"I'll tell you after dinner."
He started to speak—then clamped his mouth shut. Appreciating the wisdom of my decision. The fewer that knew the less chance of any slipups. A maximum of one keeps a secret a secret.
That evening when the rattle of spoons on metal had slowed and the slurping of the jellied gray dessert had replaced it, I took my tray into the kitchen, came out without it, and closed the door. Was watched by some of the slurpers with bleary-eyed interest as I slipped a tiny metal packet over the cable to the pickup on the wall.
"May I have your attention," I called out, hammering on the table with a spoon. I waited until the hum of voices had died down—then pointed to the side door.
"We are all going to leave now by that side door. The gentleman who is now opening it, Burin Bache, is your guide. You will follow him." I had to raise my voice to be heard over the babble of voices. "You will shut up now and ask no questions. All will be revealed later. But I can tell you now that the authorities will definitely not like what we are going to do."
This drew nods of approval since every inmate was here because of flouting the law and thumbing the nose at authority. This, plus all the hypnotics in the drinking water, had them trooping out quietly following my orders. I stood by the door, smiling and patting an occasional shoulder as they went by, working hard not to show any impatience.
With each passing minute there was a growing chance that the mass escape might be discovered. The kitchen staff and two guards were sleeping quietly in the storeroom; the wall pickup was transmitting a recording of happy diners munching away. And the two other doors were locked. That was the weak spot in the plan. Normally no one came into the dining area during a meal. But there were exceptions. I crossed my fingers behind my back hoping that this wasn't one of the exceptional days.
As the last bent shoulder moved by in front of me I sighed with relief, stepped through, and locked the door behind me. Followed my shuffling colleagues down the stairs to the service corridor, closing and locking each door after going through it. I did the same thing as we passed through the cellar, to the boiler room at the far end. The fire door here was heavier and slid closed with a satisfactory thud.
I turned to look at my colleagues, wringing my hands with pleasure.
"What's happening?" one of them called out.
"We are leaving here," I looked at my watch, "In exactly seven minutes!"
As might very well be imagined that caused no little stir. I listened to the voices then shouted them to silence.
"No—I'm not mad. Nor am I as old as I look. I had myself arrested and incarcerated in this place for only one reason. To crack out. I will now pass through you, that's it, move aside, thank you, to the far wall. You may or may not know that this prison is built on a hillside. Which means that while the other end of the building is deep in the earth and rock—this end is level with the road outside. Will you all kindly move to the far side of the room, that's it. As you can see I am placing a shaped charge of macrothermite on the wall. When ignited this not only burns but penetrates and keeps on burning until it reaches the other side."
They watched in tense silence as I patted into place a rough circle of the doughy substance, then sprayed it with sealant and pushed in an igniter.
"Push close together—get as far away as you can," I ordered, looking at my watch. When there were five seconds to go I pushed the igniter button and hurried to join them.
It was most dramatic. The igniter flared and a ring of fire sprang out from the wall. It crackled and flamed and smoked;there was a lot of coughing as the smoke spread and the vent fans labored to clear it. Then I pulled the hose from the reel and opened the valve to spray water on the wall. There were cries of fear and more serious coughing as clouds of steam added to the discomfort.
The hissing and crackling died down and I turned off the water, strode forward. I raised my foot and gave a good push against the circle of wall. It obliged me by falling outward with a rumbling crash.
"Lights out!" I ordered, and Burin threw the switches.
A streetlight lit up the ground outside, revealed the roll of carpeting. This began to rotate and the flexpowered end crept in through the opening. The carpet was red as I had ordered.
"Let's get out of here! One at a time. No talking and don't touch the wall or the ground. Stay on the carpet, which is heatproof. Burin—over here."
"It's working, Jim—it's actually working!"
"Your faith is touching. Make sure they are all out before you leave."
"Will do!"
I joined the line of shambling figures, hurried along the carpet, and jumped off to join the neatly uniformed figure of my wife.
"My love—"
"Shut up," she suggested. "There's the bus. Get them aboard."
There it was indeed. Engine idling, coachwork gleaming. A large banner on the side bore the message—
RETIREES MYSTERY TOUR
"This way," I said and turned the nearest man in the right direction and led the way to the door. "Go to the rear and find a seat. Put on the clothes that you will find on the seat—and the wig as well. Go."
I repeated this until Burin appeared. He took over the message muttering while I herded the remainder aboard. Angelina climbed in as well and sat in silence in the driver's seat.
"That's the lot," I said as cheerfully as I could.
"Door closed and we're away! I did this once before, years ago, only with bicycles." I turned and nodded approval at the gray wigs and dresses, at what appeared to be a busload of old ladies.
"Well done," I shouted. "Very well done."
And that was very well that. Other than my wife's cold silence everything was just about perfect. We rolled merrily into the night and were well out of the city before we saw a police checkpoint ahead. I struggled into a dress, popped on the wig, then led all the assembled ladies in a sing-song of "Row, row, row your boat—"
The bus had barely rolled to a stop before we were told to move on. There was many a high-pitched shriek of joy and a flutter of waved handkerchiefs as we left.
It was almost midnight before the headlights lit up the sign:
BIDE-A-WEE RETIREMENT HOME FOR GENTEEL LADIES.
I jumped out and opened the gate, then closed it behind the bus.
"Inside, ladies," I called out. "Tea and cakes waiting—as well as a self-service bar."
This last drew shouts of hoarse pleasure as they streamed inside, dresses and wigs now cast aside. Angelina signaled me over and I hurried to her side.
"What do I say to him?"
"I thought you were angry with me?"
"That's long past. It's just. . ."
He stood aside from the others, saw us talking. Walked slowly over to join us.
"I must thank you both—for what you have done for all of us."
"It just worked out that way, Pepe," I said. "The truth is we set the whole thing up to spring you out of that place. The operation sort of, well, grew a bit after that."
"Then you still remember me, Angelina? I recognized you at once." He smiled warmly and his eyes grew damp.
"It was my idea," I said quickly, before things got out of hand. "I saw this item in the news and felt obligated to do something. For old times' sake at least. Since I was the one who arrested you for stealing the battleship."
"And I was the one who led you into a life of crime," Angelina said firmly. "We felt a certain—responsibility."
"Particularly since we have been happily married for years and have two fine sons. If you two had not been partners I would have never met the light of my life," I added to make sure all the ground rules were known. Pepe Nero nodded and knuckled his eye.
"I guess about all I can say is... thanks. So it all comes out even in the end. I think I was always suited for crime, Angelina. You just set my foot on the right road. Now I am going to have a really large drink."