Part 15 (1/2)
The only light came from a dull bulb screwed into a socket crudely attached in an upper corner. The wire wasn't visible, so Nate a.s.sumed a hole must have been drilled through the rock.
He lay down on his mattress and stared at the ceiling. So far, he'd been captured, knocked around, transported somewhere, bound to a chair where he was dunked in water, and then treated to a gourmet meal. Even odder, perhaps, was that even though he'd been asked a few questions here and there, there had really been no interrogation.
It just didn't add up.
”Hey.”
Nate sat up. The voice had been a distant whisper, or maybe not even a voice at all. Perhaps it had just been the groan of the building.
”Hey, new guy.”
No groan could put words together like that.
Nate crawled over to the door and leaned down to the vent. ”Who's there?”
”Who are you?” the voice asked.
Before Nate could respond, another voice whispered, ”Shut up. You know they can hear everything we say.”
”So what?” the first voice said. ”New guy, who are you?”
Nate hesitated for a moment, then whispered, ”Quinn.”
”Holy s.h.i.+t. The cleaner?”
He paused again. ”Uh-huh. Who are you?”
”Lanier. Remember me? We've worked together before.”
Lanier?
It took a second before the name clicked. An ops guy, good at logistics, wasn't he? They had worked together once or twice, but Nate knew the man was thinking of the original Quinn, not him.
”Sure,” he said. ”I know who you are. Who's the other guy?”
”Berkeley, another ops guy like me, and scared s.h.i.+tless.”
”I'm not scared,” Berkeley whispered, his voice a bit more distant than Lanier's. ”I just think we need to be smart.”
Berkeley's name was also familiar. ”Either of you know what's going on?” Nate asked.
”No clue,” Lanier said. ”I'd just finished this gig in Panama and the next thing I know, I wake up here. That was a week ago.”
”A week?” Nate said, surprised.
”Berkeley's been here even longer. A week and a half.”
”Almost two,” Berkeley said, obviously not wanting to be short-changed.
”And they haven't told either of you why?”
”Other than the first day we each got here, the only guy we've seen is that big son of a b.i.t.c.h Ja.n.u.s,” Lanier said.
”And the first day?”
”Same thing that happened to you tonight, I'm guessing. Dinner with Mr. Baldy.”
”He said his name was Harris,” Nate said.
”That's consistent, anyway.”
”So you've been in your cells since then?”
”They haven't even let us take a shower.”
”Anyone question you?”
”No.”
”Seriously?”
”Kind of freaky, isn't it?”
It wasn't just kind of freaky, it was all kinds of freaky.
”Did Harris tell you anything?” Lanier asked.
Nate repeated what he thought were the key points from Harris's monologue, and added, ”He did say another guest was coming tomorrow.”
”That'll make five.”
”Five?”
”Yeah, there's another guy in a room somewhere down the hall. They take him in and out a lot. I get the feeling he's been beaten up pretty bad. Never responds when we call out to him.”
Five people, at least two of whom Nate was tangentially a.s.sociated with. No, at least two of whom Quinn was a.s.sociated with.
For the first time, he felt there might be a chance to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. How and in what order was still an unknown, but a little light was creeping in.
He put his lips near the vent. ”Lanier?”
”Yeah?”