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Chapter 19
The large, elegant library in Agent Pendergast’s mansion on Riverside Drive was the last room one would expect to call crowded. And yet-D’Agosta reflected moodily-there was no other word for it this evening. Tables, chairs, and much of the floor were covered with plats and diagrams. Half a dozen easels and whiteboards had been erected, showing schematics, maps, routes of ingress and egress. The low-tech reco
In the middle of the controlled chaos sat Gli
As far as D’Agosta was concerned, Herkmoor was invincible.
From there, Gli
He glanced around the library, waiting impatiently for Gli
Next, D’Agosta’s gaze fell on Constance. She sat at a side table opposite Wren, a stack of books before her, listening to Gli
She’s probably as skeptical about all this as I am, he thought. Because as he looked around at their little foursome-Proctor, the chauffeur, was unaccountably absent-he couldn’t imagine a group less suited for such a daunting task. He had never really liked Gli
There came a pause in Gli
“Do you have any questions or comments so far, Lieutenant?”
“Yeah. A comment: the scheme is crazy.”
“Perhaps I should have phrased the question differently. Do you have any comments of substance to make?”
“You think I can just waltz in, make a spectacle of myself, and get out scot-free? This is Herkmoor we’re talking about. I’ll be lucky not to end up in the cell next to Pendergast.”
Gli
“If I go in there and make a scene, won’t it put them on alert?”
“Not if you follow the script. There is some critical information which only you can get. And some prep work that only you can do.”
“Prep work?”
“I’ll get to that shortly.”
D’Agosta felt his frustration rise. “Pardon my saying so, but all your pla
Gli
“It’s just going to get me into deeper shit than I am already.”
After dropping this epithet, he glanced at Constance. But the young woman was staring into the fire with her strange eyes, not even seeming to have heard.
“We never fail,” Gli
“I’ll tell you what we really need: a pair of eyes on the inside. You can’t tell me none of those guards can be turned-blackmailed, whatever. Christ, prison guards are one step away from being criminals themselves, at least in my experience.”
“Not these guards. Any attempt to turn one would be foolhardy.” Gli
“Hell, yes.”
“Would it secure your cooperation? Silence all these doubts?”
“If the source was reliable, yeah.”
“I believe you will find our source to be above reproach.” And with that, Gli
D’Agosta glanced over the sheet. It contained a long column of numbers, with two corresponding times linked to each number.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“A schedule of guard patrols in the solitary unit during lockdown, from ten P.M. to six A.M. And this is just one of the many useful pieces of information that have come our way.”
D’Agosta stared in disbelief. “How the hell did you get it?”
Gli
“And who might that be, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“You know him well.”
Now D’Agosta was even more surprised. “Not-?”
“Special Agent Pendergast.”
D’Agosta slumped in his chair. “How did he get this to you?”
This time a true smile broke over Gli
“Me?”
Gli
“There’s an old drain in Pendergast’s cell-as in most of the older cells at Herkmoor-which was never hooked into the modern sewage treatment system. It drains into a catchment basin outside the prison walls, which in turn empties into Herkmoor Creek. Pendergast writes us a message on a scrap of trash, sticks it into the drain, and washes it down with water from the sink, which ends up in the creek. Simple. We discovered it because the DEP had recently cited Herkmoor for the water-quality violation.”