by Estes, Danny
Randolph watched the captain’s face as he tapped on his terminal, noting his expression changed not at all in reaction to whatever he was reading.
“You’re in luck, Colonel; all work-up on Miss Wander has been completed and conforms to your documentation. As she is then a military prisoner under a harsher sentence then our prosecution can call for, your claim supersedes civilian laws and saves our tax payers the expense of a trial.” Captain Russell hit a couple of buttons and assured Randolph, “She’s all yours. Presently she’s resting comfortably in her assigned cell, so I’ll clear you for entry. It’ll take me a few moments to go over her file and print out a hard copy of her disposition. So why don’t you and your men head on down and I’ll have it delivered to you there?”
Randolph acknowledged the request by standing as the captain’s door opened and an officer stepped in.
Without looking up, Captain Russell instructed the lieutenant, “Please see Colonel Van Hasting and his men to holding block 27J.”
“Yes, Captain,” the lieutenant answered. He looked to Randolph and asked, “If you’ll please follow me?”
Randolph acknowledged the captain one last time, clasped his hands behind his back and followed the lieutenant out as warning bells rang out in his mind, screaming. This is far too easy! He knows! Quick, get out while you can! However, instead of taking such credible suggestions from his experienced brain, Randolph dutifully traveled along the corridor to the elevator where their guide pressed underground level 14. While descending, Randolph pondered what might he have done wrong besides stepping into a building filled with people who’d toss his sorry butt out the highest window were they allowed. On the 14th floor below ground level, the hallway encircled the elevator shaft with plastic-steel doors set mid wall to each designated holding block. ‘J’ block sat directly in front of the elevator doors with a key pad, slot card identifying plate and call box. The lieutenant escorting Randolph and company waited till all were off and the doors closed before using proper security measures, by blocking the panel to his company’s view as he tapped in his identifying pass number and slipped his card in the slot.
Without obvious interest, Randolph watched a red bar of light over the door turn yellow, signifying thus far procedures had been followed correctly. Next the sound box squawked with a tin voice. “Who is it, and what business have you here?” The lieutenant answered the required questions and was instructed to bring his party into the next hallway while his claim was authenticated. The bar over the door turned green and a pressure release valve sounded a warning. This allowed the hydraulically sealed door to rotate open by remote.
“As this is a secured area, Colonel. All weapons must be relinquished and placed in this holding bin,” the lieutenant instructed once in the hallway. Already being prepared for such normal measures, Randolph nodded approval for his escort as the pressure door behind them closed and he sensed a slight tingling as body scanners gave the group a once over. Never having tried a stunt like this, every understandable security procedure implemented had Randolph that much more certain they knew exactly who he was and were allowing him to crawl deeper into the web before springing the trap. Covertly watching the lieutenant for any signs of recognition, Randolph felt a sigh pass over him as the lieutenant pressed the button which locked all batons and fire arms from the party members, including the lieutenant’s. With all weapons securely out of hands’ reach, a second scan was made, followed by a yellow light above the far door they were facing changing to green. Once more Randolph heard the hiss of pressure valves releasing as the door rotated open. The lieutenant motioned for them to follow while compounding the unnecessary gesture with the spoken words, “If you will follow me, Colonel?”
Randolph nodded for him to lead, and followed him into a twenty-by-twenty white-gray room furnished with uncomfortable hard plastic chairs and harsh lighting to illuminate everyone in the room from all angles. Given no time to adjust to the room, Randolph was led up to the guards station with the guardian sitting easily behind a protective plastic-steel glass panel set in the steel wall some feet from a reinforced door.
“Colonel, if you'll inform Lieutenant Bran who you’re here for, he’ll help you from here.” So saying, Randolph’s escort walked back into the hallway, allowing the pressure door to close behind him.
Randolph eyed the lieutenant as he left, hearing more warning bells go off in his head as he now had no escort out of the building. Which very well could mean I’m not leaving! He tried to swallow. With all options but one left to him, Randolph squared his shoulders, still clasping his hands in back lest they start shaking in response to his nervousness, and walked up to the duty officer.
“I’m Colonel Don Van Hasting. I’m here to claim Major Jill Wander.”
“Right, Colonel,” the wide-awake lieutenant answered, ringing more warning bells in Randolph’s head. “Captain Russell has informed me of your coming arrival. If you and your men will have a seat, I have a couple of notations to make before I can release her into your custody.”
As sitting down was the last thing he wished to do, Randolph had to reason with himself. If I’ve blown this, there’s nothing I can do. And admitting this, all he could do was play out the scene till whatever happened, happened. Trying to radiate confidence, Randolph sat as suggested, crossing his legs in a casual manner to help with his deception, whether blown or not. His two muscle men remained standing in the middle of the room, quietly conversing to one another about some sporting event and why the outcome had happened, as if they owned the team. A rather useless activity. Randolph rolled his eyes, in an effort to help steady himself. Some psychiatrist insist it’s a good way to stimulate the brain in problem solving. If that were even remotely true, our society would already be colonizing other worlds instead of still stumbling on problems with the twenty-year-old moon base.
Randolph decided to put his own mind to better use, like nonchalantly looking the room over for vulnerabilities, but as he started, he heard the pressure door open and glanced that way, somewhat knowing already what was going to happen. His escort mildly turned to look, and watched in surprise as ten hard-nosed officers sporting hypo dart guns hurriedly came in and spread themselves about, ready to fire. The military-trained muscle men, perceiving danger, though a bit late, reacted in self-defense instead of rationalizing they were nowhere near the jungles and this was not a fight to the death. Even so, Randolph had to give them credit as they dropped two men and were engaging two others as he sat, apparently calmly, eyeing a pistol leveled at his chest and very unwilling to give the holder a reason to use it. Regardless of his guards’ valiant attempt in a situation which had gone afoul by their simply stepping into the building, the two MP’s sagged to the polished floor from the tranquilizer darts as the officers picked themselves up off the floor, or straightened out there clothes, while the two covering Randolph spread out a bit more in-case he should be so foolish. The next sound Randolph heard was higher-quality shoes treading on the hard floor. To this Randolph turned only his head and watched Captain Russell walk in.
Chapter Sixteen
“Colonel Don Van Hasting,” Captain Russell started, “or should I say Randolph McCann?”
“Randolph will do,” Randolph sighed, still wishing he knew where he’d gone wrong.
“By your reputation, I’d have thought you’d have known better than to try a stunt like this after killing that city sheriff.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“Accessory after the fact then, which will be added to your other crimes of murder.”
“I didn’t kill them, either!” Randolph snapped, still offended by that frame-up.
“Whether you did or not might have been taken into account had you surrendered yourself and turned in Miss Wander.” The severity in his voice indicated the captain didn’t believe him, a reaction Randolph was well aware would be upper most in every-one's thoughts till he made Mr. Hilden confess to the crime. Even so, it made little difference now
as Jill had indeed made him an accomplice to murder, no matter if he had asked Jill’s help or no. Understanding the routine, Randolph carefully stood and turned to the wall so they could start processing him.
Once more running the gantlet of security measures to extract any objects considered not skin and bones, Randolph was finally clothed in a bright yellow short-sleeved jumpsuit, given a number, video-graphed and incarcerated in the same cell block as Jill.
Evidently one of their more maximum security blocks, Randolph mused, which in truth is rather lucky for us as they should have kept us well separated, given my track record, which Captain Russell made plain he’d read in some detail. Randolph shrugged off this fortunate mistake, now that he was in a more familiar role, and sat down listening to the magnetic lock being activated which brought to mind plan B. For obvious reasons, Randolph couldn’t indulge himself in planning out plan B as he also had time restraints on this activity, due to Jill’s lack of the same. In other words, Randolph reminded himself, it’s put up or shut up, as this is our very last chance at escape. If this fails, I have no magic hat to save our butts from the sterile stainless table top and that cold, cold needle.
Randolph shook off that morbid thought as he sought out the video camera and microphone then flipped a mental coin on whether or not to leave Jill to her fate and save his own butt. Letting that imaginary coin fall unnoticed to the floor, he went to the corner under the video camera, and twisted and pulled his arm out of its socket while the building celebrated their illustrious capture. With his head pressed into the corner, Randolph bit back his scream of pain, as he gathered out the precious tube which had saved his life several times over the years, and extracted with teeth and suction the miracle pill, which made morphine seem like a mild can of beer.
Unable to use the dislocated arm till resetting it back into its socket, Randolph bit down on the cylinder like a cigar, plastered against the wall blinking watery eyes as he waited out the few moments for the pill to take effect. When Randolph felt its wonderful molecules attaching themselves to the pain centers along his brain stem, stopping the news from his arm of the misuse, he kept the first cylinder between his teeth and reconnected his arm then disengaged the other arm for its cylinder. After making certain his arms and hands worked as normal, Randolph palmed both cylinders and put a depressed look on his face, playing the part of a whipped puppy, before he walked back into view of the video camera and settled under a light wool blanket with his back to the room to begin his work in earnest. Once the tools were assembled, Randolph took several deep breaths before sitting up. With a look skyward in a plea for any help from the man upstairs, or any help from the imaginary gods of stupidity, Randolph activated the video jammer and shot to the door frame, activating a laser pen. Within seconds he was in the wall and jumping the circuit board without consideration for extra security measures as he had no time to dawdle. When he heard the power shut off, Randolph pushed out the door and ran down the hall to the guard’s station as fast as he could run. With the aid of his non-slick shoes, Randolph halted at the guard’s station and lasered the key hole and bolt assembly till it fell to pieces when he yanked the door open and charged into the surprised face of Lieutenant Bran. Yanking a clipboard off the wall he’d seen before being captured, Randolph applied this to the lieutenant’s cranium more than once to introduce his displeasure of being locked up. With adrenalin racing and his breathing elevated, Randolph stripped the lieutenant bare, swapping out their clothes, even to the lieutenant’s slightly larger, imitation leather work shoes, and then searched out Jill’s holding cell. When he gained her cell number, Randolph grabbed up the keys, and downing the lieutenant’s coffee to wet his dry throat, hurried back the way he’d come, dragging the unconscious, naked lieutenant along so he could wake up knowing how it felt to be incarcerated unjustly.
Still adjusting the bothersome tie the uniformed officers were forced by ignorant managers to suffer, Randolph dropped his cargo off on the floor next to Jill’s cell, and slid the lieutenant’s card key into the slot, hitting the green button which informed the electronics he wished the door open. Once the powerful magnets released, Randolph yanked open the door and barely caught a glimpse of something inside moving. With but that fraction of movement, Randolph managed barely to deflect Jill’s dinner tray from full contact with his skull.
“Ow!” Randolph stumbled back and saw a brief blur of movement as Jill landed on him, forcing him back to the hall where he lost his balance and sat down hard on the floor with her on top. “Jill, it’s me!” Randolph tried, his face coming alight from her fist. “Geez, is that anyway to thank me?”
“Oh shit, Randolph, are you okay? Can you get up?” Jill intoned worried-like, scrambling off him.
With Jill’s help, Randolph stood, and saw her face take on so many expressions of joy, fear, relief and uncertainty at once, he said tasting blood, “If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll find out.”
“You could have told me that was you, for crying out loud!” Jill told him in considerable anger.
Still feeling wobbly, Randolph leaned against the wall. “Sorry, I was rather busy concentrating on getting us out of here instead of worrying on miner details.”
“What do you mean—don’t you already have a plan?” she asked, recovering faster than him.
“Hey! I had a perfectly good plan, a wonderful plan, save I had less than 24 hours to get every detail figured out, with the added disadvantage of having to use public facilities never designed for my type of work to gather the documentation needed with no sleep in the last 48 hours. So after that disastrous try, I’ve spent the last three hours being prodded and poked then shoved into a cell two doors over from yours.” After running his mouth out of nervousness, Randolph took note of a change in Jill’s eyes that vaguely reminded him of cat eyes becoming filled with mischief, then he ended up on the receiving end of two engulfing strong arms. “Jill?” he began, hearing her sniffle, “now is not the time for your softer side. We still have to get out of here before the guard wakes up and discover I’m wearing his clothes.”
Jill pulled away from him, wiping her eyes with a hand, and said with a catch in her throat, “Your right of course. It’s just over whelming to know you’d risk your life to try and get me out of here.”
For a second, Randolph thought to point out she’d done the same for him, save that could wait till another time as they really needed to get moving. Jill stood a foot from him, her arms trembling as if she were fighting them from grabbing him again. Randolph looked into her eyes to see her looking at him expectantly, as if he already knew how to get the pair of them out of here. Trusting, isn’t she? He then looked down on Lieutenant Bran, without his clothes; Randolph once more verified to himself. Women are far more pleasing to the eyes, then snapped his fingers, coming up with an idea. But before he began, Randolph pointed an accusing finger at Jill, remembering her past words. “You will promise me you will NOT kill anyone on the way out.”
“Randolph—”
“Promise me—”
Jill chewed on his words and stern face made a face of disgust before she improvised on his words. “I promise to kill no one as long as they’re not a threat.”
“Jill,” Randolph warned, “everyone in this building’s a threat.”
She shrugged. “That’s the best you'll get out of me, sweetie.”
“Sweetie? Since when do you use endearments?”
“Oh come off it, Randolph, can’t I try to sound appreciative of what you’re doing?”
“Not in our current situation. I need to know who I’m talking to.”
“All right, fine. So what am I supposed to be doing?”
Randolph looked skyward in thanks just as a moan and thud sounded from Jill giving Bran a swift kick to keep him quiet.
“First things first, you lock our bundle of joy in the cell and I’ll see what can be done at his console.”
Jill gave him an exaggerated “righto” salute, to which Randolph r
olled his eyes before jogging back to the lieutenant’s work station. After seating himself in the chair in front of the console, Randolph began typing up programs, document, copies, and information on all resident criminals. Then he looked over the make and model of the printer, and found what he had in mind was feasible, as long as no one really looked hard on his forgeries.
In a matter of minutes, Randolph cut and pasted their papers and geared up to start printing the documentation when he realized he was making a seriously stupid blunder. As he was still thinking in linear terms, Randolph had naturally made the documentation up to transfer Jill to another facility. A momentary review of a clip board on the wall holding a large video picture of his face, he understood instantly the paperwork would get them nowhere but back in a cell before they could step ten feet beyond the elevator.
“Shit!” Randolph exclaimed as he rolled over other possibilities.
“What? Is something wrong?” Jill asked from her place at the door.
“Yes,” he grumbled trying to rethink, “as long as I have shit for brains.”
“Come again?”
“Be quiet will you!” Randolph snapped unnecessarily, regretting the words but needing to think. He drummed his fingers on the table, looking for inspiration, as Jill sat her butt on the same surface, crossing her arms. Waiting for the master mind to remember he isn’t alone in all this! With a blinding flash of inspiration, one he should’ve had precious minutes ago, Randolph started the cut and pasting all over. After ten minutes of rework he started the printer and told Jill to strip.
“Randolph, this is hardly the time.” Jill smirked but did as asked.
“Actually, I should have asked you to do so ten minutes ago,” he remarked, irritated with himself, shucking off his stolen clothes as well. “As a cop killer, my video would be all over the place, regardless of the fact I’m now safely behind a cell door. You, however, having just been identified and currently sealed inside a cell, will not have had one issued. Therefore it should be you escorting me out. Besides,” he admitted, “you have a mentality near on similar to the police.”