The guy was wearing a baseball cap and sungla.s.ses despite the fact he was inside, but the jawline was the same, as were the ears and the mouth. He was nervous, too. He kept looking over his shoulder, scanning the crowd. He even paused on Daeng for a moment, but quickly moved on, obviously dismissing the former monk as a threat.

By the way the line was moving, it would be at least ten minutes before Burke's turn. Daeng moved down to the end of the aisle nearest the front doors, and casually stood where he could keep an eye on the man.

Quinn and Orlando joined him three minutes later.

"Where?" Quinn asked.

"Qantas line, about midway, in the baseball cap and gla.s.ses."

"Subtle," Orlando said.

"Yeah, wouldn't have been my choice," Quinn agreed. He watched Burke for a moment. "Here's what I'd like to do."

__________.

"GOOD EVENING. Pa.s.sPORT, please," Maddee James said.

The pa.s.senger placed his pa.s.sport on the counter. "My reservation was for tomorrow, but I switched it earlier today," he said.

"No problem, sir," she told him, hoping he was right. It had been a long day already, and the last thing she wanted was to deal with a pa.s.senger who thought he'd changed his flight but actually hadn't. It had happened before and it was never any fun.

She input his name into the system, and smiled. He was indeed on tonight's flight. She printed out his boarding card, tagged his bag, and handed the card and pa.s.sport back to him.

"Security check is in the back and to the left. Have a nice flight, Mr. Burke."

It wasn't until he grunted a thanks and walked off that she remembered his name from earlier. He was the person that cute messenger was looking for. She had a second to wonder if they'd been able to find each other before the next pa.s.senger walked up.

"Good evening. Pa.s.sport, please."

__________.

QUINN WATCHED FROM the back end of the aisle as Orlando moved in beside Burke, and Daeng took up position behind the man.

Subtly, Orlando angled her path so that Burke had to move more and more to his right. As they took the turn toward security, he was almost up against the wall. That was Quinn's cue.

He moved in quickly, a broad smile on his face, his arms open wide. "Doug!"

He enveloped Burke in a hug before the guy even knew what was happening.

"Great to see you again," Quinn said loudly, then whispered, "If you try to draw any attention, we will kill you here and leave you to die."

Both Orlando and Daeng moved in close so Burke would know they were there.

"Do you understand?" Quinn asked.

Burke swallowed hard. "Yes."

Quinn let go and took a small step back. "Let us help you with your stuff."

Daeng grabbed Burke's carry-on, while Orlando took his pa.s.sport and boarding card.

"I've got a plane to catch," Burke said.

"Maybe. That depends on your answers to a few questions."

"What questions?"

Quinn smiled. "Why don't we go outside where it's a little quieter?

CHAPTER 18.

Ja.n.u.s LED NATE down a long dark hall to the room with the washbasin and toilet. It was the second time he'd been taken there since he came into possession of the bolt. This time, though, there was a clean shirt and pair of pants hanging from a peg on the back wall.

"Wash up," Ja.n.u.s said. "You want to look good for later."

Nate held his cuffed hands in the air, silently asking how he was supposed to do that.

Ja.n.u.s smirked, then pulled a pair of cutters out of his back pocket and snapped the plastic tie in two. For half a second, Nate thought about making a move, but Ja.n.u.s quickly stepped back into the doorway, out of range.

"Now wash," the big man said.

With Ja.n.u.s keeping an eye on him, Nate used the toilet, removed his shirt, and cleaned up, using the soap and washcloth next to the sink. It felt good to get some of the grime and old sweat off, but he knew it was just temporary. Unlike the room he'd been held in, this one didn't seem to have any climate control. The air was thick and humid. Even as he was drying off, he could feel sweat forming on his skin again.

He grabbed his shirt, but before he could pull it back on, Ja.n.u.s said, "Uh-uh. Change."

The big man nodded at the clean clothes. Nate hesitated. If he wanted to avoid revealing his prosthetic, the pants were going to be a problem.

He grabbed the shirt-a brown b.u.t.ton-up with short sleeves-and pulled it on. When he was done, he turned back to Ja.n.u.s and took a step toward the door.

"Pants, too," Ja.n.u.s said.

Nate looked at the pants he was wearing, then at those hanging on the wall. They were both jeans.

Realizing his only possible way out was to break his silence, he said, "What difference does it make? They're the same."

If Ja.n.u.s was surprised to hear his voice, he didn't show it. His look took in both pairs of pants. He shrugged. "Change."

"I'm not going to change. They're the same d.a.m.n pants."

Ja.n.u.s's ears grew red as his face tightened in anger. "You will change."

"You want me to change? Fine. But I'm not going to do it with you standing there watching me."

"Change."

"Privacy, and I will."

They stared defiantly at each other for several seconds.

Finally, Nate said, "What do you think I'm going to do? Steal the soap? Here." He grabbed the bar and tossed it at Ja.n.u.s. "Better?"

Ja.n.u.s frowned, took a quick look around the room, and nodded. "One minute." He pulled the door closed.

The first thing Nate did was remove the bolt from his pocket. He then pulled his pants off, but before donning the other pair, he bent down and opened the seam on the calf of his artificial leg. As much as he now wished there was a weapon embedded inside, that was one option his leg didn't have. Traveling as much as he did, his prosthetic already made him a target for extra attention from airport security, so he couldn't afford to take that kind of chance.

What it did have, though, was a small s.p.a.ce he could use to stow the bolt. It was meant for a memory card, or a note or photograph, so it would be a little snug, but he was pretty sure the bolt would fit.

There was something else in the storage s.p.a.ce, too. A b.u.t.ton designed to be pushed in just these kinds of circ.u.mstances. His leg had a heart-rate monitor, which, in turn, had a dead-man switch. Unless the switch was turned off each time he removed his leg, an emergency signal would be activated if the leg was not attached to his stump for more than an hour. To help cut down on the chance of it being discovered, the signal was pa.s.sive and needed to be pinged. In addition to the dead-man switch, there was also a way to activate the signal without removing the leg-a b.u.t.ton at the top of the storage area.

He searched for it with his fingertip, found its grooved top, and pressed it.

Knowing he was running out of time, he jammed the bolt inside, sealed up his leg, and quickly pulled the new pants on. He was just b.u.t.toning the top when the door opened again.

"Happy now?" he said.

Ja.n.u.s grunted. "Hands."

Nate held out his hands, wrists together.

Once Ja.n.u.s had secured them with another plastic cuff, he said, "Let's go."

__________.

THE NEXT TIME Ja.n.u.s took Nate from his cell was several hours later.

They went back down the long corridor, pa.s.sed the toilet without stopping, and out a door into a large, open courtyard.

The area was rimmed by a high stone wall s.p.a.ckled with decades-if not centuries-of dirt. The ground was also covered with stone, big square slabs with more than the occasional weed growing up between the cracks. What was beyond the walls was impossible to see. The only things visible were scattered clouds across a dusky sky.

At the far end of the courtyard was an old wooden table surrounded by several empty chairs. On the table were burning candles and two settings of plates and silverware. At intervals along the courtyard wall beyond the table were eight unsmiling men, dressed in fatigues, and armed with automatic rifles.

"Go," Ja.n.u.s ordered, pointing with his chin toward the table. "Take seat near right end."

Nate tried to imagine what could possibly be going on here, but he hadn't a clue. It was just all too strange.

He took his a.s.signed place and looked at Ja.n.u.s, wondering what he was supposed to do now.

Ja.n.u.s smiled, moved around the table, and took a chair on the opposite side that had no place setting.

They sat silently as the sky continued to darken. The whole time Ja.n.u.s stared blankly at Nate.

It was just over thirty minutes when a door somewhere behind Nate opened. This was soon followed by the clack, clack, clack of someone striding across the courtyard. Nate resisted the urge to turn and look. The new arrival finally came into view as he moved around to the chair at the end of the table and sat. Not surprisingly, it was the bald man.

"Good evening, Mr. Quinn," he said. "How is everything? I trust you've been treated well?"

Nate looked at him but said nothing.

"Still the silent routine, I see." He looked past Nate. "Ja.n.u.s, I think we're ready."

"Yes, sir."

Ja.n.u.s rose from his chair and headed off to the right.

"You can call me Mr. Harris," the bald man said, smiling. "It is my pleasure to have someone of your status at my table this evening. I a.s.sume you're hungry. The chef has prepared baked swordfish. One of my favorites."

A door opened.

"Ah, excellent."

Several footsteps approached the table, and soldiers in the same fatigues and the men with the guns set plates in front of Nate and Harris.

In addition to the fish, there were grilled vegetables and fresh fruit. Nate tried to keep his face blank, but inside he was salivating at the sight. He hadn't eaten since before things went wrong in Monterrey.

Another soldier placed a gla.s.s of water beside Nate's silverware.

Harris picked up his fork. "Bon appet.i.t." He speared a piece of his fish and put it in his mouth. As he chewed, he looked back at Nate. "Don't you like fish?"

Nate raised his bound hands.

"Of course," Harris said. "Ja.n.u.s!"

Ja.n.u.s appeared at Nate's side, and freed Nate's hands again.

Nate wanted nothing more than to shove everything into his mouth, but he took his time, acting only semi-interested in what had been served.

"It's become my habit to have a meal with each of our guests on his first evening here," Harris said. "One of my little joys, I guess you'd say." He took another bite. "Last night you arrived a bit too late, but you're here now. That's what counts."

Each of us? Nate thought.

Harris cut away another piece of the swordfish. "This is delicious, isn't it?"

The one-sided dialogue continued throughout the meal, with Harris commenting on everything from the food to the weather to the stars that now sparkled above them.

When they finally finished, he said, "I want you to know how much I admire your career. A man with your reputation is rare indeed. You are a true artist, you know that?" He smiled. "But all things come to an end." He pushed back from the table and stood up. "Well, I wish I could stay, but our last guest arrives tomorrow, and I need to oversee the preparations. Have a good night, Mr. Quinn."

__________.

THE CELL Ja.n.u.s took him to was not the same one he'd spent the day in. His new living quarters were located down a hallway housing several rooms. Each had a heavy door that was locked in place by a levered handle. The handle controlled a double metal-rod system attached to the outside of the door. In the locked position, the rods fit snuggly into slots in the ceiling and on the floor, literally barring the door from opening.

The room itself was a bit larger than his last, and came complete with a mattress on the floor and a rudimentary toilet in the corner. The stone walls were worn and blackened with age, and while there were still no windows, there was a rectangular vent low on the door that allowed fresh air to drift in.