Still, he’d seen things. A lot of things. Things he could never talk about. Some of them were out of this world, literally.
“I appreciate that, sir,” was all he could get in before the senior officer launched into a reiteration of all the things he’d just said. It amazed Fredricks that the man had got to the position he now held, given his inability to be brief. Maybe he’d filibustered all opposition.
One of the privates marched over and stood in front of him, holding a distressed-looking gentleman firmly by the elbow.
“Are you in charge here?” asked the man.
Fredricks held up a finger. “I’m sorry, General. I have to go. Developments.” He ended the call before any questions could be asked.
The colonel nodded at the soldier. “Private, who is this?”
Before he could speak, the man jumped in. “My name is Dean Hanzus and I am warden of this facility.” He pulled his elbow out of the soldier’s grasp. “Get your hands off me.”
Fredricks nodded at the soldier. “Thank you, Private. Dismissed.”
“What the hell is going on here?” said Hanzus. “I wasn’t informed of anything.”
“There was nothing to be informed of, sir. This is a fluid situation. A craft has landed outside your facility and we are dealing with it.”
“A craft? What does that mean?”
“I am not at liberty to say.”
“But this is my prison.”
“And the US Air Force appreciates your cooperation at this time.”
Hanzus rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I’m going inside.”
“I’m afraid not, sir. Nobody is allowed in or out until this is resolved.”
“I’d like to see you stop me.”
Fredricks nodded. “Very well. Corporal Streeter, draw your firearm.”
Streeter immediately did so.
“If this gentleman attempts to enter the facility, shoot him. That’s an order.”
She spoke calmly. “Sir. Yes, sir.”
Hanzus looked at the gun pointed at him and then bent over in a peculiar way.
Streeter and Fredricks exchanged a look, before Fredricks cleared his throat. “Are you … OK, Warden?”
“Sorry. It’s just … I have a thing about women pointing guns at me.”
“I see,” said Fredricks, who definitely didn’t.
Over near the craft a commotion had broken out.
“Sir,” said Corporal Streeter. “Something is happening.”
“Damn it, Streeter. Tell those men we need those screens up now!”
“Yes, sir.”
He rushed over to the craft. It was circled by a dozen Marines, all pointing their guns at the ground in front of the craft, but not the craft itself. After an awful lot of meetings, that had been the compromise decided upon, so as to look alert but friendly. Fredricks had his own opinions on that, but nobody wanted to hear them.
The craft, having been silent since their arrival, was now making a noise.
Fredricks cleared his throat. “Alright, men” – he noticed the Marine standing opposite him – “and women. Nobody get an itchy trigger finger.”
Some of them reflexively took a step back as the roof of the craft started to open. The dome split in two and the metal slid away.
Inside sat a man – well, a humanoid. His head was bobbing about.
Fredricks moved around to get a good look at him. The man had black hair and a startled expression on the bits of his face that Fredricks could see. While there were many theories on what alien life looked like, upon none of which Fredricks could comment, there were some accepted principles. Like, for example, it was unlikely to come with its mouth gaffer-taped shut and a note pinned to its chest that read “I’m a big phoney.”
Fredricks shook his head. “At ease, men. This is some kind of publicity stunt.”
He moved forward and leaned into the craft, pulling out a large backpack, which he opened.
It was good to know that this job could still surprise him. “Well now, looks like we got ourselves a few million dollars here.”
Fredricks smiled at the man. “And you, son, have a lot of explaining to do.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
Dionne took a deep breath and typed in the number. Then she sat back on the couch as the call went through the laborious connection process. She’d sent the email an hour ago – a picture of Carlos Breida waving happily at the camera.
To say he was not what they had been expecting when they had started this operation was something of an understatement. He was having a lie down now, having felt slightly overwhelmed by the day he’d had. Teresa had checked his wound after dealing with Bunny’s. Both of them would apparently make a full recovery, although only one of them was demanding something called Jammie Dodgers, a big bar of soap and a bowl of “proper gravy”.
They had planned for the getaway as thoroughly as possible. Breida, Bunny, Smithy and Diller had been transferred to a van driven by Sister Tatiana. Sister Teresa had dumped the Winnebago, torching it in the middle of the desert, and then she had driven Zoya back in the changeout vehicle. Sister Joy had been tasked to “run interference” on any pursuit, but none had emerged. They had monitored communications closely, but by the time the authorities had realised they were missing two prisoners, Bunny and Breida were already in the safe house.
Apparently, this had been added to the extensive list of questions Freddie Draper would have to answer. Suddenly, the authorities were very interested in the Celestial Church of New Hope and why one of its employees had two million in cash. Martha had vehemently denied all knowledge of any kind of hoax. She had also assaulted two police officers while doing so. The Church was falling apart like a house of cards, and one Jacob Gold had reluctantly offered his legal services pro bono to assist the congregation in getting their money back. All in all, not a bad day’s work.
The call connected, and the screen switched to Bernadette and Assumpta sitting in front of the ever-present white wall. They looked better than they had twenty-four hours ago. The bruising had
