Page 107 of Code 6
The door opened a little more, and suddenly a man entered. He put a finger to his lips, shushing Patrick, as he quickly but quietly closed the door.
He looked Asian, though Patrick figured it was hardly unusual to see Chinese, Japanese, and countless other non-Hispanics in Colombia’s Pacific ports. His dark, piercing eyes glimmered in the low, natural light, and he wore a tight black turtleneck that complemented his lean, muscular physique. His hair was hidden beneath a black knit beanie.
“Who are—”
Again, he shushed Patrick before he could finish the question, moving across the cabin with catlike quickness. It was feeling less and less like a rescue to Patrick. The man seemed to be looking for something. Or someone.
“I won’t leave here without my friend,” said Patrick, meaning Olga.
The man stopped. “Shut—your—mouth,” he said, giving each word emphasis, speaking quietly but so firmly that it still gave Patrick chills.
The clap of footfalls on the poop deck followed. Olga and Javier were returning from the bathroom break. The man shot Patrick a look that said,Not another word from you.Then he stepped behind the counter and hid from view. The door handle turned, and the door swung open. Olga entered first, followed by Javier, who closed the door behind them.
“Back to the pole,” said Javier.
Olga went to her spot on the floor, and Javier chained her hands behind her back.
Patrick didn’t know what to do. The intentions of the man behindthe counter surely were not good, but there was no way to warn Olga without tipping off Javier, too.
“All right, El Rubio. Your turn.”
Patrick had almost forgotten that he’d joined Olga’s request for a bathroom break. But he had no intention of leaving Olga in the cabin alone—or, rather, in the cabin with a stranger who might be worse than the devil they knew.
“I don’t need to go anymore,” said Patrick.
“Last chance,” said Javier. “I’m leaving and won’t be back until dark.”
“You’re not going anywhere, Javier,” said the man behind the counter, no longer hiding.
All heads turned. He was standing in the marksman’s tactical pose: forward leaning, arms straight out, and shoulders square to his target. The sights were at eye level, and the black pistol was aimed directly at Javier. Patrick noted the silencer affixed to the muzzle, as he felt Olga’s fingernails digging into his forearm. They were back-to-back, so he couldn’t see her, but he could feel her fear.
And then it suddenly occurred to Patrick that the intruder had addressed “Javier,” even though Patrick had never identified his kidnapper.
“Relax, Olga. You’re going to be just fine.”
Patrick was even more confused. He hadn’t mentioned Olga’s name, either.
“Put the gun away,” said Javier, but his voice betrayed him, cracking with fear.
The gunman smiled a little, and with that little flash of personality, he reminded Patrick of Simu Liu. It surely wasn’t him—though, at least in Patrick’s mind, it wasn’t completely outside the realm of possibility that a Chinese-born Canadian actor who played the son of Korean immigrants on TV and a new avenger in a Marvel Cinematic Universe film would have a secret life as a hit man in Colombia.
“I hear you’ve been talking directly to Jeremy Peel.”
Peel—another name Patrick had never mentioned to the Simu Liu lookalike. Things just kept getting weirder.
“Is that true?” the man asked.
Javier was crumbling before Patrick’s eyes. It was a side of his captor he’d never seen before.
“I can explain,” said Javier.
“I asked a simple question. Are you negotiating with Jeremy Peel?”
“I—”
“Yes or no?”
There was silence. Javier looked too terrified to answer.