That meant infection—or worse.
But there was no time for him to worry about it now. For the moment he was just a prisoner who was expected to deliver nearly a million euro this morning, and he had to assume that everyone in the prison’s employ knew this fact.
The assistant, looking somewhat disheveled this morning—Gage had heard her confiding in the guard that she had drunk way too much last night with a man she’d had no business seeing, and she’d sounded gleeful about it—stepped back into her little office, sloshing milk-laden coffee and reaching for the buzzing phone. She picked it up, listened for a moment, then said something to the guard. The guard looked at Gage.
“You remember the drill?”
“Yes.”
“I’m right outside this door and it would make my year to have to come in there and deal with you, got it?”
Not in any condition to tangle with a guard, Gage nodded with closed eyes. The door buzzed. He entered.
De la Mancha had taken off her heels and was rushing all around the office. On the leather sofa was a cardboard box containing a thick plastic bottle, similar to a gallon bottle of bleach, sticking from the top of the box. Without speaking, Gage went straight over to the items.
The large bottle was half-full of industrial drain cleaner. Perfect. Next to it was a pair of needle-nose pliers, as well as a hammer. Also in the box were a number of empty soft drink bottles. Gage turned to her.
“Where am I meeting him?”
“In here. I’m summoning him now.” She lifted the phone, having to repeat her instructions twice.
When she hung up, Gage asked, “Is he on his way?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, I need both of your pistols.”
She was rummaging through a file drawer, removing folders when she turned. “How did you know I had two?”
“I saw it when you opened your middle drawer. Just like I stole your phone. You’re careless, and that needs to end now.”
“Go ahead and get it,” she said, shrugging. “The drawer isn’t locked.”
He opened the top drawer. There was no pistol. Wondering if he’d been mistaken about which drawer, he opened all them, making quite a racket.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, walking over.
“No pistol.”
“You’re kidding.” De la Mancha pulled each of the drawers out, rifling through their contents.
“What kind of pistol was it?”
“An AutoMag.”
“Where’s that Smith you had?”
“Purse,” she said, going back to the top drawer, removing each item as if she were somehow overlooking a large handgun.
He opened her purse. Inside he found the Smith, in a single movement pulling it out and popping the cylinder from the chassis.
Empty.
“Where are the bullets?” Gage barked, the pit of dread in his stomach outweighing the pain of his bladder and kidneys.
“Oh no,” she mouthed, with hardly a sound escaping.
“El Toro?” Gage asked.
Capitana de la Mancha’s large eyes darted around the room. She began to cry.
“C’mon, now,” Gage encouraged. “No matter what, you have to focus.”
She looked at him, wiping tears as she nodded.
“Do you have any spare bullets?”
“Not here.”
“What about the guards?”
“If I go raiding their supply room, it’ll raise suspicion.”
Gage willed himself to remain calm. “Well, I’m sure as hell not going to bring an unloaded gun to a gunfight.” He searched the room, his eyes settling on the cardboard box loaded with implements.
“What is it?” she asked.
He lifted several of the contents, eyeing each one before his eyes drifted out the window.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m still thinking about it. Get a sheet of paper and diagram the layout between here and your car.”
As she drew, she pointed to the paper and said, “The hallway has two turns from the back door of my office. We leave and walk straight to the end of the short hall. We turn right from there and—”
“What’s to the left?”
“That’s the long hallway. Infirmary and then the main bay.”
“I remember. So, turn right and walk to the end?”
“Sort of. Before we reach the end, which was where you were brought in, we take the single door to the right and that’s where my car will be.”
“Type of car,” he demanded.
“It’s an Opel Insignia.”
“Heard of it but not familiar. Describe.”
She looked away for a moment, trying to contain her trembling chin. “Will you please ease up? One of my guns is gone, we’ve got no bullets, and now you’re making me more nervous than I already am.”
He grabbed her wrist, turning her wristwatch. “We’ve got twenty minutes before you’re due to call El Toro in. And he’s armed, which is mind-boggling enough as it is. When I got here, I was stabbed by a shank made from a nail. But I’ve never heard of a prisoner armed with a frigging handgun.”
“Now who’s wasting time?”
Toning it down, he said, “The car, please.”
“Like I said. It’s an Opel Insignia, four-door, not huge but larger than most cars in Spain.”
“Manual or automatic?”
“Manual.”
“Front-wheel drive?”
“All-wheel drive. It’s the nicest version of the car available.”
“Horsepower.”
“No clue.”
“Fast?”
She shrugged. “Fast, I guess.”
“Diesel or gas?”
“It takes high-octane gas.”
“I was hoping it was diesel,” he breathed, looking outside the window.
“Why?”
“Torque.”
“What?”
He made a dismissive motion with his hand. “How does the car start?”
She went to her purse, removing the chunky key fob. “As long as this is in the car, you push a button to the left of the radio.”
He nodded, rubbing his stubble. “Okay. When we get to the car, I’ll drive and I want you beside me. We’re going to have to smash through that garage door and, whether we make it or not, we’re probably going to get a face full of airbag.”
“You don’t want me in the backseat?”
“I want to give them a reason to not shoot at us.” He wiped incipient sweat from his face. “Next item. Tell me about the procedure for an escape alarm.”
She motioned for him to follow, walking to the rear door of the office. Mounted on the wall was a heavy-duty keypad with three buttons. “These are encased in the hallways, the guard stands, and other strategic locations around the prison. A person needs a key to open the case. When pressed, this first button signals an internal alarm not fed into the prisoner areas.”
“What’s the alarm for?”
“All available guards muster when it’s pressed. It’s usually used for large fights and that type of thing.”
“I didn’t realize you ever broke those up.”
Ignoring him, she said, “The second button rings an alarm throughout the prison and the third—”
“Notifies the external police of a prison emergency,” Gage finished for her.
“That’s correct, except for one thing. When that alarm is triggered, the ‘C’ alarm, it’s possible to cancel it if one has the proper cancellation code.”
“And you have it?”
“Of course. Once we’re clear of Berga, I’ll call and tell them to ignore all signals for the next hour, that we’re having problems with our system and testing it.”
“Will they buy that?”
“They will if it’s me calling. They know me.”
“Will anyone else here call the police?”
“Possibly, but they’ll think the alarm did its job. I would think most calls will go to
Los Leones.”
“It might give us the head start we need.”
She gestured to the door. “Can you still handle El Toro?”
Just as Gage was about to answer, the phone buzzed. She spoke for a moment, telling her assistant to wait one minute and send him in.
“Cuff me,” Gage said. “And when he comes in, put him next to me and then excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.”
“Okay.”
“I need some money, too.”
“How much?”
“Just twenty, thirty euro.”
She gave him forty euro from her purse. Gage held a handful of the aluminum pieces he’d taken from the back of the refrigerator along with the money. She cuffed him and he sat in front of her desk just before the prisoner was shown in.
Wearing manacles, Salvador the Semental was escorted in before she dismissed the guard.
“Please sit,” she said to Salvador. He stared at Gage with saucer eyes, certainly having never been summoned to this office before.
Just as de la Mancha opened her mouth to speak, she stared at her mobile phone, excusing herself and walking into her bathroom, feigning a conversation.
Speaking conspiratorially, Gage said, “Do you still have that clotting agent?”
“What?”
“The clotting agent you used on me.”
“Yeah. It’s in Nico’s cell.”
“Can you get it, and a few plastic bottles?”
“Why?”
“Sal—can you get the clotting agent and some bottles?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I want you to make as many bombs as you can, and I want you to set them off up on your terrace.”
“Bombs? Th’hell are you talking about?”
Gage handed over the aluminum chips. “Get the plastic bottles. Mix that clotting agent with water in the bottles, then drop these aluminum chips in. Screw the tops down, shake them up and roll them out on the terrace.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to try to escape, that’s why.”
“What?” Salvador said loudly.
“Shhh,” Gage said, eyeing the main door. “Wait until the guards are mustered in the main bay in riot gear, then mix those items and do as I said. Watch the center clock and drop the aluminum chips in at nine-oh-two on the button.” With his cuffed hands, he handed over the money.
Salvador eyed the cash. “How do you know the guards will be in the bay?”
“I just know.”
“Am I supposed to throw the bombs at the guards?”
“No. This is just a diversion. Start screaming and yelling after they go off. Burn toilet paper. All that stuff you guys do when you riot.”
Salvador was dumbstruck.
“Can you do it?”
“Yes.” Salvador glanced at the bathroom. “I’d heard you were in el aposento and were due to pay money to El Toro this morning,” Salvador whispered.
“Word travels fast.”
“He’s going to kill you,” Salvador said.
“He’s going to try to kill me.”
“Is la capitana in on it?”
“Yes, but she’s with me.” Gage pressed the money into Salvador’s hand. “You’re my only friend here, Sal. Keep all this quiet. Just hurry out, get those items, and get everything ready in the cell. You’ll see the guards mustering and—”
“At two minutes after nine I should make the explosions.”
“Exactly.”
Salvador extended his cuffed hands, bumping fists with Gage. “You saved me.”
“Now you can save me.”
“Make El Toro cry like a perra, okay?”
Gage smiled at his friend. “Hide those items and go to work. There isn’t much time.”
As Salvador stood and tucked the aluminum and money into his underpants, de la Mancha wrapped up her call. She hurried back into the room, asking if all was set and ready.
“Yes,” Gage answered.
“Oh,” she said, reaching into her bag. She produced a bundle of letters, tossing them to him.
They were from Justina.
“Where were these?”
“They were holding these from you, probably on orders of El Toro.”
“But I got one of them,” Gage said.
“The mail is run by trustees. I’m sure El Toro let you have one to tease you.”
“Prick,” Gage muttered, eyeing the envelopes. There were twenty-five of them.
“That’s typical of the little tortures around here,” Salvador said, clapping Gage on the knee, his cuffs jangling.
De la Mancha called her guard back in, telling him to un-cuff Salvador and release him back into general population. As he was led out, Salvador nodded at Gage.
“Nine-oh-two, mi amigo.”
When the two men had left, she un-cuffed Gage. “Salvador’s in,” Gage said.
“I just hope his timing will be right.”
“He’ll mix the items at nine-oh-two. After that, we can’t control how long the reaction takes.”
“Gage, how will you subdue El Toro? He’s got a gun.”
“I need a bag or backpack or something that looks like it might have the money in it.” She started to move but he stopped her. “Just know, when this goes down, there’s no turning back.”
“I’d rather die than turn back,” she answered with conviction. “So you’ve now got a plan?”
Gage explained.
* * *
The main bay was unusually quiet for the hour just after breakfast. Typically, other than late afternoons, this was one of the most raucous times of day. It was when prisoners, cooped up all night with their cellmates, enjoyed a brief respite from the man they were forced to spend their remaining lives with. Conversations ranged from debts owed, to loved ones, to who was copulating with whom.
But on this morning, as El Toro and a select few stood near the doorway to the long hallway, staring through the wire glass, the remainder of the prisoners talked in quiet voices. Los Leones, all of them, were the quietest. While they didn’t know exactly what was occurring, they’d heard whispers that today was to be a landmark. The other non-Leones prisoners were obviously alert enough to sense the sea change and some, like Salvador, had gotten word of a coming windfall for Los Leones. Rather than risk a beating, or worse, most prisoners kept to themselves, quietly speculating about what might happen.
At 8:48 A.M., when Salvador had been released back into the main bay, he was stopped by a hulking León and questioned by El Toro about why he was summoned. Salvador lied, saying that he took a phone call telling him that his mother was in the hospital and would die soon. El Toro shoved Salvador away, telling him he hoped his cunt of a mother would die in screaming agony.
A short time later, as the steel minute hand on the large main bay clock audibly clicked to 8:57 A.M., one of the guards appeared in the hallway. Baton in hand, he opened the door, pointing it at El Toro, motioning him from the main bay.
El Toro wasn’t searched, wasn’t even escorted away with any measure of caution. The two men could have been old friends. In fact, as they passed by the windows in the hallway, El Toro could be seen laughing at something he’d just been told by the guard.
And at his back, just above his waistline, bulged the hard outline of the .44 caliber AutoMag.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Capitana de la Mancha stood by the back door of her office. Even though Gage couldn’t see her, her breathing was audible from where he stood in the bathroom.
“You can’t release emotion like that, de la Mancha,” Gage commanded. “Calm down.”
“I’m trying, damn it. And I think it’s about time you start calling me Angelines.”
“Okay, Angelines, keep your head about you when this all goes down. I have no idea if the guards will hear the explosion.”
“But Teresa will,” she said, walking to her desk. “Can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”
“Who?”
“My as
sistant.” Angelines spoke on the phone for a moment. “She’s leaving.”
“What reason did you give her?”
“I sent her home because of her hangover. She probably thinks she’s getting fired.”
Gage surveyed his items. On the counter next to him was an overnight bag. In front of him were two soft drink bottles, both made of green plastic. He’d washed them out before fitting broken, pill-size chips of aluminum, taken from the back of the refrigerator, down inside of each bottle. In his right hand was the liquid drain cleaner. He viewed himself in the mirror. His forehead was greenish-blue, marked by yellow at the edges of the bruising. His right hand, gripping the drain cleaner, was also bruised and topped by abrasions on his knuckles. His elbow showed the gash that he’d first sustained at that Waco gas station—the gash that he’d ripped open several times since. He felt nauseous due to the pain in his kidneys and, after the activity of the last few days, his back and shoulder ached.
As he stared into his own eyes, Gage briefly thought about the fantasy that was Navarro’s payoff. Go to prison for a few years and never work again. And while he still believed Navarro to have been mostly genuine—even though he’d left out some crucial pieces of intelligence—Gage was angriest with himself for falling into such a pit of greed.
Gage knew that, with his vocation, his life was likely to be short and marked by numerous valleys. That, despite the cherry highs—his loving parents, making it through Special Forces selection, Monika, Justina—his life’s destiny was one of great pain.
“And shit situations like this,” he ruefully whispered. Though he’d never admit it aloud, he didn’t think he and Angelines would make it out of Berga alive.
Today was the probably the day his number would finally get punched, courtesy of a thuggish Spanish criminal syndicate.
Gage Hartline had been fed to the lions.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t do the world some good on his way out.
So, when the phone buzzed and Angelines placed her hand on the receiver, Gage vowed to make this first leg of the plan successful—and eliminating that scum El Toro would be a fine start.
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