orlando said.

"So one of the children is the trigger," Quinn said.

Again the glance.

"Yes," Leary said.

"Which one?"

No answer.

"Which one?"

"The new one," Leary whispered, this time doing everything he could not to look at Marion. "The African girl."

"Oh, God," Marion said. "Oh, God, no."

Quinn shot her a glance, and she grew quiet again.

"One of you was a surgeon?" Orlando asked.

"N-No," Leary said.

A stillness filled the cabin before Orlando asked her next question. "Then who implanted the device in the girl?"

Leary dropped his chin to his chest. "Don't make me answer that." It was answer enough.

Quinn pushed the man's head back up. "We need to know the target, William."

"I told you, I have no idea," Leary said. "I just know they needed the children to make it happen. They had to be special needs. Really, that's all I know."

"So you don't know where the kids came from?"

The look on the former doctor's face said differently. "I overheard something, maybe."

"What?"

"Just that it was easier to obtain what they needed outside the U.S. In some other countries children like them aren't as well cared for. They're easier to . . . obtain. Tucker would bring them back in twos or threes. One time it was half a dozen. We fed them and kept them quiet."

"By sedating them," Orlando said.

Leary stared straight ahead, not looking at anyone.

"Door," Quinn said.

"No!" Leary yelled as Quinn hauled him back to his feet. "I don't know who the target is. Please, believe me."

"I believe you," Quinn said.

Orlando was at the door.

"Open it," Quinn said.

"But you just said you believed me," Leary said.

"You're right. I did."

The door flew open, and the noise level in the cabin once again became deafening. Leary tried to turn, but Quinn had a tight grip on his neck.

Once again, Quinn maneuvered him so Leary faced outward with Quinn's gun against the back of the man's head. For a second he thought he could hear Leary say, "Please, don't." But then an image of the gurneys parked in the storage room flashed in his mind.

Pulling the trigger of his SIG was one of the easiest things he'd done in a long time.

CHAPTER
38

"FURUTA'S DEAD," QUINN SAID INTO THE PHONE.
"Nothing I could do. They let him bleed out."

"Oh, Christ," Peter said.

"We've got a bigger problem than that."

"What is it?"

Quinn paused for a moment. "We're in a helicopter. Heading toward Santa Maria, California. Check the map, you'll see what I mean."

Nothing for a moment, then, "Okay, got it. That's about seventy miles north of Santa Barbara. I'm not sure what you . . . oh, shit."

"Yeah, I know."

Peter had seen what Quinn already knew. A little more than another hour north of Santa Maria was the small coastal town of San Simeon. And just beyond San Simeon, Hearst Castle. Not a castle, really, but about as close to it as you got in the States. It was a colossal home built by the late newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst, and was the inspiration for Xanadu in the old Orson Welles film
Citizen Kane.
For decades now it had been run as a tourist destination by the State of California.

Usually it wouldn't even be a blip on the radar. Nothing to draw the attention of someone like Quinn or Peter. But as Hardwick had pointed out to Quinn, Hearst Castle was playing host to a group other than tourists this week. In fact, no tourist had been allowed near the place for the last ten days. Its remote location yet luxurious setting made it the perfect place for this year's G8 summit meeting—a meeting of the heads of state from all the "Group of Eight" nations.

The meetings had begun in the mid-seventies with only six participating nations. They grew from the need for a more global stance to the oil shortages and recession of the time, then continued to grow and expand in the following decades until it had become arguably the most important international meeting of the year.

Every year the meeting would rotate to another of the member nations: Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Russia, the United Kingdom, and the United States. It was designed to provide an opportunity for the leaders of some of the world's most powerful nations to discuss whatever issues were deemed important at the time. And this year, it was the U.S.'s turn to host.

"Impossible," Peter said. "The government's got the whole area sealed off. Highway 1 is closed just north of Cambria and south of Gorda. No way anyone can get close even by air. And bringing a bunch of kids with them? Not a chance."

"Check the schedule."

"Hold on." The line went silent for several seconds. "Nothing. There are meetings all day for the next two days. There
is
a dinner each night."

"Entertainment?" Quinn asked.

Peter paused again. "Yes. But nothing matching your group of children. Yo-Yo Ma tonight and Harry Connick, Jr., tomorrow."

Quinn frowned. "It doesn't matter. We know basically where they're going. You should be able to pick them up on radar, and if not, you get a large enough force out there, you'll find them before dawn."

Peter said nothing.

"What is it?" Quinn asked.

"I can't get ahold of my client at the Agency."

"What?"

"He's dropped out of sight. Not answering his phone."

"Then call somebody else."

"I've been
trying,
but no one is taking my calls."

"What the hell are you talking about, Peter? You've got a ton of people you can reach."

"The Office has been shut out," Peter said. "The word has gone out not to deal with us."

"What? How do you know that?"

"Because the goddamn Assistant Director of the NSA told me right before he hung up."

"You've got to keep trying," Quinn said. "My team and I can't do this alone."

"I realize that."

"Then stop talking to me and do something about it." Quinn ended the call.

He looked out the window. Where the black mass of the mountains didn't block out the sky, he saw stars. He stared at them, his mind going blank.

"You should try to get a little sleep," Orlando said. "You've been going almost twenty-four hours. Even thirty minutes will help."

"You've been going as long as I have."

"Took a nap at the hotel when I thought you were just on a little scouting mission."

It was hard to miss the sarcasm in her voice, and it wasn't the funny kind, either.

"I'm sorry," he said. "The opportunity to get in came up, so I had to take it."

The left side of her mouth turned up in a smirk.

"All in all," he said, "it looks like it was a good decision."

He knew she couldn't argue that. Still, she looked like she wanted to put up a fight.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "Sleep. Don't sleep. I don't care."

She got up and walked to the other end of the passenger hold.

Quinn wanted to go after her, but he thought maybe it was best not to. Despite her nap, she had to be as tired as he was. She just needed a little space, he thought.

He slumped in his chair and stared at the floor. At what point his own eyes closed and he fell asleep, he had no idea.

"We're here." It was Nate's voice, very close to Quinn's ear.

Quinn opened his eyes. The cabin was dim, but he could see Marion Dupuis stretched out on the other side of the cabin.

The roar of the engine was unchanged, and from the way everything was still moving up and down, side to side, Quinn knew they were still in the air.

He sat up. "The pilot," he said.

"Orlando's watching him."

"How long was I out?"

"A little over an hour."

Quinn blinked several times, then looked out the window. Night still, but the massive Sierra Nevada mountains were gone. In the distance he could see the glow of a city on the horizon. He checked his watch. It was a few minutes before 4 a.m.

"Where exactly are we?" he asked as he stood up.

"Those lights out there are from Santa Maria. We're about forty miles south, right where the pilot said he was to receive his next instructions. But there's no sign of the others."

"North," Quinn said. "They'll be on the other side of Santa Maria somewhere. As close as they can get to Hearst Castle without drawing any attention."

"It's a pretty tight perimeter up there. There's a message on the radio warning of a no-fly zone starting south of Arroyo Grande. That's only about fifteen miles beyond Santa Maria."

"I need to see a map," Quinn said.

"There's one up front."

There were only two seats in the cockpit. Orlando sat in the one on the left, the gun in her hand pointed at the pilot. He was sitting in the one on the right.

They both glanced over as Quinn leaned between them.

The look on the pilot's face was tense. Quinn noticed sweat streaks running past his eyes and down his cheeks.

"Where's the map?" Quinn asked.

"Behind my chair," Orlando said.

Quinn grabbed it. It was a book kind of like the
Thomas Guide
he had in his car, only not quite as thick. He found the page showing the central coast of California, then traced a line along Highway 101 between Santa Maria and Arroyo Grande. There were a couple of smaller towns in between. There was also plenty of wilderness and hilly areas where a helicopter—or even three—could land unnoticed.

"We'll go here," Quinn said, pointing at a spot on the map and showing it to both Orlando and the pilot.

The place he'd chosen was just a few miles southeast of Arroyo Grande, on the edge of a town called Los Berros. He knew they were pushing it to try and get in that close to the no-fly zone, but he didn't know what other choice he had. The other helicopters most likely hadn't gone that far, so there was a chance Quinn might be able to get in front of them. A small chance, granted, but it was something.

The pilot banked the helicopter to the right, then flew north, bypassing Santa Maria and keeping several miles to the east of the highway.

Less than a minute later a voice came over the radio. "Aircraft traveling north-northwest nearing Nipomo, be advised we have you on radar. Please identify yourself."

"That's us," the pilot said.

"Take us lower," Quinn said.

"There are hills down there," the pilot protested.

"Then try not to hit them."

"Unidentified aircraft, please respond."

The helicopter dove down several thousand feet until it was only a hundred feet aboveground.

"Hug the terrain," Quinn said, knowing it would cut down on their radar signature.

"Unidentified aircraft, you're instructed to head south-southeast to the Santa Maria Public Airport. You are to land and await further instructions. Please confirm."

On the ground below, Quinn could see scattered homes. Most were dark at this hour, but a few had lights on.

"Two miles," Orlando said.

"Unidentified aircraft. Please be advised you are nearing a no-fly zone. If you enter the zone, you
will
be shot down. Unidentified aircraft, please respond."

"One mile," Orlando said.

"Company," Nate said.

He was standing behind Quinn and pointing over Quinn's shoulder and out the front window to the left.

A black spot on the deep blue sky was rapidly approaching. Within seconds it buzzed by them.

"I'm turning around," the pilot said.

Orlando raised her gun. "Nate," she said, "you ready to take over?"

"Absolutely," Nate said.

"Jesus," the pilot said. "They're going to shoot us down."

"Shut up, and keep on course," Quinn said.

"He's back," Orlando said. She motioned with her chin at the window beyond the pilot.

Pacing them a hundred feet to the east was an Apache attack helicopter.