He was just waiting. Biding his time. He ate his food, drank his water, used the toilet, showered with the hose. Slept and woke. Slept and woke.
Yes, just biding his time. His patience, he had proven, was infinite.
Then one day he had a visitor, a middle-aged man who arrived with a briefcase and a polite, professional attitude. He spoke through the bars to Rogers after the guards had backed away to allow them privacy.
Rogers had listened to everything carefully.
The man had ended the meeting by saying, “Good luck.”
“It’s never really about luck, though, is it?” Rogers had replied.
And finally, after five more days, the time came.
“We’re moving you,” the head guard said.
“Why?”
The guard didn’t bother to answer.
He saw the bottle coming and then he was sprayed in the face with the gas. He fell heavily to the floor.
They lifted him off the floor and carried him to a waiting Army transport truck, where he was put into the back and strapped down to the floor. Six guards climbed in with him, guns resting on their thighs.
They set off. Their route took them along some back roads, and then they reached a highway and the truck sped up. They reached a bridge and drove across it.
One of the guards peeked through the back flap. “Damn, that’s a beautiful sight. Nothing like a bridge over water on a fine night.”
A second later Rogers ripped the straps off.
“Holy shit!” exclaimed the guard nearest to him.
He reached for his weapon but didn’t get there before Rogers threw him against the man next to him. Both went down in a tumble of arms and legs.
One guard got off a burst from his weapon but missed. He did not get a second chance. Rogers grabbed him by the shoulder and, using him as a weapon, smashed him against the other guards, who were knocked off their feet and thrown against the hard wooden sides of the truck.
Rogers flung open the canvas flap and looked out.
It was dark. There were car lights behind him. He looked to his right and saw the side of the bridge. He looked across the water and recognized Naval Station Norfolk, which meant that Fort Monroe was just across the channel.
He bent his legs and jumped to the right.
He cleared the concrete side of the bridge and went into a dive.
He didn’t know how far down it was, but it was long enough.
He straightened out, led with his hands, and cleanly broke the surface of the water. He went under, angled out his descent, and then headed back to the surface.
He stayed there only a few seconds before going back under.
The guards had recovered and were firing at him from the bridge. The bullets pinged into the water, but at this distance and in the dark they would be lucky to hit their target.
And they weren’t lucky. Tonight, the luck all seemed to be with Rogers. Yet, like he had told the visitor, it was never about luck. The bottle he’d been sprayed with had held nothing but oxygen. The guard’s comment about the bridge had been his signal to act. The rest of it had been up to Rogers.
But a little luck never hurt either.
He struck off for shore with powerful strokes of his arms and kicks of his legs. The channel was not very wide. They would deploy people to cover as much of it as possible.
But Rogers had spent a long time here training, and a great deal of it had been in this body of water. He had discovered landing spots that he suspected few knew about.
He pointed himself toward one of them and in short order arrived there. It was wooded and isolated, and when he came ashore his only companions were woodland creatures that ran away at his approach.
He had one more task to perform.
And then he was done.
74
EIGHT STORIES TALL.
And she was perched right on top.
Of course.
Veronica Knox looked at her watch and then walked toward the building. She was dressed in a long black trench coat with the collar turned up. Her features were tight, her gut even tighter.
In the lobby she was searched and her gun and phone taken from her. She was escorted up in the elevator by an armed security guard. The elevator opened directly into the vestibule of Claire Jericho’s apartment.
The woman was waiting there for her. She was dressed in a dark pantsuit. She took off her glasses and rubbed away a smudge.
The guard went back down in the elevator, leaving the two women facing one another.
“I was surprised you wanted to meet,” said Jericho. She made no indication she was going to invite Knox into the apartment.
“Unfinished business,” replied Knox.
“Really? I’m aware of none.”
“Rogers has escaped.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“You could be in danger.”
Jericho smiled. “And, what, you came here to warn me because you’re concerned about my safety?”
“I’ve checked. You have a great many friends in high places.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been doing this a long time. You build relationships.”
“You’re getting away with murder, you know.”
Jericho looked disappointed. “If this was the purpose for the visit, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time. And I have other things to do.”
“Did it hurt to lose your daughter?”
“Oh, you mean Helen?”
“Yes, Helen Myers,” Knox said tightly.
“I know what you want me to say. That it did hurt. That I miss her. That I’m grieving. But the truth is we didn’t really know each other. She was with her father most of her life, until he died, and then she came to me for help. And I did help. With setting her up in business. I feel like I was a good mentor to her. But that was really the sum total of our relationship. So, am I sorry she’s dead? Of course I am. Do I have the same level of grief as, say, your friend John Puller over losing his mother?” She shook her head. “The answer of course is and has to be no.” She paused. “And how are John and his brother doing? Are they holding up well?”
“You don’t have the right to ask that,” Knox said sharply.
“I was just being polite.”
“The unfinished business,” said Knox.
Jericho sighed resignedly. “You’re not going to shoot me. I know your weapon was taken. If you’re thinking of attacking me with your hands, please think again.” She drew a small pistol from her pocket and aimed it at Knox.
“That’s not my style,” said Knox. “It’s a bit amateurish, actually.”
Jericho smiled again. “Yes, of course. You and your group were so thoroughly professional in all that you did. Accomplishing what, exactly?”
“I also have friends in high places.”
“Yes, of course you do,” Jericho said patronizingly. “And I’m sure they look up from time to time and try to see my friends in higher places.”
“Do you remember Mack Taubman?”
Jericho pursed her lips. “Well?”
“He was a mentor of mine when I started out. Actually like a father to me. When I got involved in this case I went to him, questioned him about it. It was clear that he had some knowledge of what had happened back then, but he wouldn’t talk about it. He was scared. Scared, when he was the bravest man I knew.”
“And your point?” asked a clearly bored Jericho.
“He was found dead shortly after I met with him. They think it was suicide, but I know better. I think he contacted you. Maybe he finally wanted the truth to come out. Only you couldn’t allow that.”
“Oh, so now you have me involved in his death as well?” She laughed lightly. “Are there no horrors of which I’m not capable? And you speak of amateurism? Look in the mirror, Agent Knox.” She checked her watch. “Now, if there’s nothing else? I do have a country to keep safe.”
Knox stared at her for a few moments and then shook her head.
“No, that’s it. Thank you for meeting with me.”
Jericho gave a mock bow and pushed the button for the elevator. The car came up and Knox got on with the guard. She looked back at Jericho staring at her.