The Prisoner - Carlos J. Cortes [121]
Odelle turned toward the woman who had entered the stage with her, up to this moment off camera. “My colleague from the Federal Bureau of Hibernation is better equipped to answer that question.”
The camera panned to a slightly shorter woman with blond hair pulled from her face by a slender circlet of matte material. Below the image a caption scrolled: Genia Warren, Director of the FBH.
“Security at penitentiary installations remains unimpaired.” A faint smile, soft as candlelight, pulled at the edges of her lips. She turned toward Odelle and opened a hand in a small gesture, as if returning a ball.
The camera zoomed on Odelle’s tense face. She seemed about to retort, but the moment passed. She scanned the crowd and pointed again.
“Maria Schmidt, Boston Globe. How many inmates are involved?”
“The breakout took place with the help of a federal employee,” Odelle answered at once, “as well as medical personnel from a private facility.”
“My question was—” the journalist protested, but Odelle silenced her with a gesture.
“I heard your question. This is a case where extraordinary security issues are at play. I will not give any details that may risk the investigation. Next.” She pointed toward the rear of the room.
“Charles Douglas, Los Angeles Times. Can you tell us what progress has been made in your investigation?”
Again she smiled; it was obvious the question had been agreed upon earlier. “Several arrests have been made, including a family of Peruvian origin. On a raid by units of the DHS task forces, a quantity of explosives, weapons, and communications equipment hidden in the family’s home was subsequently seized.”
As if a bolt of lightning had suddenly energized everyone in the living room, all heads jerked toward the figure of Lukas, still leaning against the door frame, his face frozen in pain and horror.
On the screen, Odelle paused to stare fixedly into the camera. “No more questions, but I’ll leave you with a statement: Extraordinary events need extraordinary measures and the use of unparalleled resources. I’ve been empowered by the President to offer an unprecedented deal.” Once more she paused to stare into the camera lens, her stark expression softening. “The U.S. government will guarantee full protection, total immunity from prosecution—including that of the informer’s family—and fifty million dollars to whoever can supply information leading to the capture of the fugitives. We believe some of the people helping the terrorists may have been coerced or brainwashed. This is a unique opportunity to step forward and serve your country.” Odelle Marino’s face set once more. “It’s only a matter of time before all the terrorists are apprehended and brought to justice.”
The image faded into a blue background with a string of numbers in white, throbbing across the center of the screen. A phone number aimed straight at Lukas.
Although Henry Mayer didn’t count any gods among his friends, he believed there was a reason behind every event, even if that reason was not clear at the time. When, by two measly minutes, he missed his connecting bus to Tampa, he fumed for a while, dropped his bulky backpack on the concourse floor, and even considered kicking it with his new lizard-skin boots. But he thought better of it and slumped on a hard plastic bench to curse under his breath. There had to be a reason, a reason tied to his destiny.
Getting rid of his old persona had been much more involved than he ever thought possible. After acquiring supplies from a twenty-four-hour store, he’d unsuccessfully tried to rent a room at two small hotels, only to be turned away by the nose-twitching night staff. Eventually he’d managed to sway the attendant at a dingy hostel, suitably greased with five hundred extra bucks, into letting him in. After applying shears to his matted hair and beard, he shaved all hair from his head, except eyebrows and lashes, then soaked in an overflowing bathtub of hot water and liquid soap.