For phase 2, I started modifying my appearance to match the cop who escorted me here. Hopefully he was day shift and would've gone home by the time I was ready to bust out, and if someone spotted me it would notice that I wasn't wearing the police accoutrements.
Oh, who was I kidding. This wasn't a plan, it was a desperation move. Most likely I'd end up having to fight my way out and play the lead in a chase to the river. I recalled the fleas, swallowed them, and twisted the bar. As expected, it came out easily, leaving me a tight but passable gap to squeeze through. I replaced the bar behind me, then crept to the door and put my ear to it.
The general office area on the other side of the door had a couple of desks, a front counter, and some back rooms. There have been four cops, including my escort, when I was incarcerated, but now it was night. And I hoped the night shift would be smaller. Maybe even a single person. I cracked the door and slowly pulled it open, peering through the gap. I had about a 30° view of the office area. Empty.
Oddly, that was more worrying than reassuring. There would certainly be at least one person, and I have no idea where that person was. I quickly pulled the door open a little further and stuck my head out for a fraction of a second and took a panoramic snapshot. As I began carefully pushing the door closed, I took the time to examine the image. Two cops. Damn.
But in one of those Murphy moments, the door that had moved so silently for me when I opened it quickly, squeaked as I slowly closed it.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I muttered.
A voice from the office said, “What was that?”
And another replied, “It came from the cells.”
Then the first voice again. “I’ll check if there's a problem.”
Great. They'd undoubtedly turn to look at the door, so I couldn’t move in any further. In particular, I couldn't re-latch it. I left the door slightly ajar and moved to stand behind it - standard cliché move, but I knew I could react faster than the cop.
He came into the room cautiously, but the kind of caution where you don't actually believe you’re in danger. His loss, my gain. As soon as he was past the door, I swatted him on the side of the head. By this point, I'd swatted so many Quinlans that I have the strike finally calibrated. I caught him as he crumpled. If I'd had the time I would've modified my features to match his, but I only had a few seconds before the second cop would get suspicious and come in with short sword drawn.
I pulled the door open, careful not to show my face, and said using the unconscious cop’s voice from a few seconds ago.
“There's a problem.”
The other cop came into the room and bam, down he went.
It was the work of a few moments to take the keys, place both cops in the cell, and lock them up. Hopefully they wouldn't test the bars, or they'd be out of jail quickly, but I simply didn't have time to tie up all the loose ends. I had to be gone before they regained their senses, as they might start up a hue and cry that would bring help in short order.
Placing the keys on one of the desks, I grabbed my backpack from where I'd seen the cop store it and sauntered out of the constabulary as nonchalant as you please, not quite whistling a jaunty tune. As soon as I was around the corner. I cut in the afterburners and made for the river.
I took a quick glance at the boat still a dock to verify that the Clipper was gone, then dove into the river. The ideal depth for speed swimming was about a foot down. Not so close to the water’s surface that I caused cavitation, but close enough that the water I was displacing could easily bulge upward to get out of my way. I would have to surface every mile or so to look for the running lights of boats in the area, and I'd have to check out each one until I found the Clipper. The Manny could probably keep up a maximum pace for six hours before I’d have to stop to do a maintenance check. Chances were that the check would reveal nothing and I could continue on. Overheating wouldn't be a problem in the water, as long as all systems continued to operate properly. These and other thoughts echoed through my brain as I drove the Manny eastward.
Another problem I would have trouble with would be explaining how I caught up with them. Not just caught up with them so fast, but caught up with them at all. A bio Quinlan wouldn't have been able to maintain the necessary pace. This stretch of the river was busy. I checked close to a half dozen boats before dawn. It didn't require much finesse, very few boats adhered to a standard design, and even boats built by the same shipyard would have incremental changes on every new build. If that wasn't enough, the sails were quite often individualized, although that wasn't much use at night. Once dawn broke, I could use telescopic vision to check boats from a greater distance. Very few required me to even change course, and finally I spotted the Clipper cruising along near dead center on the river. Now, how was I going to explain my reappearance?
I swam parallel to the boat for a while, formulating and discarding increasingly wild scenarios. Then I had an idea.
