The Brethren

"So you want to be released now?"

"Pretty damned quick." Spicer said.

"Does it matter how you're released?"

They thought for a moment, then Beech said, "It has to be clean. We're not ru

"Do you leave together?"

"Yes." Yarber said. "And we have some definite plans on how we want to do it. First, though, we need to agree on the important things--money, and exactly when we walk out of here."

"Fair enough. From this side of the table, they'll want your files, all of the letters and notes and records from your scam. Obviously, Mr. Lake has to receive assurances that the secrets will be buried."

"If we get what we want." Beech said, "he has nothing to worry about. We'll gladly forget we ever heard of Aaron Lake. But we must warn you, so you can warn Mr. Lake, that if anything happens to us, his story will be told anyway"

"We have an outside contact." Yarber said.

"It's a delayed reaction." Spicer added, as if he were helping explain the unexplainable. "Something happens to us, like, for instance, the same thing that happened to Trevor, and a few days later a little delay bomb goes off. Mr. Lake gets himself outed anyway"

"That won't happen," Argnow said.

"You're the messenger. You don't know what will or will not happen." Beech said, lecturing. "These are the same people who killed Trevor."

"You're not sure of that."

"No, but we have our opinions."

"Let's not argue something we can't prove, gentlemen," Argrow said, ending the session. "I'll see my brother at nine in the morning. Let's meet here at ten.

Argrow left the room, left them sitting trancelike, deep in thought, counting their money but afraid to start spending it. He headed for the track, but turned away when he saw a group of inmates jogging. He roamed the grounds until he found a secluded spot behind the cafeteria, then he called Klockner.

Within an hour, Teddy was briefed.

THIRTY-SEVEN

The 6 A.M. bell shrieked through Trumble, through the corridors of the dorms, across the lawns, around the buildings, into the surrounding woods. It lasted for exactly thirty-five seconds, most inmates could tell you, and by the time it quit no one was left asleep. It jolted them to life, as if important events were pla

The bell startled Beech, Spicer, and Yarber, but it didn't wake them. Sleep had been elusive, the reasons obvious. They lived in different dorms, but not surprisingly they met in line for coffee, at ten minutes after six. With their tall cups, and without a word, they walked to the basketball court where they sat on a bench and sipped in the early dawn. They watched the prison grounds; the track was behind them.

How many more days would they wear their olive shirts and sit in the Florida heat, getting paid pe

"There are only two possible ways," Beech was saying. He was the federal judge, and they listened carefully, though it was familiar ground. "The first is to go back to the sentencing jurisdiction and file a motion for reduced time. Under very narrow circumstances, the trial judge has the authority to release an inmate. It's rarely done, though."

"Did you ever do it?" Spicer asked. No.

"Asshole."

"For what reasons?" Yarber asked.

"Only when the prisoner has provided new information about old crimes. If the prisoner provides substantial assistance to the authorities, then he might get a few years off."

"That's not encouraging." Yarber said.

"What's number two?" Spicer asked.

"We're shipped out to a halfway house, a really nice one where they don't expect us to live by the rules. The Bureau of prisons has sole authority in placing inmates. If the right pressure is applied by our new friends in Washington, then the Bureau could move us out and basically forget about us."

"Don't you have to live in a halfway house?" Spicer asked.

"Yes, in most of them. But they're all different. Some are locked down at night, with strict rules. Others are very laid back.You can phone in once a day, or once a week. It's all up to the Bureau."

"But we'll still be convicted felons." Spicer said.

"Doesn't bother me," Yarber said. "I'll never vote again:"

"I have an idea," Beech said. "It came to me last night. As part of our negotiations, we make Lake agree to pardon us if he's elected."

"I thought of that too." Spicer said.

"So did I." saidYarber. "But who cares if we have a record? The only thing that matters is that we get out."

"It won't hurt to ask," Beech replied. They concentrated on their coffee for a few minutes.

"Argrow's making me nervous." Fi

"How's that?"

"Well, he drops in here from nowhere, and suddenly becomes our best friend. He does a magic trick with our money, gets it wired to a safer bank. Now he's the point man for Aaron Lake. Keep in mind, somebody out there was reading our mail. And it wasn't Lake."

"He doesn't bother me," Spicer said. "Lake had to find somebody to talk to us. He pulled some strings, did some research, found out that Argrow was here and that he had a brother they could talk to."

"That's awfully convenient, don't you think?" Beech asked.

"You too, huh?"

"Maybe. Fi

Who.

"That's the big question." Fi

"Do we really care?" Spicer asked. "If Lake can get us outta here, fine. If somebody else can get us outta here, what's wrong with that?"

"Don't forget Trevor." Beech said. "Two bullets in the back of the head."

"This place might be safer than we think."

Spicer was not convinced. He finished a drink and said, "Do you really think that Aaron Lake, a man about to be elected President of the United States, would order a hit on a worthless lawyer like Trevor?"

"No." repliedYarber. "He would not. It's much too risky. And he wouldn't kill us. But the mystery man would. The guy who killed Trevor is the same guy who read our mail."

"I'm not convinced."

They wee together where Argrow expected to find them, in the law library, and they seemed to be waiting. He entered in a rush, and when he was sure they were alone, he said, "I just met with my brother again. Let's talk."

They scurried into their little conference room, closed the door, and crowded around the table.

"Things are about to happen very fast," Argrow said nervously. "Lake will pay the money. It'll be wired anywhere you want it. I can help if you want; otherwise you can handle it any way you wish."

Spicer cleared his throat. "That's two million each?"

"That's what you asked for. I don't know Mr. Lake, but evidently he moves fast." Argrow glanced at his watch, then looked over his shoulder at the door. "There are some people from Washington here to meet with you. Big shots." He yanked some papers from his pocket, unfolded them, and laid a single sheet before each of the three. "These are presidential pardons, signed yesterday"

With great reserve, they reached forward, took the papers, and tried to read them. The copies certainly looked official. They gawked at the bold letters across the top, the paragraphs of fussy prose, the compact signature of the President of the United States, and not a single word could be summoned. They were just stu

"We've been pardoned?" Yarber finally managed to ask, his voice dry.