That was a problem, because it wasn’t the sort of call that could be made from the prison pay phones. The prison didn’t listen to every outgoing call, but you never could be sure. After his early-morning visitor, Merrick had passed word to Slaski and waited in the library until lunch, but the guard hadn’t shown up, cagey about being seen together out in the open. Merrick knew why, but he still found it infuriating. They had a system and a schedule, and Merrick had never deviated from it. Until now.
Yes, it was a risk, but it was a necessary one, and Slaski could put on his big-boy pants and do as he was told. Yet here he was again, twiddling his thumbs for a second straight afternoon because Slaski was too cowardly to show his face. Ridiculous. Even after eight years in prison, Merrick chafed at being kept waiting. He snapped through the pages of Starting a Business for Dummies and did the only thing he could do—kept waiting.
Either by design or by accident, there was virtually no cellular reception at the prison. The guards complained about it all the time. Apparently, it was an issue in town too. Not a large enough customer base to warrant more cell towers to avoid dead spots. The prison was one such dead spot. However, it was generally agreed that the southwest corner of the prison library offered the best cell phone reception in the prison. A narrow blind behind a column offered a modicum of privacy. Inmates who had deals worked out with guards called it “the booth.” But even the booth only offered two bars, and sometimes no service at all if the technology gods were in a fickle mood.
Merrick looked up as Slaski came in and spoke to the guard on duty. After a minute, the guard stood and left the library. When he was gone, Slaski huffed his way back to Merrick on his stout Polish legs.
Merrick stood and walked back into the stacks. Slaski went down the next aisle and stopped on the far side of the bookshelf. They talked through the self-help section in hushed tones.
“Where have you been?”
“This isn’t our regular day.”
“It’s an emergency.”
“I’m not scheduled to work library today. That’s why we meet on Monday. People will want to know what I’m doing up here.”
“Couldn’t be helped.”
“What do you want?”
“I need to make a call.”
“No way,” Slaski said. “That is not the deal. Text only.”
“Give me the phone. I’ll be quick.”
“I don’t have it on me. It’s not our day,” Slaski said stubbornly.
Merrick sized him up. “That’s a shame. A bonus would have been in order.”
“What kind of bonus?”
“Double.”
“Triple,” Slaski countered.
“Triple?” Merrick said. “I just need to make a simple call.”
“If it’s so simple, use the prison phones.”
“Fine. Triple.” Merrick held out his hand. “Just clear the library.”
“You’ve got five minutes.” Slaski slid the phone across to him.
Merrick palmed it and went on flipping through the book. When Slaski was out of sight, he slipped the SIM card out of the cheap flip phone and swapped it for one that he hid in the hem of his pants. A precaution in the event that Slaski decided to get nosy about Merrick’s business or got caught by the warden providing a cell phone to inmates. He powered the phone up and dialed the number.
The phone rang once, less than once, as if a hand were hovering at the other end, waiting to pounce. Merrick cleared his throat to speak but didn’t get the chance.
“Are you out of your mind, Charles?”
“Hello to you too.”
“Have you read this?”
“It’s a good photo, no?”
“You’re not amusing.”
“I think it captures me quite well.”
“Interesting choice of words.”
“I had a visit from Agent Ogden.”
An arctic silence whistled from the other end.
“Are you there?”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. You all but trumpeted the fact.”
“I made a vague allusion.”
“Is that what Ogden thought of it? A vague allusion?”
“Ogden is paid to be overly cautious,” Merrick said. “But we’ll need an escort to the airfield.”
“Why do we need an escort? What’s happening?”
“Nothing.” Merrick saw no good in mentioning the visit from the Chinese national. “Ogden felt it was possible that interested parties might get the wrong idea from the article. I think it’s wise to take precautions.”
“Oh, you are such a fool. What were you—”
The line went dead. He pressed redial.
“Did you hang up on me?”
“No, West Virginia hung up on you,” Merrick said.
“What kind of escort?”
Merrick described what he had in mind.
“That’s going to cost a small fortune. It comes out of your half. I’m not underwriting your vanity.”
Small fortune? Merrick smiled. To some, perhaps, but not to him. Not once he was on the outside. Still, it wasn’t in his nature to give anything away for free.
“If I don’t get safely to the airfield, neither of us gets a penny.”
“‘A penny’? Is that more of your wit, Charles? It wasn’t I who gave that ridiculous interview.”
No, he supposed it wasn’t.
THE COLD ROCK
Hell is empty
And all the devils are here.
—William Shakespeare, The Tempest
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When Niobe Federal Prison limped into view, Gibson pointed for Swonger to pull over.
“So you just gonna go in and ask him for the money?” Swonger asked, letting the Scion idle. “That the plan?”
“Just want to look at the prison.”
“That ain’t no prison.”
“I’ll just be a minute.”
“Dog, I need a toilet. Drop me at the hotel; you can sightsee all day, all night.”
“In a minute,” Gibson said again and got out of the car. He needed to stretch his legs and clear his head. Swonger drove with video-game abandon, and the trip to West Virginia had been a flickering strobe of tailgating and testosterone lane changes. After five hours of imminent death, Gibson felt exhausted. He’d never missed Dan Hendricks more.
“Where you going?” Swonger called after him.
“You’re worse than my seven-year-old.”
“I need a toilet. It’s a DEFCON 2–type deal.”
Gibson walked up the road until he couldn’t hear Swonger anymore. His phone rang. Nicole. He stared at the phone, unsure whether to answer, until it went to voice mail. What she might say scared him. She called back immediately, but he still didn’t answer. He put the phone away and looked down the road toward the prison.
There was a lot of beautiful country in West Virginia, but this wasn’t any of it. Niobe Federal Prison sat at the end of a narrow dead-end road. One lane in, one lane out—sounded like a lost Johnny Cash record. The prison itself didn’t look like much, a series of low-rise concrete slabs that fanned out behind a central hub at the main gate. Apart from the coiled barbed wire, the fences looked no more imposing than those found around a high-school sports field. More of a helpful reminder to stay put than an out-and-out deterrent. A failed escape attempt meant a one-way ticket to one of Swonger’s real prisons, which was the only deterrent anyone should need.