“Out we go, turn left and through the fire door.”
A moment later, they were descending in the freight elevator. They emerged into the underground car park and crossed to the laundry truck, Kathleen watching, her face pale with excitement.
Mori opened the rear door. “In you get. You’ll find what clothes you need in there. Get out of the prison uniform and make it fast. We haven’t got long.”
He took off his white coat, tossed it into a nearby trashcan, got behind the wheel, and drove away, passing the prison ambulance at the main entrance, the two guards lounging beside it, and turned out into the highway.
BY UNFORTUNATE CHANCE it was a good fifteen minutes before a nurse went into Clinic Three and was surprised to find it unoccupied. She went down to reception and spoke to the duty nurse there.
“What happened to Doctor Jessup and the patient?”
“They should still be there. Treatment takes an hour.”
“Well, they aren’t.”
“I’ll come and see.”
The prison guard was still reading his magazine when the door swung violently and the two nurses, having found the doctor’s unconscious body in the toilet, rushed in.
AT THAT PRECISE moment, the laundry van turned into the crowded car park of a large supermarket fifteen miles down the highway and Mori pulled in beside a dark sedan.
“This is where we change,” he told Kathleen, went round to the rear and opened the door. “Out you get.”
Ryan clambered out wearing a brown tweed suit and a raincoat. Kathleen kissed him impulsively. “You made it, Uncle Michael.”
Mori unlocked the sedan. “In you get.”
Ryan and his niece got in the rear, Mori slid behind the wheel and put on a chauffeur’s cap that perfectly matched his navy blue suit, then drove away.
Ryan said, “Where are we going? They must have put the alarm out by now. There’ll be cops everywhere.”
“Long Island.”
“But that’s a hell of a way from here,” Kathleen said. “They’ll have roadblocks on the highway and at the toll bridges.”
“None of which will do them the slightest good. Trust me and just sit tight.”
About ten minutes later there was the sound of sirens and three patrol cars passed on the other lane of the highway. Ryan said, “Christ, we could be in trouble here.”
Mori shrugged. “Keep the faith. We’re nearly there.”
A few moments later he took a slip road and then a left turn. A signpost said Jackson Aero Club and they came to it a few minutes later. There was a car park with a few vehicles, a single-storey administration block, two hangars and an airstrip, and twenty or so single- and twin-engined airplanes parked. There was also a Swallow helicopter standing on the edge of the airstrip.
Mori parked the sedan. “This is it,” he said and got out. He reached for Kathleen’s suitcase. “I’ll take that. Come on, let’s get moving.”
The pilot, a hard-looking young man in black sunglasses, started the engine as they approached. Mori opened the rear door. “Go on, in you get. Let’s move it.”
Ryan and Kathleen scrambled in and Mori followed. He closed and locked the door, then belted up, turned to Ryan and smiled for the first time.
“Long Island next stop. See what I mean? Easy when you know how.”
THEY LANDED AT Westhampton Airport on Long Island. A limousine with a driver drove straight out to the helicopter to pick them up.
As they drove away Kathleen said, “Do I get time to catch my breath? Where to now?”
“The Russo residence at Quogue. Don Antonio wants to meet you,” Mori told her.
“Does he,” she said belligerently. “And he always gets what he wants, does he?”
“Absolutely.” Mori turned and smiled for the second time. “I’d remember that if I were you, sweetness.”
THE WORD OF the escape spread like lightning at Green Rapids Detention Center. Salamone, on duty in the prison hospital, received the word from a man on laundry detail called Chomsky. He paused as he was pushing a trolley full of soiled linen out of the ward.
“Hey, Paolo, you heard the good word? That guy Kelly, the Irish guy?”
“What about him?”
“Escaped when he was down at the General Hospital for treatment. I got it from Grimes up in the warden’s office. All hell broken out. It’s this joint’s first escape.”
“Well, all I can say is I wish him luck,” Paolo said.
He thought about it for the next half hour until his meal break. When it came, he went to one of the inmates’ phone boxes and used his card to ring Sollazo, who was just about to leave for Long Island when his secretary offered him the call.
“Yes, Paolo?”
“Hell, we did good, didn’t we? I did good.”
“Only what I expected.”
“So I can look for some sugar? You promised you’d get me out. I’ve made my bones on this one. I’ve earned it. I mean, you wouldn’t let me down?”
There was urgency in his voice, but more. The hint of a threat, and Sollazo recognized it at once.
“My dear Paolo, have no fear. I’m really going to take care of you and much sooner than you think. Be patient.”
He sat there thinking about it, then picked up the phone and dialed a number. It was picked up instantly. Sollazo didn’t need to identify himself.
“In the matter of Salamone, we need a solution. Get in touch with your man at Green Rapids and tell him you want a result, and I do mean now.”
“Consider it done.”
Sollazo put down the phone, got his raincoat and briefcase, and left.
THE GREAT SITTING room in Russo’s magnificent house at Quogue seemed to stretch to infinity, glass sliding doors opening onto a kind of boardwalk platform above the water. In the dim light of early evening, Ryan and Kathleen sat at a table by the rail.
“I can’t believe this,” she said.
“I know. I keep thinking I’ll wake up and find it’s morning and I’m in my cell.”
Sollazo stepped out from the sitting room. “Ah, there you are. Allow me to introduce my uncle, Don Antonio Russo.”
The Don walked out behind him leaning on his cane, a cigar in his mouth. He extended a hand. “Mr. Ryan, a pleasure, and Miss Ryan.” He turned to Sollazo. “A celebration is in order, I think.”
“Taken care of, Uncle.”
Mori came in with a bottle of champagne in a bucket and glasses on a tray.
“Ah, the hero of the hour. You did well, Giovanni.”
Mori managed to look modest. He opened the champagne and charged the glasses. The Don said, “Go and get another glass. We won’t drink without you.” Mori did as he was told. When he returned and filled his own glass, the Don said, “A toast. To you, Mr. Ryan, and your return to the land of the living and to our joint enterprise, the
AT GREEN RAPIDS, Salamone was just finishing his nursing shift at the prison hospital. He went into the men’s room to wash his face and hands, and one of the porters followed him in. When he looked up he saw it was Chomsky, who leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette.
