The Collected

CHAPTER 57

Harris returned to the courtyard just as Janus finished whipping Peter. Leaving the prisoners dangling from their hoists, he escorted Romero back to the old man’s suite.

“When Quinn is found, I want him whipped fifty times,” Romero said once they reached the room.

“Whatever you want,” Harris said, though in his mind, Quinn would be dead the next time either man saw him.

Romero turned his wheelchair toward the bed. “I’m going to take a nap. Don’t bother me until it’s time for the prisoners to have their electroshock.”

“Yes, sir.” Harris walked out of the room.

Unraveling, the voice said in his head. It repeated the word over and over.

“It’s not unraveling,” he whispered.

But what if it does unravel?

The question made him pause. If it did, what about the money Romero promised him? The money he’d been waiting for?

You can’t spend money if you’re dead.

That wasn’t going to happen. If things truly spun out of control, it would be time to think about his own skin.

The boat.

Yes. Right. Romero’s boat. It was tied off to a small covered dock behind the fort. He’d take that.

When he got back to his room, he’d gather the cash he’d been stashing away and put it in a bag by the door, easy to grab. It was nothing compared to the amount he was due, but it would hold him over for a while.

I won’t need it, though. It’s just in case. Everything is going to be fine.

He headed toward his room, his pace quicker than normal. As he neared his door, he saw two soldiers farther down the hall, walking away.

“You, there,” he called out.

The soldiers kept going.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.”

They finally stopped and one of them turned.

“Tell your commander that I’ll be in my room and am to be notified the moment the fugitive is brought in.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier said.

Once inside his suite, Harris poured himself another whiskey, this time savoring it as it went down.

To surviving, he thought. One way or another.