The Tower

by Gregg Hurwitz

  The doctor had used the Rogers technique of questioning, pursuing a kinder, gentler approach. However, questions such as “Allander, how did that make you feel?,” “What were your emotions at this time?” were too basic to allow insight into a mind like Allander’s.

  It seemed also that Allander understood the logic behind the doctor’s methods. He’d allow the doctor to think he was making headway, then he’d say something to confuse him. He was using Skinnerian conditioning on a goddamn psychologist, Jade realized. Allander wasn’t giving a great deal away, wasn’t giving much up for interpretation. Instead, he guarded his thoughts like jewels, hiding them in a wash of worthless words.

  Jade moved on to the tapes. Often, prison psychologists hide their tape players when interviewing subjects. Jade hoped that Allander would be less reserved if he didn’t know he was being recorded.

  The tapes proved to be a little better. Once in a while, Allander’s answers seemed more honest. But the sincerity was not cooperative, Jade thought, just fueled by annoyance. His expressions of disgust were very real indeed.

  On the third tape, Jade finally found a lapse, just one moment when Allander’s language changed. His sentences got short and choppy, and Jade could tell he was truly enraged.

  The doctor had asked him about the source of his anger, and Allander had exploded in a fit of verbosity.

  “So, Doctor,” Allander had replied, “if that is what we can call you—you’re certainly not a healer, but that’s a different tale, isn’t it? You’d like to know the source of my anger? I can speak your tongue. See if you can keep up.

  “Repression, projection, catharsis. Dr. Schlomo taught us to probe and dig. He was right on. He just never should have backed off. Well, I’ve shone the flashlight deeper than you can see through your round little spectacles. What there is in every little boy, I’ve seen it. So I can act it. Put me onstage and I’ll toe the line of the unconscious. Take a peek at the future of my delusion.

  “Sublimation. We forgot sublimation. The divine deflection of earthly longings. Build a tower, buy a motorcycle, sculpt a voluptuous pear. No thank you. My art doesn’t mirror reality—it is reality. What I carve, I’ll carve in flesh. What I paint, I’ll paint in blood.

  “Don’t look at me with those eyes, Doctor. Take notes. Write this down. It’s the key to your trade. Indulge in it, you hollow man. That’s all you are. No insight except that which you want to see. Looking in rooms with the lights already on.”

  There was a long pause on the tape. Jade would have thought it was over except for the fact that he could still hear Allander’s harsh breathing. The doctor said nothing.

  Finally, Allander continued in a much calmer voice. “When children are born, they’re too pure to distinguish themselves, their true selves. They try to conform their image to a societal mold. But they step forth as hollow as a chocolate Easter bunny and they need time to fill themselves with appropriate proportions of love and anger, hate and rage, kindness and despair.

  “But no one speaks to the child. No one guides him through this time. He must be spoken to if he’s not going to be protected. Or given a set of bearings upon which to impale his limbs. Those are the choices.”

  One phrase in particular caught Jade’s attention: He must be spoken to if he’s not going to be protected.

  As a child, Allander had not been protected—he had undergone a terrible experience. On the tapes, he had said that children were pure. He seemed to pride himself on his ability to act out what others couldn’t even see, as if his childhood trauma enabled him to see what only lay dormant for others.

  What is it that’s there in every little boy? Jade wondered. Allander made it sound worse than cancer.

  At this point, there were only questions. Like who the hell was Dr. Schlomo? Jade couldn’t find his name anywhere in the files, so he wasn’t one of Allander’s doctors. He had also run a check of the psychologists in the area, but he’d come up with nothing.

  It was almost time to head to the San Francisco federal building for his meeting. He removed the tape and set it in line with the others. Three down, fourteen more to go. So far, only one bright spot in the midst of a lot of verbal manipulation, he thought, and it wasn’t even that bright.

  20

  JADE sat with fifteen agents around a large table in a room on the thirty-fourth floor of the federal building. The room was stark: No pictures hung on the walls and the table was bare. The air conditioner was blasting on high, and Jade was relieved that he had jeans on instead of the thin dress pants that the agents wore.

  Waiting for Jade on his seat was a folded sheet of paper. He opened it to find the home phone numbers and addresses of the agents heading up the task force. There were seven names on the list, and Jade memorized all the information as he waited for the meeting to begin.

  The list was a gesture of good faith, he realized. For this case, they were letting him all the way back into the fold, and while he had mixed feelings about it, it made him acutely aware of just how much Allander scared them.

  A tall agent sat down across the table from him. By watching him, Jade could tell he didn’t work with any of the other agents. No eye contact. Uncomfortable gestures. He scratched his forehead a lot and laced his fingers together. He ignored Jade. Probably called over from admin to oversee things, Jade figured. He heard one of the other agents address him as Fredericks.

  A secretary entered to bring everyone bottles of water. When she left, Agent McGuire locked the door behind her and opened a refrigerator-size steel door in the wall, revealing a large cabinet of files. He selected several and returned to the table.

  “Here’s what we got,” he said. “Agent Travers, would you like to brief everyone?”

  “Sure,” she said, her tone serious.

  Although she wore a plain suit and no makeup, Jade thought she looked as if she’d just escaped from the pages of Elle magazine, career women’s issue. Jade caught himself admiring her neck and turned his eyes back to the table.

  “We found the boat early this morning. It was seven and three-quarter miles offshore, about twenty-three miles up the coast from Maingate. The wheel had been jammed to ensure that the boat would continue to travel out to sea after its occupant departed. We don’t know how far it drifted after it ran out of gas, but we’re estimating Atlasia got off somewhere along a twelve-mile stretch.”

  “How can you make that estimate?” Fredericks asked.

  “Well, it started with a full tank—we got that from the Maingate maintenance crew—so that gives us some idea of the outer limits of the distance he could have traveled. We looked up and down the coast from the Tower to find the more reasonable areas where he could have gone to shore. We believe he took the boat in close to shore, then set it to travel out. In the engine, we found traces of seaweed from inland and grains of sand that were picked up after the boat departed from the Tower.”

  “It just seems like it’s too large a range to be very helpful,” Fredericks said.

  “It’s a lot more helpful than you’re being right now. Any objections to my finishing the briefing?”

  Fredericks turned scarlet and looked down into his bottled water. Jade laughed.

  “Is something funny, Mr. Marlow?” Travers asked.

  “Yes, something is funny, but you can go ahead, Ms. Travers.”

  “Agent Travers.”

  “I was not aware of the fact that agents can’t also be ladies, but I apologize. Agent Travers.”

  She was seething, but she shifted her jaw and continued. “Atlasia’s prints were all over the boat and the metal bar used to set the wheel.”

  “Where did you get his prints for comparison?” an agent in the back asked. Everyone in the room turned and looked at him. “I’m just kidding. A joke.”

  Travers continued, ignoring him. “I think we’re all clear on what happened at the Tower. He killed both guards and opened the vents on the prisoners. He also disabled the pumps. Hackett was a very experienced guard,
so this guy’s dangerous as hell. He collapsed Hackett’s windpipe, probably by stepping on it after knocking him down.

  “We’ll have the complete forensics back from pathology tomorrow. He cut the location sensor out of his finger using surgical equipment from the guard station. He also stole some supplies from the Tower, but we accounted for everything on the speedboat.”

  The agent beside Jade leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Great,” he said. “So where are you set up?”

  “We have roadblocks on every road leaving the coast, and we’re keeping local law-enforcement officials on lookout in every town within thirty miles of the Tower. If that net’s not large enough to catch him, then he’s already slipped through anything we can throw up.”

  “Are we definitely ruling out the possibility that he had outside help?” Fredericks asked, finally recovered from being reprimanded.

  “Well—” Travers began, but Jade interrupted her.

  “Yes,” he said shortly. The clock was ticking. He wanted to cut through the shit.

  Travers looked over at him angrily before continuing in a calm voice. “There’s no outside contact from within the Tower, so it would’ve been nearly impossible to coordinate, and if Atlasia had any outside help they would’ve probably met him where he cut the gate.”

  McGuire rose from his chair at the head of the table. “As all of you probably already know, Mr. Marlow here has been brought in to profile and track Atlasia. Obviously, I expect you to cooperate fully with him.”

  He looked over at Jade. “I assume you have a few things you’d like to say.”

  “Just a few.” Jade leaned back in his chair. “What you’re doing is chasing, which is fine. What I’ve gotta do is turn the tables. He’s too smart. Forget the roadblocks. If he’s had this much time, it’s too late. It’s been over forty hours since the break. To snare him, we have to make him come to us.”

  A few of the agents looked at each other.

  “Well, then I’ll just cancel the whole operation, Marlow,” Travers said. “Maybe we could send him a polite telegram asking him to turn himself in.”

  Jade laughed. “He broke through seven levels of security with no tools except his own mind,” he said. His voice lowered to a snarl. “Seven. Count them.” As he listed them, he ticked them off on his fingers. “One, his cell door. Two, Greener. Three, getting up the Hole. Four, Hackett. Five, getting off the Tower. Six, the fence. Seven, the ocean.

  “He killed Hackett, who was good at what he did: containment. Hackett was larger, stronger, and armed. Atlasia knew he would’ve ripped him apart. So he took him up here.” Jade tapped his temple. “Must’ve got behind him.

  “Basically, he escaped from a goddamn security safe and killed a master guard to do it. Forgive me if I’m not optimistic about Joe Cop scratching his crotch and sitting out on the road waiting for him to drive by.”

  Travers’s face was white. “It’s a little more complicated than that, Mr. Marlow,” she said, punching her words angrily.

  “What are you going to do, look around to see if he dropped a matchbook? We don’t have time for this, Travers. Why don’t you sit down and listen? This is what I do.”

  Travers started to speak but McGuire shot her a sideways look and she closed her mouth.

  “We gotta go proactive,” Jade continued. “Starting tomorrow, I want you to organize discussion groups for the nearby communities. To talk about their fears and concerns.”

  “That’s all well and good,” the agent in the back said, “but we don’t exactly have time to console the community right now.”

  “I couldn’t care less about the community,” Jade said. “Atlasia’s a megalomaniac. Nothing would be more attractive to him than a big group of people talking about him. Admittedly, it’s a long shot—he’s on the run and he doesn’t have a base yet—but it’s worth a try to see if we can lure him in.

  “Second, I want my face all over the press. As fast and as much as possible.”

  “What was that about megalomania, Marlow?” Travers asked.

  Jade ignored her and continued. “I need to be painted as a supercop. The best of the best. It shouldn’t be too hard. Throw my record around, my credentials. I want to challenge him to contact me. We have to feed him all the information. I want my house on the news, my address, my phone number. No, scratch that. No phone number—I don’t want any weeping mothers calling me. I’ll leave it listed. But I want my location advertised.”

  “You have a death wish, Marlow?” the agent next to Jade asked.

  “‘Want,’” Jade replied. “I prefer ‘death want.’”

  “How the hell are we gonna get press to comply?” McGuire asked.

  “I don’t know. That’s your job. Why don’t you run a check and see if any TV field reporters have fathers or relatives on the force? Press tend to be independent, so if we want someone to cooperate, we gotta cross their loyalties or trade an exclusive.”

  McGuire scribbled notes furiously. He finally stopped and looked up. “That it?” he asked.

  “Badge. Where’s my badge?” Jade asked.

  Travers set her briefcase on the table and snapped the locks open. She pulled out a badge and looked at it. Sighing deeply, she slid it down the long table to Jade, who caught it as it flew off the end.

  Jade checked it. His full name, “temporary” nowhere in sight. He slid it into his back pocket, where it bulged uncomfortably.

  McGuire stood to leave.

  “His parents live in San Jose. Have you set up twenty-four-hour surveillance on them?” Jade asked.

  “The minute we heard about the break,” Travers said. McGuire sat back down. “But we’d like you to go down and talk to them.”

  “Obviously. I’ll go later. I’m heading to the Tower after this meeting.”

  “Well, we’ll certainly miss your company at lunch. Mr. Marlow, you have—”

  “Excuse me. It’s ex-Agent Marlow.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake!” McGuire yelled, pivoting around in his chair. “You two stop it. We don’t have time for this shit. See them tomorrow. I thought Trav—”

  “Thanks, I’ll go alone,” Jade interrupted.

  After a moment of icy silence, Travers continued. “Mr. Marlow, you have the manuscripts and tapes from the prison’s psychiatric department to study. Unfortunately, we can’t get access to reports from any private psychologists Atlasia may have seen before he was imprisoned.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Jade said.

  “Did he have any relationships with other prisoners who may currently be free?” Fredericks asked.

  “None of any significance,” Travers and Jade replied at the same time. They glanced at each other.

  Travers continued, “There are very few prisoners who have received parole from the kinds of jails Atlasia has been in for the last six years. The few who have been paroled didn’t overlap with him very much at all.”

  Jade paused and ran his thumb across his bottom lip. “This kid’s a reject. He had no visitors at Maingate or at the two jails before that. No friends, no family, nothing. He spent half his time in solitary. Clearly, he doesn’t like people much.”

  “Funny, ex-Agent Marlow,” Travers said, “that’s just what some people would say about you.”

  21

  THE first briefing had gone well, Jade thought. The agents seemed willing to give him access to the materials he needed. In the past, whenever they’d hired him, the FBI had tried to exert control, but evidently he had earned their trust.

  For much of the ride to Maingate, Jade thought about Agent Travers. He found her severity amusing, and once he got out on the highway, he actually laughed out loud. His laugh came in three descendent atonal notes. He didn’t laugh much, but when he did, it was always the same. Travers had a quick mouth and a caustic wit that rivaled his own. And clearly, she could get extremely pissed off in a hurry. A few times, Jade had seen her clamp down her teeth to hold her temper inside.

 
Maingate was in disarray when he arrived. Men with equipment ran back and forth through the front gates, barking instructions. Trucks drove down to the shore where there were several large cranes. Two guards armed with Win Mag .300s paced the top of a small guard tower. Extra prison-security officers oversaw the operations, their bright-blue jackets standing out against the colorless prison.

  Jade glanced at the Tower and saw men scurrying over it like ants. A black security guard ran by him, yelling into his walkie-talkie. Jade reached out and touched him softly on the arm.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I’m looking for Walker Banks.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “I’m Jade Marlow.”

  “Oh shit. Damn. Sorry. Warden’s tied up right now on the Tower. We’ll have to run you out on a boat.”

  Four more security guards walked by briskly, their sleeves whistling against their sides. “What’s all the panic?” Jade asked.

  “Looks like we’re evacuating the prisoners. Too much activity. Trucks and equipment all coming and going.”

  Two white buses with thick bars across the windows pulled in. “Looks like a big operation,” Jade said. “You moving ’em in small groups?”

  The guard smiled. “Just ten at a time. We got over two hundred men to clear out of here. Not exactly juvenile delinquents, either. It’s a big job.” He looked over at Jade. “Even for you, I’d imagine.”

  “I’d imagine,” Jade said dryly.

  A sudden blast sent Jade into an instinctive crouch, his pistol drawn and at the ready.

  “Hey, relax, man,” the guard said. “They’re just blasting out some of the rock to get the cranes through.”

  The ride out to the Tower was bumpier than Jade had thought it would be. The speedboat flicked over the water’s surface like a skipped rock, and by the time they reached the ladder leading up the Tower, his clothes were soaked.

  The guard pulled in close, and Jade had to make the transition from the boat straight to the steel ladder. There was no true dock, only a thick rubber strip for the boat to bump against. Jade clung to the ladder as the boat sped away. He felt very alone hanging above the ocean on two steel rails. For the first time, he realized how desolate the Tower really was. He surveyed the water stretching around him, then began the long climb to the top.