The Collected

CHAPTER 47

The Marguerite Hotel was located a block from the beach in the touristy west side of Cordoba. It had been an easy hack for Orlando to insert into the hotel’s records that room 317 was occupied by a Mr. and Mrs. J. Quinn. That was also the room where the IP address she used in the search was assigned. In addition to room 317, she had claimed room 316 across the hall, and room 323 near the elevators.

Since they would need more than just the two of them to cover everything, they’d called Daeng and had him and, with some reluctance on Quinn’s part, Liz join them. They stationed Daeng in 323 and put Liz down in the lobby with a newspaper. Quinn and Orlando took room 316.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Quinn told Liz over the phone. She was their early warning system, tasked only with noting hotel arrivals.

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” she said. “I’m just reading the paper. If anyone asks, I’m an early riser who didn’t want to wake up her husband.”

“All right. Just…be careful, okay?”

“I will.”

After he hung up, he went over to the bed and sat next to Orlando. She was reading something on her computer.

“If no one shows up,” he said, “we’ll have to find another way to locate this son of a bitch.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

She shut her computer. “A few minutes ago someone hacked into the hotel system, and checked on the occupants of room 317. I say they’ll be here in fifteen minutes or less. How about you?”

The text from Liz came seventeen minutes later.

4 MEN IN SUITS W/BRIEFCASES. NOT TALKING. LOOK SERIOUS. HEADING FOR ELEVATOR

.

“I should have taken the bet,” Quinn said as he forwarded the info to Daeng, then moved toward the door.

“Did I not mention the plus-or-minus-three-minutes factor? I’m sure I did,” Orlando said, walking up beside him and turning off the light.

Via the microcam mounted just above the frame of their door outside, they were able to monitor the door to room 317 on Quinn’s phone. No one was there yet.

Quinn’s phone buzzed with a message from Daeng that momentarily flashed over the video image.

DING!

Daeng’s proximity to the elevator meant he could hear when a car arrived. Apparently one just had.

Ten seconds went by before two men in suits walked past the room. Five more seconds and they came back, stopping this time at the door to 317, where the other two joined them.

They all set their briefcases on the floor and opened them. There was no question now why they’d come. Each removed a suppressor-equipped pistol.

Quinn shot Daeng a quick text telling him to be ready. He checked that his own sound suppressor was firmly attached to the end of his gun.

Veronique had supplied them with a variety of weapons. Quinn was holding his favorite SIG P226, while Orlando was carrying a GLOCK and had a vaccination gun full of sleep juice in her pocket. Daeng, too, was armed with a GLOCK.

One of the men pulled a small black box from his case and held it up to the electronic lock on the door. A light flashed green, he gently turned the handle, and began pushing the door open.

“Get ready,” Quinn whispered.

Orlando was holding her phone in her free hand. On the screen was one of her many self-created apps. It displayed a simple green button that, when touched, would send a signal to the device now hooked to the fuse box controlling the lights on the third floor.

Across the hall, the first man entered room 317 and stopped a few feet inside. One by one the others joined him.

As the fourth started in, Quinn said, “Now.”

Orlando’s thumb tapped down on the green button and darkness descended, sudden and complete.

Quinn opened the door and raced across the hall in a crouch, reaching the fourth man before the guy had even turned around. He shoved the intruder in the back, pushing him farther into the room and knocking him into the guy just in front of him. Both men tumbled to the ground.

Muzzle flashes lit up the far end of the room. If Quinn had been standing, the bullet that smashed into the wall above him would have hit him square in the face. The other bullets flew through the doorway and into the hall.

Shooting first had been a mistake. Quinn and Orlando aimed at the flash points and pulled their triggers, once each. The two men who had entered the room first dropped dead.

Quinn heard the other two trying to free themselves from each other and join the fight. He whipped his gun down and positioned the end of the suppressor an inch from the closest guy’s ear. The heat radiating from the muzzle was enough motivation for the man to freeze.

The other one continued trying to twist free. The shadowy form of the gun in his hand moved upward. Quinn was about to whip him on the side of his head with the SIG when Orlando stepped around him and kicked the gun out of the guy’s hand. She then lashed out again, catching the guy under the chin.

His body went limp.

“Drop your gun,” Quinn said to the fourth man.

“No hablo ingles.”

“Bullshit. Drop it.”

The gun clunked to the floor. Quinn reached over and pushed it back toward the door.

“Orlando, some light.”

There was a slight delay, and then the lights in the hallway came back on. A few seconds later, the room lights flipped on.

Quinn glanced back and saw Daeng standing just inside the threshold. “Door.”

With a nod, Daeng closed the door.

Quinn returned his attention to the man on the floor. “Who sent you? Romero?”

A second of nothing, then, “Who Romero?”

Quinn grabbed his man by the shirt and pulled him up. He forced him to the back of the room, where his two dead colleagues lay. “Tell me what I want to know or you’ll join them.”

There was fear in the man’s eyes, a particular kind of fear Quinn had seen before-the fear of an asshole who was used to being the deliverer of violence, not the receiver.

Quinn pushed the suppressor into the back of the man’s head. “Who sent you?”

“Okay! Okay! Romero. Yes, yes. Romero.”

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

Quinn shoved the barrel forward again. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know! Our boss just sent us here. Tell us to bring people in room back to him. I swear.”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “Back to where?”

Ryan Porter was growing concerned. He should have heard from his security team by now. They’d had more than enough time to get into the room at the Marguerite Hotel and snatch whoever was in there.

The last he’d heard from them was that they were on site and getting ready to move in. That was nearly twenty minutes ago. They must have had some kind of problem.

He’d been monitoring the police bands, and all was quiet. So whatever was going on, at least the authorities weren’t involved yet.

He drummed his fingers on his desk. Ten more minutes, and I’ll go check myself.

He got up to fill his coffee mug, not that he wanted another cup. He needed to do something more than just sit there staring at his phone. He was halfway to the coffee maker when the intercom buzzed. He raced back to his desk and pushed the button.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Porter. It’s Felipe. We’re back.”

There was a small monitor next to the speaker. Porter turned it on, and a view of the entrance to the building appeared on-screen. The light over the door was enough for him to see Felipe’s face, and the dark forms of the two men in hoodies behind him-Raul and Marcos, most likely. Between the two men was someone smaller. It looked like a woman. They were gripping her arms, and her head was bowed.

Porter pushed the button again. “Is that her?”

Felipe turned his face so he was looking directly at the camera. “Yes. She was the only one there.”

“All right. Bring her in. I’ll meet you in the storage room.”

He pushed the button that unlocked the door. Feeling more relaxed, he filled his coffee and left his office. A little conversation, and then they’d get rid of her.

Problem solved.

“Good so far,” Quinn whispered once they were inside the building. “You keep it up, you’ll stay alive.”

The room immediately beyond the entrance was filled with large, old machinery. From the looks of things, it had been years since any of them had been turned on.”

“Where is this storage room he wants us to go to?” Quinn asked.

“In the back,” Felipe said.

“How do we get there?”

“Through there and all the way back.” Felipe pointed between two of the machines.

“And then?”

“Um, we go left until we reach the white door. That’ll be it.”

“And you’re sure he’s alone?”

“Yes,” Felipe said. “He sent all of us to the hotel.”

Quinn gave Orlando a subtle nod. In a swift, silent motion, she raised the vaccination gun to Felipe’s shoulder and shot an eight-hour dose of tranquilizer into his arm. Felipe turned in surprise, but before he could say anything, his eyelids began to droop, and they eased him to the floor.

Following Felipe’s instructions, they headed to the back of the building, vigilant in case Porter wasn’t the only one around. When they came in sight of the white door, Orlando moved into the point position so she would be the first one seen.

Porter’s office was just down the hall from the storage room, so it wasn’t a surprise he was the first one there. There was an old wooden storage box next to the wall. He dragged it into the middle of the room, right below the only light.

He took a step back, and smiled. Very intimidating. Whoever this woman was, she wouldn’t last long. He was willing to bet he’d know everything she did before his coffee cooled.

He took a sip, and nodded. Perfect.

Behind him he heard the door open. He turned, a smile still on his face.

The woman came through the door first. She couldn’t have been much more than one hundred and fifty centimeters tall. She was also Asian, which was a bit of a surprise.

“Well, hello,” he said. “Please, have a seat.”

Two of his men came in behind her, but Porter’s eyes remained focused on the woman, making sure she understood who was boss. When she got to within ten feet, she stopped, the look of despair on her face replaced by an eerily playful smile. Porter tried to maintain his own detached facade, but he couldn’t stop his brow from creasing in confusion.

“Actually, Mr. Porter,” one of the men behind her said. “You’re the one who should take a seat.”