The Collected

CHAPTER 51

Duran Island

The map showed that the fort was located on the southwestern end of Duran Island, so they came at it from the northeast, taking the boat in as close to the beach as they could get before dropping anchor.

Quinn held up the computer in front of Porter’s face. The map of the island was on the screen. “This airstrip,” he said, pointing at the lines indicating a landing area. “Is the cargo plane there?”

Porter raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What cargo-”

Quinn slapped him in the cheek. “Is it?”

“No. It’s at St. Renard’s in Cordoba. There’s no storage or fueling facility on the island.”

That was good news. No simple way for anyone to get off. “I assume there’s a road or something to get from the runway to the fort without having to hack through the jungle.”

Porter nodded. “A path. Starts right here.” He touched the map and moved his finger, stopping it right before he reached the fort. “And comes out here.”

On the ride over, Quinn had questioned Porter multiple times about the strength of Romero’s force on the island. Porter said there were about twenty men. Quinn automatically doubled that number just to be safe.

Forty against Quinn, Orlando, and Daeng. Not exactly the odds he would have liked, but odds, as he’d learned over the years, meant nothing. His little team would have the element of surprise, and that could easily tilt the balance in their favor.

“And how does anyone get inside?”

“There’s a door in the wall.” He pointed at the map again. “There.”

Quinn closed the laptop. “Thank you, Mr. Porter. Now it’s time for you to go to sleep.”

A small, quick-inflating landing raft carried the three of them and their gear to shore. On the beach, they divvied out the equipment and headed inland.

Walking through the jungle was not as hard as Quinn had feared. While there was plenty of vegetation, it wasn’t thick enough to slow them down, and within minutes they reached the clearing where the airstrip was located. The deserted runway stretched for nearly the entire width of the island.

Double-timing it, they crossed the tarmac and entered the jungle on the other side. From there, they walked along the edge of the clearing until they reached the road Porter had pointed out.

It was wide enough for a small car, but not much else. Quinn could see where branches had been chopped away, and guessed that it was a constant struggle to keep the path from being reclaimed by nature. To avoid exposing themselves to anyone who might be using it, they stuck to the jungle a few yards off the trail, using it only as a guide.

Twenty minutes later, Orlando tapped Quinn on the shoulder. “Look,” she said.

She was pointing ahead of them and up through a break in the trees. Just visible, maybe a quarter mile away, was a small section of the stone wall that surrounded Fort Duran.

Quinn smiled to himself. Not far n-

“Did anyone hear that?” Daeng said.

Quinn looked over and shook his head. “What was it?”

“I don’t know. It sounded like-”

There was a loud crack of wood, followed by a groan that was most definitely human. The sounds had come from the right and closer to the fort.

“That, I heard,” Quinn said.