They flashed pictures and footage of Grace Reeves from awkward adolescent to current day still--awkward--looking adult. You would think the President had someone on staff that could coach her not to look so pinch--faced. Maybe they could dress her better, too. Not like a middle--aged bureaucrat.
When the clock on the wall read 12:34, he decided he had waited long enough. He knew when he planned this endeavor they would likely leave him unrestrained. With his level of injuries and a guard standing watch twenty--four/seven, they deemed it unnecessary. The trick would be getting out of the room—-and out of the hospital—-undetected.
He rose from the bed and slipped the sling over his head. He moved his arm gingerly, experiencing only a slight twinge of discomfort from the deepest laceration in his chest. He’d had worse.
He fashioned a lump under the covers, doing the best he could to make it look like a body. He turned off the light above his bed. It might pass for him if someone took a cursory peek inside the dim room.
Moving quietly, he slipped the surgical scissors out from where he’d stashed them under the mattress and moved a chair beneath the ceiling access panel.
A draft crept through the back slit of his hospital gown as he climbed up on the chair and lifted his arms, working two of the tiny screws loose in the panel. It swung down soundlessly.
Sucking in a breath, he pulled himself up through the panel, grunting at the strain in his still sore muscles. The square space was barely wide enough for his big body, but he managed to heft himself through.
Above his room, the space was dark and crowded with conduit pipes and hot water valves. He ducked his head, walking on pipes, carefully choosing his steps so he didn’t crash through the Sheetrock.
Light trickled in from another access panel ahead. He peered down between the slats, identifying the hallway outside his room. He kept going, looking through the metal square panels until he finally came to one that overlooked a break room.
He listened to the rumble of voices below and glimpsed the top of one man’s balding head as he changed shirts. “See you tomorrow, Frank.” A locker slammed shut. “Tell your wife to make some of those cookies again.”
“They’re supposed to be for me,” Frank complained.
“I’m doing you a favor,” the other guy laughed. “You’re fat enough.” He left the room and it was just Frank for a few more minutes. He was out of his range of vision, but Reid could hear him rustling around. Soon, another locker shut and he left the room.
Reid waited a few seconds and then worked the screws loose until the panel swung open. He lowered himself down, clutching the edges of the opening until his feet landed lightly on cold tile.
He moved swiftly, started with the lockers, hoping there was one where the combination lock hadn’t shifted and would lift open for him. He got lucky on his sixth try. Even better, a pair of men’s scrubs and a hoodie hung inside. Several dollars and loose change littered the bottom of the locker floor along with a pair of tennis shoes. Reid grabbed it all and shut the locker. Arms full, he disappeared into one of the bathroom stalls to change.
The shoes were a little snug, but the scrubs fit. He tightened the drawstring at his waist and slipped on the hoodie, zipping it halfway up. Snatching up his hospital gown, he stuffed it into a trash can on his way out.
He walked out into the hallway like he belonged there. Squaring his shoulders, he slipped one hand in the pocket of his hoodie and immediately brushed the cold cut of metal. He wrapped his fingers around the clump of keys, thumbing the clicker. Sweet. Lifting a car would be simple enough.
Reid didn’t pass anyone as he strolled down the hall. He dove through a corner door that led to a stairwell and hurried down the flights. Vasquez could check on him any time. He needed to be far from here when that happened.
The first floor had a little more life to it. A nurse passed him as he strode toward the front lobby. She barely glanced up from the chart she was studying. He felt the stare of the camera in the corner but kept walking.
Later, they would study the footage and marvel at him walking bold as day down the hall. But by then it wouldn’t matter. He would be gone.
He passed through a set of automatic doors and sent a smile to the woman behind the circular counter of the admittance desk. She gave him a distracted nod as she spoke into a phone.
Only two -people sat in the waiting area. One dozed. The other stared at the TV in the corner where footage of the First Daughter ran in a constant loop.
His heart stalled and sped up at the sight of the security guard near the door. His attention was focused on the television screen, too. As Reid approached, he looked up and locked eyes on him.
“Evenin’,” Reid greeted as he neared the door. Almost there.
The guard glanced him up and down before nodding. “Have a good one.”