by Ryan King
The governor nodded. "I too share the voters concerns about the influence of big business and lobbyists. As you recall, it was one of my major platforms when I ran for governor. I can assure you I am not in anyone's pocket. I am committed to serving each and every citizen of this great state with integrity and honor. Regarding these pharmaceutical companies, we have to recognize that at the end of the day they will be producing any cancer cure we find. They will be integral to that discovery as well. Given my commitment to finding that cure, I will not turn away any potential ally in that worthy cause."
"Well said," answered Candice. "I'd like to shift gears for a second. How do you respond to the report this morning of the disappearance of Jackson Winters, attorney from Lafayette? Mr. Winters is, of course, the son of former Supreme Court Justice and personal friend of yours, the late Jeremiah Winters."
St Keel looked at Lucas again, this time with slight annoyance. Lucas had assured him everything possible was being done to find the young man, but there was still no news.
"I read it with extreme concern and alarm. The state has mobilized every possible resource to find him."
"There are also reports that he may have been with several friends of his, some of which may be missing as well."
St Keel nodded seriously. "The state police have been able to determine that Jack and a group of friends rented a fishing boat for the day last week, yet never returned." The governor looked away for a second as if trying to control his emotions before looking back. "To date, no wreckage has been found, and after more than a week, our worst fears may become reality."
"Let us hope Mr. Winters and his friends are somewhere safe and are found soon."
"Yes, indeed," answered St Keel.
"Let’s shift back to the upcoming presidential election." Candice displayed a coy smile and leaned toward her guest "What are your overall thoughts on how this campaign season will shake out?"
St Keel looked pained. "Well, as you know, I believe President Wilkens has done many fine things, but hasn't responded as well as she could on a number of issues."
"Such as the scandal surrounding Vice President Tipton?'
"That is one example, but there are a multitude of others. I am loyal to my president as a fellow party member, but as a voter and citizen, I am concerned."
"How do you respond to her criticisms of you? Specifically that you are planning to try and steal your party's nomination from her in the upcoming primaries."
The governor laughed. "I don't think it's possible to steal a presidential nomination. Her statement either implies that she does not understand the process or is resorting to baseless accusations. Sadly, such irresponsible and irrational behavior has become only too common during her administration.
"I also believe the people of this great country deserve choices. Just because someone has held an office for the previous four years doesn't mean they are a shoe-in to be nominated the next time. Our country deserves better and our voters certainly deserve better."
"Are you saying you might run for president next year?"
St Keel smiled wryly, as if in surrender. "I have been approached too many times by too many concerned citizens to ignore the calls any longer. As you know, I have resisted such calls, as my responsibilities lie in other areas, but it seems new and greater duties may be thrust on me yet. I was raised never to shirk my responsibilities, and I don't plan on starting now."
Candice looked startled by the revelation, although she had known it was coming for several days. "Are you saying you plan on running for your party's nomination for president?"
St Keel nodded. "It is with humility and pride that I have agreed to run for president next year."
"You heard it here first, folks," Candice said, turning to the camera. "Governor St Keel has announced for the first time that he will be running for President of the United States in the next election."
She turned back to her guest "Thank you so very much for your time, Governor. Good luck, and I hope to have you back on our show soon."
"You can count on it," said St Keel as the camera moved away to transition to a commercial break.
"We're clear," yelled a stage engineer. "Clock is running. We're back on in three minutes forty-six seconds."
St Keel sat still as a technician took off his attached microphone. He said his farewell again to Candice, who was consulting notes for her next guest, a disheveled-looking man on the edge of the stage, there to talk about rising sea levels.
An intern led him back into the makeup room where he sat in the same chair he had occupied an hour earlier, only this time the makeup lady was cleaning his face off rather than applying cosmetics.
He saw Lucas appear behind them both in the mirror in front of him. "What did you think?"
Lucas smiled. "Couldn't have gone better. It all starts here tonight."
"Anything on Jack Winters?"
"Nothing," Lucas answered, "but we're still looking."
"Leave no stone unturned," ordered St Keel. "I'm serious. That young man is the only son of the closest thing to a father I ever had."
"I understand," answered Lucas, and moved away and out of the mirror.
St Keel wanted to believe his friend and chief-of-staff, but a suspicion was starting to grow in the back of his mind.
After all, when was the last time Lucas Ross had been unable to accomplish something he set his mind to?
Chapter 49
Dark clouds filled with menacing flashes of light, and hidden power had been building out in the Gulf of Mexico for days. Those clouds had absorbed moisture and rising heat. The swirling motion and energy that had begun off the coast of Africa months before had reached a crescendo of howling winds and fury.
New Orleans breathed a sigh of relief when Hurricane Humphrey veered to the southwest away from the city still reeling from several destructive hurricanes. Yet, Louisiana was not expected to be completely missed, and the right edge of the storm would hit the western half of the state hard.
Including Bog Island.
Most other islands and coastal areas were encouraged to evacuate, but the people there were a hardy and resilient lot. Most decided to remain. Those on Bog Island never gave it a thought. They either had important work to do and leaving was not an option. Residents wouldn't dream of leaving their land...or they were prisoners locked in makeshift cells and unable to leave.
Johnny lifted his head and smiled at the howling wind. This is what I have been waiting for. This is what his arthritis had told him was coming for over a week and Deloy, with his decades of experience on the ocean, had confirmed. A hurricane was approaching, and it had finally arrived.
It was the signal for them to finally escape.
Johnny didn't have the whole plan worked out when he had surrendered himself, only a part. He had been a handyman most of his life and was confident in his ability to fix things or figure them out. He had known this time would likely be no different.
Still, he had gone through the routines for several days. He watched and listened and learned what he could, but his swirling nebulous plan didn't obtain any solidity.
Until Dr. Xavier Simone had passed him the note...and his knife. It had been the tool he was missing and the plan obtained solid form almost immediately.
Johnny reached under his mattress and pulled out the knife and a small piece of curiously carved hardwood. He had been able to hide the piece of wood down one pants' leg during a day of labor outside the wire. One of the benefits of being an old man, he had discovered, was that people rarely thought him a threat or worthy of close scrutiny.
He looked hard at the piece of wood. Johnny had acquired skills through the years the way some people obtained business cards. As a handyman he had become a competent mechanic, electrician, plumber, carpenter, builder, mason, and even...a locksmith.
The mail order course had come after watching a man take twenty minutes to open Mr. Winters ‘car with the keys locked inside and then charging fifty dollar
s. Mr. Winters hadn't minded paying the bill, but Johnny had been appalled and decided he wouldn't put his boss in that position again.
The course showed him what he should have realized was self-evident. It was still all gears and mechanics. Tumblers and pins. He had obtained his license and locksmith tools and, except for three or four occasions afterwards, never used the skills again.
But he had not forgotten. Johnny had studied the keys the guards used to open their kennels. All the kennels used one common key and that key was a simple mortise type.
Which looked much in shape like the piece of wood he held in his hands.
He already knew it would work. For nights, he had carefully filed and carved on the wood with his old pocketknife. Occasionally, he would try the wood in the lock and encounter resistance and pull the wood out. He would study the indentations in the wood and work on those spots until one night the key had activated the pins and tumblers ever so slightly.
Johnny knew he could have used the key then to escape, but forcing the wood might break it, and he needed it to work more than once. The action must be smooth so as to not strain the wooden key. So, he filed and carved until it turned the lock's mechanism as smoothly as butter.
Now the time had come.
He suspected the camp was on lockdown. All the guards were buttoned up inside their barracks to get away from the torrential rain and dangerous winds. The security lights were dimmed by the swaying trees and swaths of water that passed in front of the lights.
Johnny said a quick prayer and then walked slowly to the door. He slid the key in and turned carefully, feeling the lock's mechanism engage and then flip over. Pulling the key out, he eased the door open to peek outside.
The door was nearly wrenched from his hand by the wind where it would have banged loudly against the opposite wall. Of course, in this noise, no one was likely to notice, but best not to take chances.
Johnny fought against the wind and pushed the door back shut until it latched. For good measure, he went ahead and locked it back in case any of the guards checked during the night.
He made his way three kennel doors down to the right. By the time he slid the wooden key into the lock, he was completely drenched and cold water ran in rivets off his head and down into his orange jumpsuit.
As he pulled the door open slowly, a mountain of a man materialized out of the shadows.
"I was beginning to wonder if I'd gotten the wrong signal," Charles said. "Maybe you meant we escape during the second hurricane or maybe during the next lunar eclipse."
"You're welcome, young man," said Johnny over the howl of the wind. "Come on."
They made their way down two more doors and unlocked it to find Jackson sitting in his cell.
"Should we come back later?" Charles asked him.
"We still don't know where Heather is."
"She's not in any of these kennels," said Charles.
"We leave without her," said Johnny.
"The hell we do," growled Charles.
Johnny stepped into Jackson's cell motioning Charles in after him. He then closed the door, and the drop in noise level was almost startling.
"When was the last time either of you saw her?" asked Johnny.
Charles looked at Jackson with uncertainly. "Maybe a week ago. She was pulled out of her cell and hasn't come back."
"She's not dead," said Jack. "Don't even go there."
"I wasn't implying she was dead," Johnny answered. "Only that she is somewhere else that we can't get to her. At least not now. The best thing we can do for her is get out of here and go get help."
"We could look through some of the nearby buildings," offered Charles.
Johnny shook his head. "We have a narrow window of opportunity here. Every minute that we waste, the chances of us getting caught increase. We need to get out of here now."
Jack looked up and met Charles's eyes for a second and then nodded.
Johnny turned to Charles. "You lead the way. This is your part of the show."
Jack followed his friend out into the storm while Johnny locked the cell behind them. All crept around the kennels using them to screen their movements from anyone in the guard shacks or larger buildings. They were forced to sprint across fifty yards of open ground before they made it to the edge of the fence-line. Jackson kept waiting to hear sirens or gunshots or alarms, but all they heard was the howling of the wind.
Charles walked along the edge of the fence and pointed at an area where water was pouring down the nearby hill and under the fence. The runoff had already taken a considerable amount of soil and rocks leaving a gap a foot high under the fence.
"Stupid shits never fixed the fence," said Charles.
"Good luck for us," answered Johnny, turning to Jackson. "You first."
Jack hesitated and then thrust himself into the rush of water, shimmying his way under the chain-link barrier as cold water flood into his face and down into his clothing. He had a mental image of himself as a salmon fighting upstream and had to suppress the urge to laugh.
Finally, he was on the other side and pulled up the fence a little higher for Johnny who came after him. Just as Johnny's legs cleared the edge, a spotlight from one of the guard shacks turned on with an audible pop and swiveled in their direction.
"Go!" said Charles. "I'll distract them."
"No you won't," yelled Jack. "Get under the fence."
"We won't make it very far if they're right on our heels," said Charles. "Go on and go. Get help, and come back for Heather and me."
"He's right," hissed Johnny. "Let's go."
Charles didn't wait for an answer. As the light swung in his direction, he took off running across the yard, and the light struggled to stay on him. A moment later, the alarms Jackson had been anticipating blared weakly in the mighty wind.
Johnny dragged him away from the fence and into the dark forest. After a few feet, Jack stopped fighting and followed the old man. The darkness was oppressive, and Jack was not sure how the old man found his way at all. Vines and branches constantly seemed to reach out for his feet, and Jack fell half a dozen times it seemed between each bright lightning flash.
Then they were out of the woods and on a trail.
"Where are we going?" asked Jack.
"This way," said Johnny. "Hurry now." He prayed Deloy and his daughter had remembered the part about meeting him during the night ahead of the hurricane landing...and that they hadn't changed their minds.
Jack followed him down the gently sloping trail and soon could make out the ocean by the flashes of lightning. A dock with a boat rocking mightily on the waves awaited them.
Two figures huddled in the bottom of the boat filled with bundles. A large man and smaller woman.
"You!" yelled Jack, recognizing Deloy and Rena. He turned to Johnny. "This is how we're escaping? You do know they are the ones who turned me in, don't you?"
"Yes," answered Johnny, "and they now regret that decision."
"Jack, please," said Rena.
"We're just supposed to trust them?" Jack asked the old man. "After everything that has happened?"
Johnny sighed. "We need off this island. What would you recommend?"
"In that little thing?" Jack pointed at the small boat. "It's suicide to go out in that during a hurricane."
"A fact we are hoping the guards recognize as well," said Deloy. "Rest assured, I can get us to the mainland. I would not risk my daughter's life if I did not believe this."
"What's all that?" Jack asked, pointing to the bundles along the bottom of the boat."
"Ballast," said Deloy. "We'll need it in seas like this."
"And our belongings," said Rena, looking sadly into Jack's eyes. "We're not planning on coming back. We're leaving our home."
"You need to make up your mind, son," said Johnny. "Whatever you do, do it quickly."
"Fine," growled Jack as he climbed down into the boat and sat next to Rena with Johnny following. Deloy untied the boat and pushed away fro
m the dock. He then cranked an engine and steered them away from the shore while consulting a luminous compass. Winds and high waves threatened to throw them back up onto the shore.
"Jack?" said Rena.
"Let's save our breath. There's a good chance we won't make it despite your father's assurances."
"True enough," she said. "That's why I want you to know that I'm sorry. For what has happened to you. For what has happened to your friends. Most of all, for what I did."
Jack turned towards her with anger in his mouth, but a flash of lightning showed him the tears and anguish on her face, and his fury subsided.
He turned back away from her. "I'm sorry, too."
The dark night swallowed the small boat and tossed it upon the turbulent seas.
Chapter 50
Lucas Ross sat at his desk heavily. It had been an extremely busy week, but things seemed to be under control. The worst of the hurricane was evidently past, but winds still howled outside, and parts of the state had experienced severe flooding and would have power outages for days to come.
He saw one of the lights blinking on his secure phone. Ross picked up the receiver and pushed the indicated button. A computer-generated voice said, "Four. Two. Six."
Lucas ended the call and almost didn't check the message that had been left. Dr. Edward Massengill was a good source of information on what was going on down at Site Iaso, but the man complained about everything. It was almost not worth having him as an inside man.
Finally, overcoming his hesitancy, Lucas called another number and entered the six-digit code to unlock the message. He listened.
The man's elitist and unconscious condescending voice came on almost immediately. "I can't understand why I'm not able to simply call and talk to you. This is ridiculous and a waste of my time. Anyway, I thought you should know that things down here seem to be chaotic, to put it mildly. Several guards have died as well as some valuable subjects. You should also know that I saw the news. That Jackson Winters fellow everyone was looking for...he was here. Until he escaped. Have a nice day, and please make sure my payment gets where it belongs on time. It has been late the last two months."