extremely urgent.”
“What man?” Vail asked, heading for the anteroom where the receptionist’s station was.
“The messenger. He gave it to me and left.”
Vail looked at the envelope, then walked back toward Burden. “But other than us, and my unit, no one knows I’m here.” This is not good. Not good at all.
Friedberg said, “You mean other than us, your unit, and the entire city of San Francisco.”
Shit, that’s right. What did I tell them? “Gloves?”
Burden stuck a hand inside his coat pocket and pulled one out.
“What do you do, carry an entire supply in there?”
“Boy Scout 101. Always be prepared.”
Vail slipped on the glove. “Boy Scout 101, huh? How about Anal Inspector 202.”
Burden wagged a finger at the envelope. “Shut up and open it.”
Using the tip of a pen, Vail carefully pried open the flap, then slipped out the piece of paper inside. Yeah. Not good at all.
Staring back at her was a message. From the offender:
THANK YOU FOR COMING AGENT VAIL.
August 6, 1959
“Leavenworth’s known as the ‘Big Top,’” the US Marshal said as he led MacNally up to the administration building’s double doors. “It’s also been referred to as the ‘Big L.’ We’ll be calling it your new home. But you’ll be calling it the biggest mistake of your life.”
A heavy steel rolling gate stood there ominously, MacNally’s first indication that this place was seriously committed to keeping its inmates contained on the other side of freedom.
The gate slid aside with the speed of molasses, agonizingly pointing out that once MacNally stepped across the threshold, his life was going to change forever. MacNally craned his neck upward to get a last glimpse of the sky as a free man, but the overhang of the building’s facade impeded his view.
MacNally tripped on the leg irons and stumbled through the gate into a lobby. To his left, a series of similar steel-barred barriers blocked the hall. To the right, a short corridor led to a couple of rooms.
The marshal grabbed hold of his left arm. “Wait here for the R &D officer.” He must have noticed MacNally’s confusion, because he clarified, “Receiving and Discharge.”
A man with the build and expression of a lumberjack walked up.
He pointed at MacNally. “Face the wall to your right.”
MacNally squinted. “What?”
“Face. The. Wall,” he said, as if MacNally was incapable of comprehending English. “Eyes front.”
MacNally did as ordered.
The marshal handed over a document. “Commitment order.”
The R &D officer took the paperwork and began to read it, then noticed MacNally was stealing a look at the text. “What the fuck you looking at? I said eyes front!”
MacNally swung his head back toward the grimy wall.
“Thanks, Deputy,” the officer said. “I’ve got custody. Be back in a few with the iron.”
The man grabbed hold of MacNally’s arm. “Let’s go.”
Ahead of him, barely visible through two more gates that boasted inch-thick steel bars, was an oddly out of place, intricately designed rotunda. An officer’s desk sat squarely in its center, with dark lines along the floor radiating outward toward the walls. Columns rose in pairs all around him, with hallways leading off the main hub.
The first gate’s bars slid apart and the two men walked through. They waited as it slammed shut behind them. The third one then opened slowly, and as they stepped forward into the rotunda, this door also struck metal with a violent echo as it banged closed.
Above him, a hundred, maybe a hundred fifty feet off the ground, rose a dome. Just like his design work on the exterior, the architect honed close to the US Capitol’s schema for the interior, as well.
The officer escorted MacNally through the rotunda and down a stairwell to their right that led to Receiving and Discharge. The arm and leg irons were removed and the officer left to return them to the marshal.
MacNally was stripped naked in front of the processing personnel and then searched for contraband and weapons-including his rectum and beneath his scrotum. An intake screening followed: a counselor interviewed him, asking about his work history, his education level, religion, and other such details. A physician’s assistant then asked him about his health to determine if he had any special needs. He had none.
He was then given his supplies-a printed manual that outlined Leavenworth rules and procedures; his clothing and bedroll; a towel, toothbrush and Dr. Finks tooth powder.
MacNally looked quizzically at the name on the latter product.
“That’s specially formulated stuff,” said the man issuing his kit. “After one good brushing, you won’t be able to keep your mouth shut.”
He said it with a straight face, but MacNally figured it had to be a joke. But he didn’t feel much like laughing.
A correctional officer approached, dressed in a tie and jacket, with a stern face and graying temples. His badge read, Voorhees.
“Take him to A &O,” the man said to Voorhees.
Voorhees frowned. “This way.” He led MacNally back through the rotunda. “Big L has four cellhouses, all joined right here. Centerhall. See those gates?”
MacNally saw them all right.
“Each cellhouse has only one door. Leads right here. Guards need to,
