"Nice escape plan," I said. "It'll take you a while, though."
"I'm not digging out," he said as he walked over. "Just freeing a weapon--a nice solid brick."
"Ah. Smart."
He opened his mouth to say something else. Then he stopped, his eyes widening. "Dee. Shit. No. You need to get out of here."
"Nice to see you, too. Yes, I know, this is a trap for me. Don't worry--me springing you wasn't actually their plan, and I have backup. Let's just get you out--"
"No." He practically flew to that opening as I stepped away. "Don't-- The door. You can't open the door. You need to get out of here. Now."
"If the door's locked from the outside, I have tools. We can--"
"No. Look."
I followed his finger to see a door on the far side of the large room. And I saw why they'd cut out this opening--way over here--for communicating and passing food. Quinn hadn't just used his spoon to try prying out a brick. He'd removed the outer board from a box over the door. Inside that box? Enough explosives to bring down the whole damned building.
14 - Jack
Jack was supposed to meet Cillian's "fixer" in a motel, not unlike the first place he'd rented earlier in the day. The only difference was that this place was closed--permanently, it seemed. In an apparent burst of optimism the For Sale sign had recently been replaced, but that was as far as it'd gone, the owners not even bothering to weed the parking lot.
He'd spent the last twenty minutes scoping out the situation. His options were limited. Extremely limited. The motel might be deserted, but it sat on acres of empty land, leaving no way to sneak up.
He'd spent the drive here weighing all the possibilities for what was really going on. As soon as he saw this motel setup, he knew the answer. And maybe, just maybe, he'd always known. Just hadn't wanted to believe it. He could play the hardened criminal, and ninety percent of it wasn't an act. But ten was. Maybe even closer to twenty. That's the part Nadia saw, the part that allowed him into her life, even as he told himself he had no fucking idea why she'd do that.
That part of him had not wanted this outcome. Suspected it and feared it.
But just because he hadn't wanted it to turn out this way didn't mean he hadn't considered it. Didn't mean, either, that he hadn't mentioned the possibility to Nadia while they'd been lying in bed. Now, while there was still a chance he was wrong, he prepared as if he wasn't. Then he walked to Room 7, as per instructions, and knocked.
"Come in," a voice said, deep, with an American accent.
Jack pushed open the door. The room was dark, blinds drawn.
"Keep the lights off," the voice said. "Step in, shut the door and then move away from it."
Jack did.
"Turn around. Take out your phone and weapons, and push them back behind you. Then put your hands up."
Jack set down his holstered weapon and his ankle gun, along with his knife and cell phone.
"All your weapons."
Another gun, from inside the waistband of his jeans.
"If I have to ask again--"
He took a knife from his other ankle.
"Fucking arsenal," the man said with a snort. "You got an AK-47 somewhere, too?"
"Wouldn't fit."
Another snort. The man patted Jack down. Then he backed away and turned on a lamp. When he said, "You can turn around now," the voice and the accent had changed, and Jack had to remind himself he wasn't supposed to expect this. So he feigned shock, tensing, and then turned slowly--as if uncertainly--and when he saw Cillian standing there, he said, "Fuck," with the right degree of muted shock and consternation, and a shake of his head.
"I came to help you," Cillian said, his voice rising, eyes rounding. "Honestly. I was so upset about everything that happened that I hopped on a plane and flew here to make it right. Because I want to make it right. For you, Jack."
Cillian gave an ugly laugh and slouched into a chair. "You never did grow into that ego, did you, Jack? Or should I say your brains never quite caught up to it. Did you really think I'd fallen that far? Gotten that goddamned stupid?"