The Collected Part 22

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.

Ja.n.u.s took a step into the room, with one of the fatigues-clad soldiers following.

"I said up. I not say play with self," Ja.n.u.s said.

A thousand comebacks played through Nate's head, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Put this on."

Ja.n.u.s 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," Ja.n.u.s 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," Ja.n.u.s 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 a.s.sumed 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 Ja.n.u.s 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," Ja.n.u.s ordered.

As soon as Nate turned, the soldier grabbed him again and started pus.h.i.+ng 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 Ja.n.u.s-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 b.u.mped into a solid surface.

"Step up," the soldier said.

Reluctantly, Nate raised his foot, sliding his heel against the surface until he pa.s.sed 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 antic.i.p.ating 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."

"Thank you, sir," Harris said. "Gentlemen, raise your arms."

"Why?" Berkeley blurted out.

There was a smack, and the man yelled in pain.

"Raise your arms," Harris said. "I won't repeat the order again."

Nate raised his arms until his cuffed hands hovered as high above his head as he could get them. If they were about to kill him, there was nothing he could do about it. But if they weren't, he needed to bide his time until there was an opportunity to do something.

He heard a metallic noise, like a ratchet. Three clicks. Someone unexpectedly grabbed his left forearm from above.

A moment later, metal slipped between his wrists and moved up until it was hooked through the cross section of his cuffs. The hand let go of him. For several seconds nothing happened. Then the ratcheting again, rapid fire, right above him, but whatever it was, it wasn't the only thing making the sound. There were more to his left and right. Five total, he guessed.

Click-click-click-click-click.

He felt the cuffs tug at his wrist as they were pulled upward.

Click-click-click-click-click.

Nate began rising off his pedestal, the cuffs digging into the skin at the base of his palms. He pointed his toes downward, keeping them on whatever it was he was standing on as long as possible to help take on some of his weight.

Click-click-click-click-click.

Just before his toes would have lifted into the air, the noise stopped. Hands grabbed Nate's feet, tied a rope around his ankle, and secured him to the floor.

Beside him he could hear the same thing happening with his fellow prisoners.

"Do you feel helpless?" the older man asked. "Dangling there, unable to do anything? Do you?"

"Answer him," Harris said.

"f.u.c.k off!" Lanier shot back.

The old man laughed.

"Answer him!"

No one else said a word.

"Even though you don't say it," the old man told them, "I know how helpless you are. I know what you are feeling. Consider this stage one of payback." Another laugh.

Payback? That was an unexpected choice of words.

A loud, chilling crack filled the air. The sound was impossible to mistake-the snap of a whip in the hand of someone who knew what they were doing.

"A bit old-fas.h.i.+oned, I admit," the old man said. "But I like it that way."

A pause, then the whip cracked again. Only this time it was followed by a cry of intense pain.

Nate counted twenty lashes. On the twenty-first, the next man in line began to scream.

Then the next, and the next.

Then it was Nate's turn.

CHAPTER 29.

QUINN LOOKED AT the picture on his phone, and back through his binoculars at the entrance to the police station. "That's him. The one on the left wearing the sungla.s.ses." He watched the man for a moment, then said, "Daeng, you're on."

With a nod, Daeng handed his own binoculars to Orlando and took off. She stuffed it and the pair she'd been using into the bag she'd picked up at an outdoor market a couple blocks away. "All set."

Quinn lowered his binoculars and added them to the others. "Let's go."

They made their way through the streets to the abandoned building they'd found four blocks away from the station. Quinn checked the street to make sure no one was watching them, and then pushed the board that covered the window out of the way. Orlando entered first, and he followed right behind.

There were many ways they could have approached Captain Moreno-a discreet discussion at his office, buying him lunch and having a chat, or something a bit more direct. After Orlando finished digging into the man's life, it quickly became clear that option number three would be their best choice.

They checked the workroom they'd created, and found everything as it had been.

Quinn picked up the bottle of fake blood they'd whipped up. "Are you ready?"

"Go ahead."

He squirted some of the sticky liquid into her hair, and let it drip down onto her forehead. He gave his work a critical eye. It wouldn't pa.s.s a close examination, but would be more than adequate for a quick look.