entire escape scene had been choreographed for Passar’s benefit, with the guard being
part of the drama. Ordinarily the man would never have stood within arm’s length of the
prisoners like that, and he would have stunned first and asked questions later. But the
breakout had to look realistic enough so that Passar wouldn’t smell a trap. Jules needed
Passar, all right. Not to help him escape, as the old man thought Jules could have walked
unmolested out of the prison, and he’d memorized its floor plan; instead, he needed
Passar as a passport to whoever was recruiting the murderers.
“Khorosho, but hurry it up,” he snarled. “The alarms must have gone off in the front office
by now.
“Of course they have, the instant that door was opened,” Passar said, racing out of the
cell. “Let’s go this way.” “But the front entrance is that way,” Jules protested, pointing in
the opposite direction. “I remember that much from when they brought me in.
“Sure-and that’s exactly the direction they’ll expect us to go. This way’s the laundry
chute; they won’t look for us in there right away.” He pulled at Jules’ sleeve. “Come on.
Jules followed the older man down the narrow corridors of cells. They passed plenty of
other prisoners who watched them go by silently. Some of the men gave Jules the high
sign as he went by, wishing him luck and wishing they could be along. None of them
would utter a sound or do anything to ruin his chances of escape. Such was the
camaraderie of prison life.
The sound of running footsteps came from the hall ahead of them. Passar found them a
small side door and they turned into it just as a group of guards appeared at the far end
of the hallway. While Jules and his partner scarcely dared breathe, the squad ran past
their hiding place and back down the corridor the pair had just come from. Passar waited
several seconds to make sure they’d all be gone, then burst out of the room and
continued on his way. Jules was right behind him, brandishing his weapons menacingly.
They came to the laundry chute. Passar opened it up and slid down it without hesitation;
again, Jules was right on his tai!. Together the two men tumbled down the metal slide
and landed with a soft whoosh amid a pile of smelly old prison uniforms. Climbing quickly
out of the bin, they looked around.
It was Passar who found what they needed-some guard’s uniforms that had been stained
and were sent here for quick cleaning. Jules found one his size and was starting to get
into it when an inmate-a trusty, no doubt-came around the corner. Before he could do
much more than register his surprise, Jules had given him a light stun. As he fell to the
floor, Jules continued dressing.
There were no uniforms in Passar’s size, so they hastily devised a plan. “I’ll be a guard
transporting you to another cell block,” Jules said. “If we play it right, no one’ll give us a
second glance. Which way do we go?.
“‘That way’s out.” Passar pointed to a small locked door that led out the side of the
laundry area. A short blast from Jules’ gun and the door was no longer a barrier. The two
men walked out into the yard, Passar a little ahead with Jules holding the stun-gun on
him.
There was great confusion in the yard as guards rats around everywhere, trying to look
as though they did not know exactly what was going on. Actually, Jules’ and Passar’s
actions had been monitored each step of the way, and all the guards had been told that
the breakout was scheduled. Their major concern was to see that none of the other
prisoners took advantage of the situation and tried any breaks on their own.
A number of guard cars had been scattered about the yard. Jules and Passar took the
one that looked the fastest and got in. “We’ll never get out the gates, though,” Passar
was muttering. “They close automatically at an escape attempt, and can only be opened
from a guard station.
“Stop sniveling,” Jules snapped at him. “I’m a guard now myself, remember? And I’ve got
a couple of guns.” As he drove up to the gate, he said, “Get down on the floor where
they can’t see you. I’ve got an idea.” Passar did as he was told, and Jules stopped in
front of the closed steel gate. A guard came over to him and recognized him instantly as
the man he was supposed to let escape. Nevertheless, he had to make it look good.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“The warden wants me to patrol the perimeter,” Jules said. “He thinks they may have
found a way to get outside the walls, and he wants me driving around to see if I can spot
anything.” He also winked at the guard, a gesture Passar could not see from his position
on the floor.
The guard gave an imperceptible nod and said, “Khorosho, pass through.” With a wave
of his hand he signaled his companion in the booth to open the gate. As the monstrous
steel doors swung wide, Jules gave him a wave of his hand and drove quickly outside.
He started around the wall until he was out of sight of the sentry, then tore off across the
open countryside in the direction of Bhangora.
Passar climbed up off the floor to sit beside Jules again. “I didn’t think it’d work,” he said.
“I thought you had to have special papers or something to get out.
“Aah, we got them so confused right now they don’t know what they’re doing,” Jules
excused.
“In any event, we won’t have more than a couple of minutes before they realize we’re
gone,” Passar said. “Better gun it to Bhangora. That way.” He pointed, and Jules drove
obediently in the indicated direction. From here on, he’d have to let Passar lead him if he
intended to get where he wanted to go.
Three minutes later, Passar, who’d been checking out the window behind them, said,
“They’re on our tail.” Indeed they were. At least a dozen police cruisers were chasing
them, making a pretense at trying to recapture them. Jules hit the accelerator as hard as
he could and the escapees’ car zoomed ahead at maximum speed. Jules’ reflexes were
superb, and he drove the car like an extension of himself. On the seat beside him, he
knew that Passar was sitting white-knuckled at the recklessness of his driving. All part of
the atmosphere, Jules thought, smiling inwardly.
If this were a real jailbreak, of course, there would be roadblocks ahead of them as well
as pursuit from behind. There would be copters and personal flyers spotting them from
the air, possibly even dropping small gas bombs. But this break was programmed to
succeed, and it couldn’t be made too difficult. At the same time, those cars to their rear
had to be used so that it wouldn’t look too easy to the suspicious Passar. The main point
was that events had to move so fast that he wouldn’t have time to think; he would have to
accept events at their face value. For five minutes they zipped along country roads and
through open fields where families of peasants were tending their crops. After that,
though, they reached the edges of the city. Houses became bigger and more closely
spaced; other types of buildings-factories, shops, grocery stores-began to make their
appearance. People were more prevalent, too, walking along the sides of the road,
carrying bundles, engaging in commerce. Despite his desire to hurry, Jules had to slow
down to avoid hitting any of the pedestrians.
“We’ll have to ditch the car soon,” Passar said. “They’ll have tracers on us in a little while.
We’re getting into a neighborhood I know, though, so we’ll be able to find hiding spots
until some of the heat’s off.” He began directing Jules along the proper course.
They were definitely within the city now, and Jules’ speed had been reduced practically
to a crawl. The houses to either side were dirty and ill-kept. Windows were shattered
more often than not. Children played naked in the streets, their shouts and squeals
echoing down the canyons of buildings. Wash hung from lines that were strung across
the streets themselves, sometimes only a meter or two above the tops of passing
vehicles. The clothes could not get completely clean that way, but no one seemed to
care very much.
The people living in the houses, though, were the lucky ones. The sidewalks were
jammed sometimes two or three deep with people and their belongings. Tattered old
blankets stretched out on the ground served some people as mattresses. Others lay
down just in the hard-packed dirt or mud. Small fires were set right out at the edge of the
street, where soup kettles seemed to be constantly boiling. Everywhere was the look of