I could do nothing! Back to the wall I admitted defeat – for the moment. I would wait until after the trial. Then The Bishop would simply be one more prisoner and would have to be taken from the Federal Building at last. When he was safely in jail I would arrange his escape. Well before the arrival of the next spacer that would take him away for brain-cleansing and purifying. They would use all of the miracles of modern science to turn him into an honest citizen and, knowing him, I was sure that he would rather die than have that happen. I must intervene.
But they were not making it easy for me. I could not find a way to be in the courtroom when the trial began. So I, along with every other inhabitant of the planet as far as could be determined, watched the trial on TV when it began.
And ended with suspicious speed. All of the first morning was taken with recitals of the well-documented account of what the defendant had done. It was pretty damning. Computer malfeasance, memory bank barratry, CPU violation, terminal treachery, dropping solder on classified documents – it was terrible. Witness after witness read out their statements, all of which were instantly accepted and entered into the evidence. Through all this The Bishop neither watched nor listened. His stare was into the distance, as though he were looking at much more interesting things than the simple operation of the court. When the evidence had been given the judge banged his gavel and ordered a break for lunch.
When the court reconvened – after a break long enough for a seventeen-course banquet with dancing girls for afters – the judge was in a jovial mood. Particularly after the prosecution had done a damning summing up. He nodded agreement most of the time and thanked all the smarmy ambulance chasers for the excellent job that they had done. Then he looked his most pontifical and spoke in pregnant periods for the records.
‘This case is so clear that it is transparent. The state has brought charges so damning that no defence could possibly stand before them. That no defence was offered is even greater evidence of the truth. The truth is that the defendant did wilfully, with malice and forethought, commit all of the crimes for which he stands accused. There can be no doubt about that. The case is an open and shut one. Nevertheless I shall deliberate the rest of this day and far into the night. He will have his chance of justice that he rejected. I will not find him guilty until tomorrow morning when this court resumes. At that time I will pass sentence. Justice will be done and will be seen to be done.’
Some justice, I muttered through my teeth and started to switch off the set. But the judge wasn’t through.
‘I have been informed that the Galactic League is very interested in this case. A spacer has been dispatched and will be here within two days. The prisoner will then be taken from our custody and we will be, if you will excuse and understand my emotions, well rid of him.’
My jaw dropped and I stared moronically at the screen. It was over. Just two days. What could I do in two days? Was this to be the end of The Bishop – and the end of my scarcely launched career in crime?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I was not going to give up. I had to at least try, even if I failed and were caught myself. It was my fault that he had got into this position. I owed him at least an attempt at rescue. But what could I do? I couldn’t get near him in the Federal Building, approach him in transit, or even see him in court.
Court. Court? Court. Court! Court – why did I keep thinking about the court? What was there about it that tickled my interest, that scratched at my medulla oblongata with an idea trying to get in?
Of course! ‘Yippee!!’ I enthused and ran around in small circles waving my arms and gurgling out loud my best imitation – they used to love it at parties – of a rutting porcuswine.
‘What about the court?’ I asked myself, and was ready with a snappy answer. ‘I’ll tell you about the court. It is in an old building, an Ancient Artifact under preservation order. It probably has some old records in the basement and undoubtedly bats in the attic. During the day it is guarded like the mint – but it is empty at night!’
I dived for my equipment cabinet. Tool kit, lockpicks, lights, wires, bugs – all the apparatus I would need for the job.
Now a car – or rather a van – was very much in order since I would with any luck need transportation for two. I took care of that next. I had a number of sites that I had noted in case of need – and now I needed. Although it was still daylight the trucks and vans of the Crumb-ee Bakery were back in their lot being readied for their pre-dawn tasks of the following day. A few vans were being taken into the garage for servicing and one of them happened to go a bit further. Right onto the road and towards the city limits. I was in a countryside road by dusk, in Pearly Gates soon after dark, and letting myself into a back door to the court house not long after that.
The burglar alarms were antiques, meant to keep out children or mental defectives – since there was obviously nothing in the building worth stealing. That’s what they thought! Armed with pix I had made myself of the courtroom during the trial I went directly to it. Courtroom six. I stood in the doorway and looked about the darkened room. The lights from the street outside cast an orange glow through the high windows. I walked silently inside, sat down in the judge’s chair, then looked into the witness box. In the end I found the chair in which The Bishop had sat during his lightning trial, where he would sit on the morrow. This is where he would sit – and this is where he would stand when he rose to hear his sentence. Those great hands would grasp the rail here. Just here.
I looked down at the wooden floor and smiled grimly. Then knelt and tapped on it. Then took out a drill as the various parts of my plan began to fall into place.
Oh, but this was a busy night! I had to clear boxes from the cellar beneath the courtroom, saw and hammer and sweat, and even slip out of the court house long enough to find a sports supply store and break into it. And, most critical of all, I had to work out a route of escape. The escape itself would not have to be rushed – but it would have to be secure. If I had had the time a bit of tunnelling would have been in order. But I had no time. Therefore ingenuity would have to replace manual labour. As I cogitated in a comfortable position I found myself nodding off. Never! I made my way from the building yet again, found an all-night restaurant staffed by surly robot machines, and drank two large coffees with extra caffeine. This worked, producing ideas as well as instant heartburn. I staggered off and broke into a clothing store. By the time I reached the courthouse again I really was staggering with fatigue. With fumbling fingers I resealed all of the doors, removed all traces of my passage. The first light of dawn was greying the windows before I was done. I fumbled with tired fingers as I sealed the cellar from the inside, stumbled across the room, sat down on the canvas, set my alarm watch – and lay down to instant slumber.
It was pitch dark when the mosquito whine of the alarm irritated me awake. I had a moment of panic until I remembered that the cellar was windowless. It should be full daylight outside by now. I would see. I turned on a worklight, made adjustments – then turned on the TV monitor. Perfect! A colour picture of the court room above filled the screen, transmitted from the optical bug I had planted the night before. Some ancient employees were dusting the furniture and sweeping the floor. The session would begin in an hour. I left the set running while I made a last check on my labours of the previous night. All working, all in order … so all I had to do was wait.
That was what I did. Sipping at the cold coffee and chewing painfully on a stale sandwich from the previous day’s supplies. The suspense ended when the courtroom doors were thrown open and the lucky spectators and the press came in. I could see them imaged clearly on the screen, hear the shuffle of their footsteps overhead. The sound of their voices murmured from the speaker, quieting only when they were silenced for the arrival of the judge. All eyes were on him, all ears twitching attentively when he cleared his throat and began to speak.
First he bored everyone into a state of stupefaction by going over the previous day’s evidence i
n detail, then adding his obvious agreement to each summation and observation. I let his voice drone on while I looked at The Bishop, zooming in on his face.
He gave them nothing. His features were set, he looked almost bored. But there was a glint to his eyes that was almost hatred, nearer contempt. A giant pulled down by ants. The set of his jaw indicated that they may have imprisoned his body – but his soul was still free. But not for long if the judge had his way!
Now something in the judge’s voice caught my attention. He had finished his preamble at last. He cleared his throat and pointed at The Bishop.
‘Defendant will stand for sentencing.’
All eyes were on the prisoner. He sat stolidly, unmoving. There was a growing rustle and murmur. The judge began to turn red and he hammered with his gavel.
‘I will be obeyed in this court,’ he thundered. ‘The defendant will rise or will be forced to do so. Is that understood?’
Now I was sweating. If only I could have told him not to cause any difficulties. What would I do if he were held up by great ugly policemen? Two of them had already started forward at the judge’s signal. It was then that The Bishop slowly raised his eyes. The look of withering contempt he directed at the judge would have deterred anyone not as dense as his honour; it was a glare of repulsion that might have destroyed minor life forms.
But he was standing! The police halted as the large hands went out and seized the solid railing. It creaked as he tugged on it and heaved his giant form up, to stand erect. His head was high as he released the rail and his arms dropped to his sides …
Now! I stabbed down on the button. The explosions were not loud – but their effect was dramatic. They severed the two bolts that held the edge of the trapdoor in place. Under the great weight of The Bishop the door swung wide and he plunged down like a missile. I rushed up the ladder as he fell past me – but had time for a last glimpse of the courtroom on the screen.
There was silence as he vanished from sight. The springs slammed the trapdoor up into position and I pushed the heavy steel bolts into place beneath it. This had happened so fast that the horizontal form of The Bishop was still bouncing up and down oh the trampoline when I turned to look. I scurried down the ladder to his side as he finally came to rest, looking up at me with stolid gaze as he spoke.
‘Ah, Jim my boy. How nice to see you again.’ He took my proferred hand and I helped him down to the floor. Above us there was pandemonium, shouting and screaming that could be clearly heard through the floor. I permitted myself one glorious look at the screen, at the pop-eyed judge, the scurrying policemen.
‘Very impressive, Jim, very,’ The Bishop said, admiring the scene on the screen as well.
‘Right!’ I ordered. ‘Look at it as you strip off your outer clothing. Very little time, explanations will follow.’
He hesitated not a millisecond but was hurling clothing from him even as the words were clearing my lips. The great rotund form emerged, clothed in tasteful purple undergarments, and he raised his hands above his head at my shouted command. Standing on the ladder I pulled the immense dress down over him.
‘Here is the coat,’ I said. ‘Put that on next. Dress touches the ground, so don’t remove shoes. Large hat next, that’s it, mirror and lipstick while I unbolt the door.’
He did what I said without a murmur of protest. The Bishop had vanished from sight and a lady of truly heroic proportions now emerged. There was a hammering above his head which he completely ignored.
‘Let’s go!’ I called out and he minced across the room in a most feminine fashion. I kept the door closed until he reached me and I used those few seconds to fill him in. ‘They’ll be at the cellar stairs by now – but they are blocked. We go the other way.’ I pulled on the policeman’s helmet to go with the uniform I was wearing. ‘You are a prisoner in my custody. We are leaving – now!’
I took him by the arm and we turned left down the dusty corridor. Behind us there was much crashing and shouting from the blocked stairwell. We hurried on, to the boiler room, and through that to the set of short stairs that rose up to the heavy exit door. With its hinges now greased and lock well oiled, it opened at a touch and we stepped out into the alleyway.
Not an arm’slength from the back of a policeman who was standing guard there. He was the only one.
It took only an instant to examine the scene. The narrow alley was open at the far end. There was a dead end behind us. People – and safety – were in the street beyond the police guard. Then The Bishop climbed up beside me and something grated under his foot. The policeman turned his head to look.
I could see his eyes widen – as well they might for the lady beside me was an impressive sight. I took advantage of his diverted attention to jump forward and reach out to keep his head turning even more in the same direction. He seized me in strong hands – which quickly went limp since the Tongoese neck twist produces instant unconsciousness when the rotation reaches 46 degrees from full front. I eased him to the ground, then stopped The Bishop from striding forward with my raised palm.
‘Not that way.’
The door on the building across the alley said SERVICE ENTRANCE and was locked. It opened to my ready key. As I waved my portly companion inside I took off my cap and threw it beside the policeman. I closed the door from the inside and dropped my uniform jacket as I did. The necktie went next as we strolled into the department store, until I was dressed simply in slacks and shirt. I put my moustache into my pocket and we joined the other customers. Occasionally looking at a display as we passed, but certainly never dawdling. There were a few amazed looks at my companion, but this was a very proper store and no one was so rude as to stare. I went first through the exit, holding the door, then led by a few paces as we joined the passing throng. Behind us, getting weaker as we went, were shouts and cries and the sound of alarm bells and sirens. I permitted myself a small smile. When I glanced back I saw that my companion had permitted herself one as well. She even had the nerve to let me have a brief wink. I turned back quickly – I couldn’t encourage this sort of thing – then turned the corner into the side street where the bread truck awaited.
‘Stand here and look into your mirror,’ I said, unlocking the rear door. I busied myself inside, then barely had time to move aside as a great form hurtled by.
‘No one looking …’ he gasped.
‘Perfect.’
I climbed out, secured the door, went to the driver’s side, climbed in and started the engine. The van rumbled forward, slowly forcing its way through the pedestrians at the corner, then waited for a break in the traffic.
I had considered driving back and past the court house, but that would have been dangerous braggadocio. Better to simply slip away.
When the street was empty, I turned in the opposite direction and drove carefully towards the city limits. I knew all the back roads so we would be away well before they could be blocked.
We were not out of danger yet – but I still felt smug satisfaction. And why not! I had done it! Committed the escape of the century to save the criminal of the century. Nothing could stop us now!
CHAPTER TWELVE
I drove, slowly but steadily, for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. Avoiding all of the major highways by staying with the secondary roads. Though my route, by necessity, had to vary in direction, I nevertheless moved steadily south. Doing my best to add real feeling and emotion to Pi-r squared. Sounds familiar? It should be since it is probably the single geometry theorem that anyone ever remembers. The area of a circle is equal to its radius times the value of Pi – squared. So each roll of the wheels of the bread van added an ever increasing area that must be searched to find the escaping prisoner.
Four hours of this should put us well ahead of the police. The fact had to be considered as well that The Bishop had been locked in the back of the van for all of this time and knew nothing of my plans for the future. Explanations were in order – as was some food. I was getting hungry and, co
nsidering his girth, he would surely be feeling the same. With this in mind I pulled into the next suburban shopping centre, checked the quick-food restaurants as I drove by, then parked at the far end of the lot. Backed up close to a blank wall. The Bishop blinked benevolently when I opened the rear door admitting light and fresh air.
‘Time for lunch,’ I said. ‘Would you like …’
I lapsed into silence as he raised his hand in a gesture of silence.
‘Permit me, Jim, to say something first. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart I thank you for what you have done. I owe you my life, no less. Thank you.’
I stood with lowered eyes – I swear I was blushing like a girl! – and twisting my toe around and around on the ground. Then I coughed and found my voice.
‘I did what had to be done. But – could we talk of this later?’ He sensed my embarrassment and nodded, a regal figure despite the absurd garb he was still wearing. I pointed to the box on which he had been sitting. ‘There are clothes in there. While you change I’ll get some food. You don’t mind junk food from Macswineys?’
‘Mind? After the loathsome sludge of the prison food, one of their Barbecued Porcuswineburgers would be untold paradise. With a large portion of sugarfried spamyams, if you please.’
‘Coming up!’
I closed the van door with a feeling of relief and trotted off towards the beckoning platinum arches. The Bishop’s enthusiasm for fast food was most encouraging in a way that he could not suspect yet.
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