nothing else.
Where did the money go? It was moved by wire, and that's all he would tell Deville. His country's banking reputation depended upon secrecy, and he could reveal only so much. He was corrupt, but he did have his limits.
US.Customs cooperated after some initial reluctance. Trevor's passport had been scanned at Nassau International early that morning, and so far he had not left the Bahamas, at least not officially. His passport was red-listed. If he used it to enter another country, US. Customs would know it within two hours.
Deville delivered a quick update to Teddy andYork, his fourth of the day, then hung around for fin-ther instructions.
'He'll make a mistake,' York said. 'He'll use his passport somewhere, and we'll catch him. He doesn't know who's chasing him.'
Teddy seethed but said nothing. His agency had toppled governments and killed kings, yet he was constantly amazed at how the little things often got botched. One bumbling and witless lawyer from Neptune Beach slipped through their net while a dozen people were supposed to be watching. He thought he was beyond surprises.
The lawyer was to be their link, their bridge to the inside of Trumble. For a million dollars they thought they could trust him. There'd been no contingency plan for his sudden flight. Now they were scrambling to develop one.
'We need someone inside the prison,' Teddy said.
'We're close,' Deville answered. 'We're working with justice and the Bureau of Prisons.'
'How close?'
'Well, in light of what's happened today, I think we can have a man there, inside Trumble, within fortyeight hours.'
'Who is he?'
'His name is Argrow, eleven years with the agency, age thirty-nine, solid credentials.'
'His story?'
'He'll transfer into Trumble from a federal prison in the Virgin Islands. His paperwork will be cleared by the Bureau here in Washington so the warden down there won't ask any questions. He's just another federal prisoner who requested a transfer.'
'And he's ready to go?'
'Almost. Forty-eight hours.'
'Do it now'
Deville left, again with the burden of a difficult task that suddenly had to be done overnight.
'We have to find out how much they know,' Teddy said, almost in a mumble.
'Yes, but we have no reason to believe they suspect anything.' York said. 'I've read all their mail. There's nothing to indicate they are particularly excited about Konyers. He's just one of their potential victims. We bought the lawyer to stop him from snooping around behind Konyers' post office box. He's off in the Bahamas now, drunk with his money, so he's not a threat.'
'But we still dispose of him,' Teddy said. It was not a question.
'Of course.'
'I'll feel better when he's gone.' Teddy said.
A guard with a uniform but no gun entered the law library in mid-afternoon. He first encountered Joe Roy Spicer, who was by the door to the chamber.
'The warden would like to see you,' the guard said. 'You andYarber and Beech.'
'What's this about?' Spicer asked. He was reading an old copy of Field Stream.
'None of my business. He wants you now. Up front.'
'Tell him we're busy'
'I ain't tellin him nothin. Let's go.'
They followed him to the administration building, picking up other guards along the way until a regular entourage emerged from the elevator and stood before the warden's secretary. She and she alone somehow managed to escort the Brethren into the big office where Emmitt Broon was waiting. When she was gone, he said abruptly, 'I have been notified by the FBI that your lawyer is missing.'
No visible response from the three, but each instantly thought about the money hidden offshore.
He continued, 'He disappeared this morning, and there's some money missing. I don't have the details.'
Whose money? they wanted to ask. No one knew about their hidden funds. Had Trevor stolen from someone else?
'Why are you telling us?' Beech asked.
The real reason was that the justice Department in Washington had asked Broon to inform the three of the latest news. But the reason he gave was 'Just thought you'd want to know in case you needed to call him.'
They'd fired Trevor the day before, and had not yet informed the administration that he was no longer their attorney of record.
'What're we gonna do for a lawyer?' Spicer asked, as if life couldn't go on.
'That's your problem. Frankly, I'd say you gentlemen have had enough legal counsel to last you many years.
'What if he contacts us?' Yarber asked, knowing full well they'd never hear from Trevor again.
'You are to notify me immediately'
They agreed to do so. Whatever the warden wanted. He excused them.
Buster's escape was less complicated than a trip to the grocery. They waited until the next morning, until breakfast was over and most of the inmates were busy with their menial jobs.Yarber and Beech were on the track, walking an eighth of a mile apart so that one was always watching the prison while the other watched the woods in the distance. Spicer loitered near the basketball court, on the lookout for guards.
With no fences or towers or pressing security concerns, guards were not that critical at Trumble. Spicer saw none.
Buster was lost in the whining noise of his Weed Eater, which he slowly worked toward the track. He took a break to wipe his face and look around. Spicer, from fifty yards away, heard the engine die. He turned and quickly gave a thumbs-up, the sign to do it quickly. Buster stepped onto the track, caught up with Yarber, and for a few steps they walked together.
'Are you sure you want to do this?' Yarber asked.
'Yes. I'm positive.' The kid appeared calm and ready.
'Then do it now. Pace yourself. Be cool.'
'Thanks, Finn.'
'Don't get caught, son.'
'No way'
At the turn, Buster kept walking, off the track, across the freshly cut grass, a hundred yards to some brush, then he was gone. Beech and Yarber saw him go, then turned to watch the prison. Spicer was calmly walking toward them. There was no sign of alarm around the courtyards or dorms or any of the other buildings on the prison grounds. Not a guard in sight.
They walked three miles, twelve laps, at the leisurely pace of fifteen minutes per mile, and when they'd had enough they retired to the coolness of the chamber to relax and listen for news of the escape. It would be hours before they heard a word.
Buster's pace was much faster. Once into the woods, he began to jog without looking back.Watching the sun, he moved due south for half an hour. The woods were not thick; the undergrowth was thin and did not slow him. He passed a deer stand twenty feet up in an oak tree, and soon found a trail that ran to the southwest.
In his left front pants pocket he had $2,000 cash, given to him by FinnYarber. In his other front pocket he had a map Beech had drawn by hand. And in his rear pocket he had a yellow envelope addressed to a man named Al Konyers in Chevy Chase, Maryland. All three were important, but the envelope had received the most attention from the Brethren.
After an hour, he stopped to rest, and to listen. Highway 30 was his first landmark. It ran east and west and
