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With the slightest movement, Glen pressed the wad of bills into Norman’s left hand. Norman’s fist closed around the cash. He shifted his other arm back and slipped Glen the pieces of paper with the necessary information scribbled on them.
The whole transaction took thirty seconds.
But it would pay off big-time.
* * *
Morning finally arrived.
The NYS Department of Corrections van pulled out of Auburn Correctional Facility promptly at 8:00 a.m., heading to New York City and Rikers Island.
Neither of the two armed corrections officers was looking forward to the endless drive ahead of them—more than six hours on the New York State Thruway, assuming no traffic. And there was always traffic.
Opting for the thruway meant the drive would be an hour longer. But the shortest route would take them from New York into Pennsylvania, then into New Jersey and back into New York. Bad idea. Neighboring states hated having prisoners transported on their roads, especially out-of-state prisoners. And this prisoner was a convicted rapist and murderer, definitely an undesirable.
So the short route was out.
Then again, there was an additional plus to taking the thruway. It was a restricted toll road—and that meant minimizing the stops that were necessary. The fewer stops, the fewer possibilities of something happening en route.
So the corrections officers were just going to have to suck up being on the road for the extra time.
* * *
Jack plugged his iPad car charger into the twelve-volt accessory outlet of the silver-colored Dodge Ram pickup. He grinned as the Find My iPhone app located the device in question—at Route 34 and the New York State Thruway. He secured the iPad to the dashboard so he could check out each and every location update.
That done, he reached for his iPhone and sent a brief text message: I see you.
* * *
Glen Fisher felt the phone vibrate at his crotch, where he’d taped it before leaving Auburn. The guards hadn’t even bothered to check that area of his body. Then again, he couldn’t blame them for not wanting to pat down the fresh urine patch he’d made on the front of his bright orange jumpsuit.
A brilliant idea on his part.
He completed the strategic move by faking embarrassment as the two moronic guards howled, pointing at Glen’s crotch and elbowing each other as they taunted him about how “the tough guy” had freaked out and peed his pants.
Let them laugh. They wouldn’t be laughing four hours from now.
* * *
The pickup truck headed for upstate New York.
In the back of the truck, two all-terrain vehicles were loaded. A U-Haul car trailer was hitched to the rear of the truck, holding a silver Ford Fusion, which rested securely, hidden beneath a car cover.
There was a lot of setup that still had to be done.
Three hours later, everything was in place. The Ford Fusion was innocently parked in the Hudson Valley Mall, along with dozens of other vehicles whose owners were shopping. The car trailer was dumped in a nearby field, obscured from view by tall grass.
From there, Jack navigated the truck through local roads and onto a farm-to-market road alongside the thruway. He got out and rolled the ATVs down wooden planks, hiding them from view behind some evergreens that had been planted by the state to diffuse the noise emanating from the thruway.
Done.
He hopped back into the pickup and turned onto Route 28, taking the thruway entrance. He pulled a toll ticket from the machine, then drove north toward Albany. A couple of miles ahead, he located the emergency vehicle turnaround between the north-and southbound lanes. Slowing down, he turned left, stopping perpendicular to the southbound lanes.
He stared at the iPad. Just a few more minutes. The thruway was quiet. Jack could see the Department of Corrections van in the distance, cruising along in the left lane. He waited, and then veered sharply left, accelerating into the fast lane as he headed south. The corrections officer at the wheel cursed, swerving into the right lane in an attempt to avoid the pickup that had just cut him off.
Jack wasn’t finished. He veered right, sideswiping the van and causing it to swerve out of control. It crashed into the divider and rolled down the small embankment into a drainage ditch along the highway.
Slowing, Jack eased onto the shoulder, then shifted the truck into Reverse and backed it up to the crash site. He got out, pulled a ski mask over his face and then shrugged the backpack he’d brought with him over his shoulders. Cautiously, he walked down the embankment, creeping toward the driver’s side.
