Page 30 of Trapped

“Not you. Me.”

Her head jerked up. “What do you mean? I’m his contact.”

“But you could get caught.”

“So could you. And he may not trust you.”

“He may not trust you, either. You don’t know what Montgomery said to him. Or what he said to the doctor. He could have spilled the beans about you.

Containing a spurt of annoyance, or was it fear?, she said, “Let’s see where he ends up.” Instead of looking at Phil, she kept her eyes on the screen.

He shrugged and went to the back of the room, and she saw him taking a drink of water. Or swallowing a pill with the water. If so, he’d slid it out of his pocket and quickly popped it in his mouth.

More evidence of drug addiction? Or was he taking stimulants to stay awake?

When he turned a corner, she knew he was heading for the portable toilet. There was no door on the facility. So, both tried to be careful to give the other privacy.

She was glad he’d gone back there now. At least she’d have a few minutes when he wasn’t hanging over her shoulder.

She turned back to the diagram, seeing the blip moving that represented Cash.

In her mind she began speaking to him. “Cash, come on. Come closer to the exit and we can get you out of there.”

###

Carlton Montgomery repressed the impulse to smack his fist against the paneled wall.

Instead, he took several deep breaths, then sat down at his desk, and opened his laptop computer. In his file on Baker, he wrote down a summary of their session. At first, he’d thought he was going to get something from the man this time. Then he’d realized that the information was useless.

Was Baker reporting his dream accurately?

Or was he working some kind of con?

He wouldn’t have considered that possible a few days ago. But the man had seemed different today. More alert and surer of himself.

Until Carlton had started feeding him the story about his going berserk. That had shaken him up. But he’d still declined the offer of hypnosis. So, what did this whole session mean?

Baker was being given powerful medication every morning and evening. Had he skipped a dose? Had the sergeants failed to give it to him? Or was he only pretending to take the stuff. Was he in a rebellious phase? What?

Carlton consulted his patient notes, then scribbled a reminder on the pad next to the computer.

“Question the sergeants about Baker’s meds. Have them make damn sure he’s taking the stuff.”

He put down the pen and leaned back in his chair. He’d been giving the man a drug that would induce confusion and interfere with his short- and long-term memory. But was that enough? Maybe it was time for something heavy duty.

Unfortunately, the strategy could blow up in his face. The drug he was thinking about could fry the man’s brain. So, he’d have to be careful. But if that were his only alternative, he’d have to use it.

###

Cash walked down the hall in the direction of his room and went past it. Resisting the urge to look behind him or to walk more quickly than normal, he kept going as though he knew what he was doing. He stopped at a door and opened it. Inside was what looked like a dormitory with at least thirty bunk beds arranged in rows. All of them had mattresses but no sheets. Which must mean nobody was sleeping there.

Did most of the men here sleep in dorms? Was he one of the few with a private room?

And why? Maybe just the officers had that privilege.

He kept going for several dozen yards, then saw a side corridor and another door with a sign that said “Stairway.”

When he tried to turn the knob, it was stiff, and he thought at first that the door was locked. Then the door opened, and he stepped into a stairwell where he was able to descend one level—to another hallway.

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