Her thoughts clicked away. It all made sense. She'd had to fight upstream to get help that morning. All the SWAT team guys and C.O.s were running the opposite direction, toward the RHU. It was only by chance that she'd been attacked, run the wrong way for help, and discovered the slaughter in the security room.
She felt astonished at the ambition of the conspiracy, then flashed on the newspaper that she'd seen today. Williams's federal trial was scheduled to start this week. She remembered that the article had said that his trial would be on Tuesday. It jibed with why Graf would be meeting with Parrat today at Houlihan's. They would have been discussing last-minute plans. Williams would be moved to Philly tomorrow.
That meant that Williams would have to escape from prison tonight.
And Nat was the only one who knew.
Chapter 40
Nat stared stunned at the carved initials illuminated by the penlight, pale and thin as moonshade in the dark. She tested her theory and it sounded right. But what could she do about it? How could she tell someone? She had no cell phone, nothing. She checked her watch, the numerals glowing an eerie green, anachronistic in this historic place. It was 4:10 p.m. They'd wait until dark to let Williams escape. They'd need cover of night. She had to stop them and she didn't have much time.
First, she had to get out of the hole. She shone the penlight on the wall leading out to the first hole. The stones that had looked random before had been wedged into the wall in an ascending pattern, makeshift stepping-stones from so long ago. She marveled at the ingenuity and heart of these benighted people. She put a foot on the first stepping-stone, and it held strong and stable, then used the others to make her way slowly to the first hole, where she figured out a way to get out. She'd dig out footholes for herself on the side of the wall. She could do it, now that she saw how it was done. She even had a penknife to scoop them out. She whispered a prayerful thanks and started digging.
Almost two hours later, she came out of the hole with a plan an no time to waste. She brushed dirt from her pants and coat, ripped the blue tarp off the Neon, and yanked open the barn door. A lone car traveled down the road, headlights coming and taillights going. Sunday night traffic would be light. She'd be more exposed, vulnerable to the cops, but she didn't have any choice. At least it was dark out, a frigid night so piercingly clear that the stars scattered across the night sky looked like diamonds on a jeweler's black velvet.
She jumped in the car, started the engine, and reversed out of the barn and down the driveway to the road, where she ran over the broken electric fence and drove forward. She hit the gas and tore up the road. She'd need a phone. She slowed past one house and considered asking to use theirs, but rejected the idea. She couldn't take the risk. She kept driving and up ahead spotted the single light of a country store, but it was closed. She traveled down the road, passing houses until she finally found a gas station with a pay phone.
She pulled in, parked with her license plate away from the road, jumped out of the car, and ran into the phone booth. She left the door partway open so the light wouldn't go on and used the penlight to call 911. The call connected, and Nat said, "I want to report that there's going to be an escape at the Chester County Correctional Institution tonight-"
"Who's calling?" the dispatcher asked.
"It doesn't matter. I know for a fact that an inmate named Richard Williams is going to escape from-"
"Miss, where are you calling from?"
"Please, just listen. If you don't, a very dangerous criminal will escape from prison."
"Miss, I'm sorry, what is the nature of your emergency?"
"It's at the prison."
"You're at the prison, Miss?"
"No, there's about to be a crime committed at the prison. You have to send the police-"
"Are you in any danger, Miss?"
"No, but there's going to be a crime-"
"I'm sorry. This line is for emergency services only. If you wish to report a crime, please call-"
Nat repeated the number, hung up, and fished another quarter out of her pocket, then called the State Police station. When the call connected, she disguised her voice, just in case Milroy, Mundy, or one of the other troopers happened to answer the phone. "Is Trooper Mundy there?" she asked.
"No, he's not. Who's calling?"
"I can't say. There's going to be a prison break tonight at Chester County Correctional and-"
"Ginny, honey, who are you kidding with that voice? You sound like a rookie tranny." The trooper chuckled. "I told you, stop with the prank calls or it's your last sleepover. Now cut it out."
"No, please listen. I'm not Ginny. It's the truth."
"Who are you then, if you're not Ginny?"
"It doesn't matter, just listen to me. Send a car over to the prison right away."
"Ginny, I told you to stay off. Cut it out." He hung up.
Nat held the dead phone, desperate. Who else could she call? She watched the road nervously. A minivan went by. She dialed information for the number, fished another quarter out of her pocket, then placed a call to the federal marshals in Philly. When the call connected, she said, "I'm not sure whom I should be speaking with, but I have information that there's going to be a prison break-"
"Excuse me, who is this?" the marshal asked.
"I can't say. Please, you have to believe me. You have a car guarding Richard Williams at Chester County Correctional, right?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Okay. There's going to be a prison break there tonight. There’s conspiracy between a CO., the assistant warden, and a drug dealer to get Williams out-"
"A conspiracy, huh?" The marshal sighed. "How do you know about this conspiracy?"
"I figured it out. I was in a hole from the Underground Railroad and-"
"I'm very sorry, Miss, but we're busy here. I urge you to seek professional help."
"No, I'm not crazy! Please, listen, Richard Williams-"
"Please, seek help." The line went dead.
Nat hung up the phone. She didn't know what to do. She aimed the penlight and read the inky cell phone number she'd written on her hand, fainter since her shower, and called Angus. She watched another car going down the road as the phone rang, feeling her emotions well up. The call connected, and she was about to speak, but his voicemail came on. She bit back her feelings and waited for the beep.
"Angus, I don't know where you are or when you'll get this." Nat paused. She considered telling him about the tunnel, but she didn't know what he'd do. "Bye."
She hung up, emotionally shaky. Something made her want to call her father, which was palpably insane. But she couldn't go backward, so she had to go forward. She had to stop the escape and if she couldn't get anyone to help, she'd have to do it herself. But she didn't feel brave enough to go into the belly of the beast. It wasn't like her, and she knew it. They were right, when they said that, all of them. She was a scholar, a historian at heart. This wasn't just bleaching your hair and wearing dumb hats. This could get dangerous.
Her thoughts strayed to the hidden room under the ground and all those carved initials, each one a person who had summoned extraordinary courage. They fought for justice, in far worse circumstances. If they could do it, she could do it. She'd been teaching the History of Justice for three years, and she had never understood why before. It was for history to repeat itself. Right now.
She set her jaw, left the phone booth, and hurried back to the car. She drove with an eye on the rearview mirror and slowed when she turned the curve and spotted the prison, set in the middle of a field of melting snow. She drew closer and saw the razorwire and the lights, and near the entrance door, the dark sedan of the federal marshals. She couldn't get to them without going past the guardhouse, but she couldn't do that. She had no idea which C.O.s were in the conspiracy, and Graf might have one of his guys on lookout, since tonight was the night of the escape.