by Tom Barber
‘I said already, I don’t know, Cap.’
‘Tell us.’
‘Tell you what?’
A frustrated pause followed. ‘You done here?’ the captain asked Marquez. ‘Or is he just wasting time?’
‘We’re done,’ she said, looking at the biker and trying to work out why he’d wanted to speak to her. He kept a good poker face but she was certain he knew a lot more than he was telling. However, they couldn’t make him talk. ‘He’s all yours.’
FIFTEEN
‘We just got Gallagher, Chief,’ a US Marshal from the West Virginia Charleston Office told his boss on a call, less than two miles from where the bus had been ambushed on the Kanawha Falls Bridge. The inmate who’d been sick from drug withdrawal on the extradition transport was marched towards a waiting police car, sniffer dogs barking as he passed. ‘Found him hiding in a shack down the riverbank, soaking wet from the river and shivering, looking like a bag of freeze-dried shit.’
‘He was always gonna be the easy capture. Cop from the transport said the guy looked halfway dead before the ambush.’
More barking suddenly came from deeper in the woods, and the Marshal, officers and everyone with them immediately started heading in that direction as Gallagher was driven away.
‘Are they saying if Nicky Reyes had been acting any differently than he normally does lately?’ Archer asked Marquez, still on the diner’s landline with the local cop beside him, the woman too interested in this latest development to leave just yet. Lupinetti was Archer’s main draw but this other man’s escape had caught his attention, particularly as Archer had called it, and with Marquez still at the federal prison, she was best placed to provide answers. Reyes had escaped the same day as the Loughlins and Frank; there might well be a link or some indication of cooperation there.
Find the guy and he could maybe also find Lupinetti.
‘Staff say no. Man keeps his head down, never caused them much trouble besides getting in a couple scraps over the years. But he had a visitor yesterday, the last before the Labor Day weekend. Records have her down as his sister but take a look at the message I’m just sending over.’
‘Don’t, my phone’s still busted.’ He saw the Charleston officer reach into her pocket and offer hers. ‘Send it to this one instead,’ he told Marquez, before relaying the cell number.
When it arrived, he opened the message and saw the scanned photo of Reyes’ visitor’s driving license that the prison had stored. ‘They don’t exactly look related,’ he interpreted, showing the officer and looking up at the diner’s TV. Reyes’ mugshot had gone out over the networks, Gatlin having got his profile out immediately to join the others, and although it wasn’t currently displayed, Archer had seen the image a few minutes ago. Reyes had olive skin and dark hair with brown eyes to match, an indication of a Spanish heritage that matched his surname. The woman, with the name Katherine O’Mara on the ID Marquez had just sent, had Irish red hair, pale skin and green eyes.
‘Different last names too,’ the officer beside Archer noted.
‘She might be married, or they share one parent and not two. Or they’re adopted. But apart from this chick, they told me Reyes hasn’t had any other visitors for the last eight years. She seems to be the only person he’s got any real connection left with on the outside.’
‘Hold on, Lis,’ Archer answered, seeing the time. ‘I told the Marshals from the bridge I’d call them about now. I’ll see if they’ve got anything more on Frank while you’re on the line.’ He rested the receiver down and picked up the officer’s phone. ‘That OK?’
‘Long as I can listen,’ she said with a smile. He took the Marshal’s card off the counter, where he’d placed it beside his damp wallet and phone, and called him on speaker. All the other diners had paid and were already gone, just the server and the two cops left. ‘It’s Archer from the bridge, Deputy. What’s the latest?’
‘We just got prisoner Gallagher on his way to custody. Others still missing.’
‘Nothing on the brothers or Lupinetti?’
‘We might have something. State troopers lost contact with a roadblock almost an hour north of here. Arriving units just found someone blasted their way through. Four more troopers dead.’ Archer closed his eyes. ‘That kind of firepower, not a stretch to guess who mighta been responsible.’
‘Still need me to stick around?’
‘Not as long as we can still raise you.’
‘My phone should dry out soon. I’ll check in if not. Thanks.’ He ended the call and picked up the landline. ‘You hear that?’ he asked Marquez.
‘I did. Murder across state lines. This case is getting bigger by the hour.’
‘And Reyes is now out there somewhere too.’ Archer was intrigued by the man’s involvement and glanced up at the screen as his prison mugshot was shown again. ‘Kat O’Mara’s license says she lives in Cleveland.’
‘That’s where Reyes grew up. Prison staff informed the Marshals about his escape and they’re directing some of their people to her home to keep her under surveillance in case he shows up.’
‘He seems too smart for that.’
‘He broke out of here somehow without anyone noticing. Tell me about it.’
‘I don’t think sending Prez to the SHU is gonna work, Cap,’ the sergeant reasoned at Gatlin, Marquez catching their exchange. ‘And we need the extra cells for the boys who attacked other inmates. Let’s throw him back in C Block. He’s gonna be under lockdown anyway.’
‘Whatever, just get him out of here,’ the captain snapped, the discovery of Reyes’ escape the final kick in the groin for the day. A riot, two dead COs, four prisoners on the run and a growing number of dead law-enforcement and civilians as a result, all technically on his watch.
Marquez watched as Rainey was led back towards C Block by a couple of the riot officers and CO Anderson; this time the biker club president didn’t make eye contact with her. ‘Reyes must have lost part of his mind in here,’ the sergeant told her. ‘Six days to go and he bolts. He just added another five to ten years at least once we catch him.’
Marquez was still observing Prez being walked away, but then looked at the sergeant in surprise as she caught what he’d just said. ‘Six days?’ she repeated. ‘Reyes only had six days left on his sentence?’
Beside the sergeant, CO Williams nodded. ‘Twelve years in here, and he was being released on Wednesday. Guess he’s not as clever as everyone thinks he is.’
Beside Archer, the Charleston officer in the diner had just received a call from her dispatcher and turned to pick up her filled thermos. With the fugitives still out there in the area, she had a long night ahead of answering usual callouts, as well as assisting in the searches if required. ‘Good to meet you, man,’ he told him quickly, shaking his hand. ‘Hope you catch your guy.’
‘I will. Thanks for the clothes and letting me use your cell.’ The officer then left, meaning Archer and the server were now the only people in the diner.
‘TV said that guy’s from Ohio,’ the server asked. ‘Why’s he serving time down in Virginia?’
‘He was found guilty of a federal crime,’ Archer explained. ‘Means you can get transferred to any federal facility across the country. State crimes get you locked in a state pen for your sentence.’ He checked the time. ‘You know if there’s somewhere I can rent a car around here?’
‘You’ll have to wait until morning, man. Hire places would’ve shut hours ago. We got a few hotels in town that you could crash at.’
‘Sleep’s gonna have to wait.’ Archer thought for a moment. ‘Where’s the nearest airport?’
‘Yeager. About a twenty five minute drive.’
‘I might still be able to get a car there. I’ll give you forty bucks if you give me a ride over.‘ Archer looked at the contents of his wallet, spread out on the table to dry, and found another ten dollar bill stuck to his driving license. He peeled it off. ‘Make that fifty.’
The guy took him up on the deal
and closed up as Archer used the landline before they left to doublecheck the rental company at Yeager was still open. The place shut at midnight so he booked a vehicle on his credit card and forty minutes later, Archer walked across the parking lot at the airport and climbed into a black Cadillac ATS. Refueled with food, in dry clothes but dog-tired from the day and still half deaf in his right ear, he keyed the engine, turning on the radio to hear the latest news updates.
Nicky Reyes’ escape was the hot news, Craig Loughlin’s replacement in the Gatlin Four as they were now being referred to. As Archer listened to the report, turning it up so he could hear clearly, he glanced at the time on the dashboard.
It was 11:51pm; Reyes had won himself half a day to get out of Virginia before the guards and State Police got wise to his absence, but Archer was convinced he was the guy whose voice he’d heard in the 911 recording concerning the laundry truck driver. No-one aside from possibly his cellmate had known Reyes was out of the prison at that point.
But he’d jeopardized all that to try and save the truck driver’s life?
Archer had also called Marquez from the server’s phone on the way to the airport to brief her on his plans and it was then she’d informed him about how much time Nicky had left on his sentence. Breaking out of federal prison six days before the end of a twelve year bid, then calling an ambulance for a driver who’d got sliced up in the breakout. It made no sense.
However, as mysterious as the guy’s motivations were, Archer nudged thoughts of Reyes’ escape to the back of his mind, refocusing on Lupinetti. He tried to power up his cell again, but it was still dead. Tossing it onto the passenger seat in the hope it would eventually dry out, five minutes later Archer was pulling onto the highway and settled in for the dark drive ahead, keeping the radio on for news updates between music tracks.
Frank was with the Loughlins, and the roadblock that Archer heard had been shot to pieces was north on Route 68, not far from the I-77 highway and a few miles from the Ohio border.
The brothers and Lupinetti seemed to be going north, not east.
So that was exactly where Archer was heading too.
SIXTEEN
Marquez had returned to the Quality Inn where she and Archer had stayed the previous night, driving the still-defective NYPD Ford cautiously, guessing it was most likely her fault the car was playing up; she’d been more than annoyed at the prospect of having to see Frank Lupinetti again when she’d first set out from Queens at Shepherd’s request yesterday, and had taken her frustration out on the gas pedal, pushing it hard on the highway on her way to pick up Archer. She’d offer to pay for the repair herself first thing tomorrow if it turned out to be something she could have been responsible for, but her punishment was to be stuck here for the night.
The riot, lockdown and search for fugitives in the area meant a few Labor Day weekend bookings at the Inn had been cancelled at the last minute, so it had been easy to extend her stay. She walked back into the same room she’d used the night before, kicked off her shoes then poured a travel-size bottle of tequila into a plastic cup she found in the bathroom, dropping a cube of ice into it from a small container she stepped out to fill from the machine down the corridor.
Clicking on the TV for some background noise, she then sunk into a chair, the network this time showing an old Clint Eastwood flick. The local news on Channel 11 would be running fresh updates on the manhunts but she wanted a brief respite from the day’s events. As she drank some of the mezcal and watched Clint get into a barfight, she realized she could still smell the prison on her clothing and in her hair. Undressing, she took a shower and after changing into a fresh t-shirt and jeans, bit into a plastic-boxed quesadilla from the hospital’s cafeteria that she’d bought before leaving.
She was just starting to dry her hair when she heard her cell phone ring. ‘Ethan, I’ve had the day of days, man,’ she told one of the Bureau analysts after answering, his number from his desk saved to her phone and showing up as the caller ID. ‘I’m not in the city right now. Can it wait?’
‘I’ve got a guy on the line saying he wants to talk to you. Said you two spoke earlier about a riot inside Gatlin prison? He says you’ll know who he is. You met in the chow hall first thing this morning.’
Back inside his cell, Prez took another careful look along the upper and lower tiers, C Block dark now with no sign of any COs. The second cell count and discovery of Freddy Janks had disrupted the lockdown but the prisoners had settled in again, waiting for the long hours to pass until they could shower, get fed and be allowed back out into the yard.
However, Prez wasn’t resting up so easily; with the man who’d been his celly for almost twelve years missing and with him claiming no knowledge of Reyes’ escape, he knew the guards, warden, federal agents and other investigators who’d be at Gatlin tomorrow weren’t done with him by a long stretch.
‘Rainey?’ Marquez asked, the surprise in her voice evident.
‘Loud and clear,’ he said quietly, his contraband smartphone in his hand. The phone had been smuggled in almost three years ago; ever since his daughter had died without him knowing during the time he’d been stuck in the SHU for a week, Prez had wanted the ability to communicate with the outside world whenever he felt like it and for people out there to be able to contact him. It made providing leadership for his brothers in the motorcycle club easier too, rather than having to wait for scheduled visits with COs present who tried to overhear what was said. He wasn’t the only inmate who had a phone either. Most were found; some weren’t, and he was one of the lucky ones.
‘How’d you know to call my division in New York?’
‘Saw your badge when we sat down to talk. Had Counter-Terrorism Bureau on it.’
‘Someone’s gonna hear you.’
‘Think you’re the first person I’ve called from in here?’ he whispered, going to the back of his cell and stepping behind a sheet from the empty top bunk that he’d hung up to dampen the noise of his voice. ‘Long as the screws don’t come back, we’re straight.’
‘Why are you calling me?’
‘I think those pendejos in the chow hall earlier might’ve had me pretty good, but you and your friend took care of that. Means I owe you. That’s the code in here.’
‘C’mon man, don’t try me. When we talked earlier, your mouth was closed tighter than two homies who grew up on the same block.’
‘In front of the cap and other COs, yeah. But just because I’m locked up don’t mean I don’t have honor, lady. You got an opportunity here. I’ll give you some answers if you still got questions.’
‘What’s your benefit?’
‘I got time to pass. And you earned some more information than the screws.’
A pause followed. ‘Your missing celly seems clever, but no-one with a functioning brain would be dumb enough to break out so close to their release. He only had six days left, right?’
‘That’s right.’
‘He just earned himself another load of time back inside when he gets found. Might even have reset the clock on his bid.’
‘He had his reasons.’
‘Was he in danger?’
‘We all are, in here.’
‘But he couldn’t stick around until next week? After surviving almost twelve years?’
‘Correct.’
A pause. ‘Can you tell me when he started planning this? A month ago?’
‘Sooner.’
‘A week?’
‘Sooner.’
‘Three days?’ Marquez asked, Prez hearing the rising incredulity in her voice.
‘Sooner.’
‘Jesus, Rainey, a day?’
Prez didn’t answer. Silence as confirmation.
‘If you’re not leading me, he worked out a way to break out of a high-security federal prison over the course of a single night?’
No answer.
‘He had a big head start on us. I don’t think he’s even in Virginia anymore. You won’t be betraying him or his
friends if you tell me how the hell he managed that.’
‘The Loughlins ain’t his friends, lady. They’ve wanted a piece of him since the first day he got here.’
*
Eleven years, three hundred and fifty nine days ago, the journey from the Cuyahoga County Jail in Ohio to USP Gatlin took a slow, nerve-wracking nine hours, the bus transporting the prisoners similar to the one Archer would travel on years later.
Nicky Reyes had been on some long road trips before, most of them with his father when they used to go camping all over the Midwest on weekends to escape the rough neighborhood they were living in, but he’d never been scared on one before. And when the eighteen year old saw the gun-towers, razor wire, pale gray walls and huge fences of his new home for the next decade, the triviality of any other problems he’d thought he had hit him like a shotgun blast. Many convicts who made it through sentences in state or federal prison would boast that they were never afraid, but arriving at Gatlin that afternoon was the most frightening thing Nicky had ever experienced in his eighteen years. Until later on that night.
Once the bus stopped, he was led out with five other inmates before instructions were barked at them. ‘Stop at the sally port!’ ‘Address me as sir!’ ‘Strip down!’ ‘Get moving!’ He hadn’t seen any other prisoners in the yard when they’d arrived but Nicky heard shouting and catcalling coming from cells in the blocks nearby, indicating they knew a busload of new guys had just shown up.
Taking off his county jail jumps, Nicky watched them get swept up and collected by the guards, and he stood there naked alongside the other new prisoners, the floor icy under his bare feet. He was the youngest of the line-up; the guy next to him looked a couple of years older and Nicky had noticed him starting to shake throughout the last hour of the ride here. ‘Ah Christ, don’t piss on our floor!’ one of the guards said, Nicky seeing urine streaming down the inmate’s leg, and as it pooled out, some of the liquid reached his cold left foot.