Working in the garage always gave me an escape from the stress and tension of the job. And never, I concluded, had I needed it as much as today. I crouched before my blue-and-white–striped Ducati Diavel; a thinning stream of oil drained into the pan I’d placed under the V-twin engine. Sort of reminded me of what was happening to my career as it dwindled away into nothing but drips.
The open garage door provided illumination and fresh air. The day was warm and sunny. Across the street, the cottonwood leaves were waffling in the breeze. A partly cloudy sky beckoned, blue and free in the distance. What a perfect day for a ride. The fact that I was restricted to my home didn’t do a damn thing for my mood.
The oil filter is in the Diavel’s left, front, lower crank case, sort of hidden behind the frame tube. I fitted the filter wrench and felt the rubber washer compress as I twisted.
I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle as I drew the first quart of premium oil, unscrewed the cap, and snaked a funnel into place over the filler hole.
The black Chevy Tahoe turned into my driveway and purred to a stop. The government plates told me all I needed to know as the SUV clicked into Park and the engine shut off.
Carefully, I began the slow process of pouring new oil into the Ducati’s engine. The soft rasp of shoes approached. Metering the flow of oil was all I wanted to concern myself with.
“Planning on a fast escape?” Major Savage’s voice intruded as he came to a stop by the motorcycle’s rear wheel.
“Not a bad thought, Major. But while this thing will top out at about a hundred and sixty, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion your radio would get to the end of the road long before I did.” I propped the oil bottle up and held it as the last drips drained. Only then did I look up to see Major Savage’s worried expression.
“Besides,” I told him. “I’m restricted to my house for the time being. This was just routine maintenance I’ve been too busy to get around to. That, and since you’re not going to turn up any evidence to link me to Gray’s escape, it’s only a matter of time before I’m cleared.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve got another little problem.” Savage was trying to look nonchalant as he inspected the gleaming Ducati. “We’ve had another escape from Grantham.”
I shot the major a sidelong glance as I cracked the next bottle of oil. “Another? Who was it this time? Staff fleeing in the wake of Daniels taking the helm?” I shook my head. “Did I really hear right? You put an osteopath in charge of a mental unit? Are you out of your mind?”
“Cut the crap. The man’s got a diploma. What can you tell me about Swink, Falcon, Edwin Jones, Catalina Talavera, and Karla Raven?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“You find that funny, Colonel?”
“How’d they do it? And better yet, when?”
“Just after Daniels gave his first official address to the inmates.”
“They’re patients, Major.”
“Whatever. Somehow they stole Daniels’ pass card—”
“That’s Chief Raven’s work.” I glanced up in time to catch Savage’s grimace.
“Using it, Raven got Jones into the command center.”
“Is Hatcher all right?”
“They didn’t really hurt him. The young man is feeling particularly chastened.” Savage’s eyes narrowed. “Then Falcon apparently faked appendicitis, and since Jones was in the command center, he called in a flight-for-life chopper from Mercy General.”
“Which Swink flew out,” I finished.
“They left it at Colorado Springs Municipal Airport with—get this—a thank you note. Two Hertz rental cars are missing. For some reason, they can’t locate them through the GPS.”
“SEALs are trained in car theft. Disabling the GPS? That would have been ET. He’d have seen to them first thing.” I frowned. “But why take Cat with them?”
“Maybe they were friends?”
“Have you reviewed the tapes?”
“They were deleted from the record. Probably by Jones while he was in the control center. Some of the inmates . . . er, patients, said that just after we interrogated Chief Raven, she and Jones had a meeting in Falcon’s room.” Savage smacked a fist into his palm. “Jesus! What is that place? Swiss cheese?”
Savage read my barely suppressed smirk. “Sorry, Major.”
He dropped into a squat to be on my level, his hard eyes glinting. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why aren’t you surprised?”
I cracked open a third bottle. “Because, Major, you’re dealing with a collection of the brightest minds on the planet, coupled with some of the most competent individuals I’ve ever met.”
“They’re fucking mental patients, Colonel. In a psychiatric hospital, for God’s sake!”
“And why, Major, would you equate mental illness with stupidity? Falcon was called ‘the oracle’ when they had him squirreled away in that little basement office in the Pentagon. Sure, he hallucinates. Sees people who aren’t there. But the guy was educated in the finest schools on the East Coast where he topped their honors programs. MIT gave him a full-ride scholarship in math and science when he was barely seventeen.
“He enlisted at nineteen—much to MIT’s absolute disbelief. Which was just about the time his hallucinations and paranoia began to manifest. Intel snatched him up right after boot. The guy’s a physics and system’s theory whiz, a statistical probability genius who excels at game theory.”
“Yeah, and Jones is a street hood.”
“You go right ahead and keep thinking that. How long was he in the security control room?”
“Three or four hours?”
“You got a computer missing?”
“Yeah, Hatcher’s laptop. An expensive one. And a shitload of those little flash card thingees.”
“Then he’s downloaded the whole system and probably half the Department of Defense.”
“You admire these people?” He looked confused. “Nut cases? Maybe you’re too close to your patients, Doctor.”
I attended to my bottle of oil. “So, what are you going to do?”
Savage looked about ready to burst. “I’m going to round them all up and hammer them so hard they spend the rest of their days in solitary confinement in Leavenworth! Look, I’ve got other priorities, and despite the fact I’m in the middle of a national security investigation, now I’ve got to coordinate a manhunt for your crazy escapees.” He struggled to get a rein on his anger. “What’s your call? Do we BOLO them as ‘armed and dangerous’?”
I spared him a disdainful glance. “I wouldn’t even issue the BOLO.”
Savage was giving me the same look he’d give lutefisk were it set out as the centerpiece at Thanksgiving.
In my calm doctor-to-patient voice, I told him, “They’re not criminally insane. If you put pressure on them, you’ll incite them to extremes. Make that mistake, and you’ll end up ass-deep in a real mess. The kind that will divert you from those other pressing obligations you mentioned. Additionally, you’ll have a public relations nightmare.”
“Worse than escaped nuts?”
“Let’s say you turn hard-ass and chase them all over the country? How are you going to explain that you’ve got a virtual death warrant out for . . . Let’s see.” I laid the oil bottle to the side, counting on my fingers. “Between them they’ve got two PhDs, enough meritorious service citations to wallpaper the White House, a couple of Distinguished Flying Crosses, three Silver Stars, a drawer full of bronze ones, some Purple Hearts . . . oh, and Raven has been recommended for the Congressional Medal of Honor.” I paused and gave him a bland smile. “And the Navy Cross.”
Savage swallowed hard. “Shit.”
“Granted, while ET is a PFC with nothing but a really long criminal record, he’s also got the personal email he lifted from the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs squirreled away somewhere safe. And if you think Ed Snowden was trouble, you probably don’t want to put ET in a position where he’d be inclined to use what he downloaded as leverage.”
Savage was looking sick to his stomach, the hard planes of his face exaggerated by the way he’d sucked in his cheeks.
The man gave me a dead stare. “All right, smart guy, how would you handle it?”
What would I do? They’d been bad little Houdinis. I checked the oil level in the sight glass and screwed the filler cap tight. Then I leaned back and thought about it.
“My guess is that it all leads back to Gray. Um, you’d know her as Prisoner Alpha. I know this is going to sound nuts, but there was this tomb in Egypt. Some archaeological discovery that was broadcast . . .”
I stopped short at the expression on Savage’s face. The guy looked like he was choking on a peach pit.
“Go on,” Savage said coldly.
I dispassionately laid out the entire sequence of events including Alpha’s reaction, the doohickey, her curious code, and how Chief Raven walked in with the stunning announcement that Falcon had broken Alpha’s symbolic code.
Savage scrunched his eyes closed, then dropped onto his butt, heedless of the dirty garage. For long moments, he thought. Then asked, “You said the tomb was the key?”
“The writing on the walls, the numerical system, is the same one that Alpha was using. She saw it on CNN. It was the first break I’d had with her. Falcon picked up on it, as well.”
From his expression, Savage’s mind was racing. “Doctor Ryan, be straight with me. Why do you think Falcon and his crazies broke out of Grantham?”
“My best wild-assed guess, Major, is that when it looked like I was going to take the blame for Gray’s escape, they decided to find Gray and prove me innocent.” I paused. “And Daniels’ appointment was the final straw.”
“You? They’re doing this for you?”
“Karla Raven would consider it her duty. Captain Falcon’s passion will be solving the puzzle of Gray’s escape. Edwin would sell his soul to get his fingers on a computer. I can’t say about Talavera. And Swink? She’s just in it for the chance to fly and stick it to whoever happens to get in the way.”
“Colonel, button up your bike.” His voice tightened. “Now!”