The Collected Part 9

"No."

Playing something he knew was more than just a hunch, Quinn retrieved his phone and accessed the photo Daeng had sent him. He showed it to Pullman. "Do you recognize this man?"

At first Pullman shook his head, then he stopped and squinted. "I'm not sure. He looks kind of familiar."

"Familiar how? You've met with him? You've talked to him?"

"I don't know," Pullman said defensively. "It ain't a great picture. Could be hundreds of people who look like that."

True enough, but the fact that Pullman hesitated in saying no outright made Quinn more convinced that what happened to Daeng was connected. He put the phone away.

"Your client. I a.s.sume you have a number for him."

"Yes, but..." He paused. "It's disconnected now."

"You've called it?"

"A few dozen times since yesterday."

"Give me the number."

Pullman's gaze flicked past Quinn, across the room. "It's in my phone over by my computer."

"I'll get it," Orlando said.

While she did that, Quinn said, "Where did the job take place?"

"Monterrey, Mexico."

"This Senator Lopez-is he really a senator, or is that just a nickname?"

"Really a senator."

"In Mexico?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about the job and what happened."

In fits and starts, Pullman began telling what he knew.

"Wait," Quinn said before he got too far. "Quinn's a.s.sistant. What was his name?"

"Uh, Burke."

Quinn had never heard of the guy. "Do you know how he got the job?"

"I...recommended him."

"You?"

"Well, actually, the client did. I just pa.s.sed the name along."

That was also disturbing. "All right. Let's go back to the job."

Pullman told them the rest, finis.h.i.+ng up with learning that the Mexican authorities had discovered the body, and that he could no longer reach his client.

"What's your pa.s.sword?" Orlando asked.

"My what?"

"Pa.s.sword. For your computer."

"Why?"

Quinn raised the gun.

"Uh, uh, it's Jessica36b."

"G.o.d, that better not mean-" Orlando stopped herself with a disgusted groan. "Never mind."

Quinn could hear her disconnecting the man's laptop and shoving it into her bag.

"What are you doing?" Pullman said. "That's mine. I need that."

"It was yours," she said.

"But my work. Everything's on there!"

"I'm sure you have a backup somewhere," Quinn said. He stood up. "A little advice. You might want to lie low for a while."

"Hold on. Are you going to leave me like this?"

"Thanks for reminding me."

Instead of unwrapping the tape, Quinn pulled out the cylindrical container, unscrewed one end, and slipped the syringe into his hand.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Pullman protested.

Quinn stuck the needle into the broker's arm.

"Hey! What the h.e.l.l?"

"You're going to have a nice headache when you wake up," Quinn said. "You'll want to take some aspirin and drink plenty of water. But the good news is, you won't have to worry about that for another twenty-four hours, at least."

"What did you...give...me?" The man's voice was already losing strength.

"Sweet dreams, Mr. Pullman."

CHAPTER 12.

NATE'S EYES SHOT open as he gasped for air.

Before he could even register that he was soaking wet, another wave of water slammed into him.

He gasped again.

Close by, someone laughed.

He twisted his head toward the noise, and saw a big man with scraggly blond hair and a goatee, a foot long and braided. He grinned at Quinn, an empty bucket in his hand.

"You up now. Good," the man said. "No fall back asleep, okay?"

The man wagged a finger at Nate, exited the room, and shut the door.

It wasn't until he was alone again that Nate realized the bag was no longer over his head.

He turned to look around to get a sense of where he was, but had to stop and squeeze his eyes shut as a wave of nausea swept over him. Nearly half a minute pa.s.sed before he could open his eyelids again.

This time, when he scanned the room, he kept his movements slow to prevent another attack. He was in a s.p.a.ce that couldn't have been more than ten feet square, enclosed by stone walls broken only by the single door. No windows, he realized, and no drain in the floor. Which meant this wasn't the same room he'd been in when he met the bald man.

He turned his attention to the metal chair he was sitting in, and quickly discovered that it was attached firmly to the concrete floor. Straps across his chest and lap held him in place. In addition, cuffs around his ankles were connected to the chair's legs.

Apparently, his captors hadn't realized that his lower right leg was artificial. Of course, without patting down the area where it met his stub or taking his pants off entirely, there was no reason why they would. The limb was wrapped with a synthetic exterior that created the look and feel of a real leg.

Missing this detail was a mistake he hoped they didn't rectify. His leg was more than just a means of helping him get around. If he could get to the secret compartment in the calf area, then he might have a chance.

The other partially good news was that even though his wrists were still cuffed together, they were now on his lap instead of behind his back. More comfortable, and easier to use if the chance arose.

He leaned his head back and tried to recall the last thing he clearly remembered.

Quinn, he thought. The bald man had called me Quinn.

From the aches and pains he felt, he could tell he'd taken a beating, but as for more memories, he was a blank.

No. Wait.

He closed his eyes. There was more. A burst of sound...and...and...vibrations. A jolt, too. What the h.e.l.l had that been?

Moved. Yes, that had to be it. I was moved.

It was the method used he was having a hard time identifying. It had been distinctive, he was sure about that, something he should have been able to identify, but the answer remained elusive.

Pieces, that's all he had to figure out what was going on. The run for the border. The police who hadn't taken him to an official jail. The bald man. The noises. The vibrations.

And then there was the job itself.

Unfortunately, the pieces that bound everything together were still missing, and he wasn't going to figure anything out just sitting there.

He refocused his mind.

Priorities.

Number one: Get free.

Number two: If possible, find out what is going on, but not at the sacrifice of the first goal.

Number three: Once free, find that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Burke.

What he'd do with that a.s.shole once he had him was something he could figure out later. At the moment, the thought of ripping Burke apart limb by limb was pretty d.a.m.n appealing.

The door opened again, and the big blond man with the stupid grin reentered. Only he wasn't alone. Coming in right behind him was the bald man.

I guess it's time to play.

The big guy was carrying another bucket of water. He set in on the floor as the bald man closed the door. The two of them then stepped in front of Nate.

"Have a good rest?" the bald man asked.

The less said, the better, Nate knew, so he didn't answer.

"You were out for quite some time."

Nate kept his expression blank.

The man looked at his watch. "Unfortunately, I am unable to chat right now, but I just wanted to say that I'm glad to see you're up, and if you need anything, don't be afraid to ask Ja.n.u.s, here." He gestured to the other man. "You and I will talk later, Mr. Quinn."

He dipped his head an inch, in what amounted to a farewell bow, and left the room. Ja.n.u.s stayed.

"Brought you more water," the man said, picking up the bucket. "Thought you might be thirsty."

He tossed the contents at Nate.

This time the water was freezing and filled with bits and pieces of ice that pelted Nate in the face and shoulders. Nate turned his head just in time to avoid a chunk stabbing him in the eye.

Ja.n.u.s laughed loud and deep, almost doubling over as he did. "Cold, huh? Good for skin." Another laugh and he, too, was gone.

What Ja.n.u.s hadn't noticed, though, was that as Nate's body reacted to the shock, he'd automatically shoved up on his feet, tilting the chair backward a quarter of an inch as the bolts holding the front two legs down gave a little under the pressure. Nate had sensed it immediately, and had used his toes to slow his descent back to the floor so the movement wouldn't be noticeable.

He remained motionless for the first three minutes he was alone. Finally, when he felt his visitors wouldn't be returning right away, he rocked back again. He went up a quarter inch before the bolts caught. On his next try he used more force, moving higher. He kept at it, each time gaining a fraction of an inch, until finally he heard one of the bolts pop.