The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) (52 page)

THREE DAYS AFTER
Molly’s arrival—three therapeutic days of French pastries, milkshakes, and laughing with my bestie—James sent word from Salpêtrière that Dr. Marie was willing to release Lachlan. Bane and Cyrus returned immediately to collect him.

Lachlan was jumped straight back to our time, where he would finally get proper treatment. Given the severity of his time sickness, it was unlikely that his mental faculties would ever be restored completely. But, in time, there was a chance he might be able to function again. At the very least, he wouldn’t be subjected to the heinous conditions that twentieth century asylums were known for. Without his tattoo, Dr. Merriweather was concerned the jump might do Lachlan more harm than good, but Cyrus thought it was a risk worth taking.

Charles sent more flowers, called, and knocked on the front door with increasing frequency. On Cyrus’s orders, Molly turned him away each time. Had I asked, she would have defied our boss and let him in. As tempted as I was, and as badly as I ached to see him, I didn’t protest the moratorium on face-to-face contact. While I knew that I couldn’t explain away my visible injuries, it wasn’t the only reason I went along with Cyrus’s plan. When it came down to it, seeing Charles would only prolong the inevitable.

It was better for both of us if I cut the cord now.

Nonetheless, I looked forward to Molly’s play-by-play each time Charles stopped by. Because, truthfully, I missed Charles. And I think my roommate knew it. She was heedlessly persistent that I grab life by the rhino and let him in for a little sexy time before I left.

“I see why you’re so enamored,” Molly told me, after a heated conversation with Charles that ended with her slamming the door in his face. “That guy is,” she fanned herself dramatically, “
so
hot.”

I refused to dignify her theatrics with a response, though it didn’t slow her down one bit.

“You know,” she continued. “If you want, I can step out the next time he comes by. Do a little shopping. Hit a nightclub or two. Maybe gamble at one of those clubs posh people love so much. I have a feeling that a little alone time with Charles is just what you need.”

I glared at her. “Cyrus said no. And you know it’s a bad idea, regardless.”

Molly waved off my protests, rolling her big blue eyes skyward.

“Flings are okay, Stass. Everybody does it. Be bad for once. It will feel
oh
so good.”

Yes,
flings
were okay. But I wasn’t sure I would classify spending time with Charles as a fling. As unfortunate as it was for all parties involved, I had feelings for him. I wanted to know him better. I wanted to talk to him, laugh with him. And yes, eventually do
other
things with him.

Had my interests only been on those other things, I would have taken her up on her offer to skedaddle for an evening. But they weren’t. So, I let his calls, flowers, and concerns go unanswered.

Though not nearly as persistent, Hadley’s inquires after my health had increased, as well. Since my friendship with her wasn’t as complicated, I accepted her calls. I promised Hadley I was on the mend, and even hinted that there was a chance I’d be feeling well enough to receive visitors before she left for Germany. Her enthusiasm over the prospect was surprisingly genuine. I felt awful and deceptive, since my interest in seeing her was more business than pleasure.

If I could get Hadley out of her house when Ernest was off writing or on a walk, Molly could search the apartment again. Cyrus had said to forget about the run, but I wanted something productive to come out of this disastrous trip. I wanted
Blue’s Canyon
. Both because I am a finisher, and because Gaige wanted to read the rest of it.

One week after the theater night, Molly returned to the townhouse in a terrible mood after visiting Gaige. After a session with Felipe to rid her hair of the blue streaks, Molly had been to the jail every day to see him. Every other time, she’d returned in good spirits. But this day was different. She flopped angrily in the armchair by my bed, her expression a mixture of anger, fear, and immense sadness. The sight of her like that sent me into a panicked tailspin.

“The judge ruled today,” Molly spat. “They’re not letting Gaige out.”

I stared at her for a long moment.

“Ever,” she finished.

When she calmed down enough to explain, it was even worse than I’d thought. Between the pressure to solve the murders and the fact that the Night Gentleman had not struck since Gaige was taken into custody, the police were convinced my partner was their guy. According to the alchemist lawyer, the evidence against him was thinner than a heroin-chic runway model. Unfortunately, justice was both blind and senile in this case.

Regardless of what the Parisian police had decided, a trial was out of the question. There was absolutely, positively no way that Gaige could stand trial.

That left only one possible course of action.

“How do we break him out?” I asked.

In true roll-with-the-crazy form, Molly didn’t bat an eyelash at my suggestion. Instead, she perked right up.

“Well, let’s see,” she began, looking almost excited. “We could bribe the guards?”

“Too chancy,” I replied. “We could get him a hacksaw for the bars on his window?”

“It’s halfway underground,” Molly answered automatically. “Do you think we could get guard uniforms?”

“I don’t think there are female guards in this time. Suffrage is just now rolling,” I reasoned. “Do you think your mom could get us enough sleeping gas to knock out everyone in the station?”

“Too much airflow on the windows without glass. What about escaping through a ventilation system?”

“Do they even have ventilation systems yet?”

“A rat with a key tied to him?”

“How would we get the key?”

“Bribe a guard?”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I cracked up. We stared at each other for several long moments.

“You’d think that we’d have some sort of advantage, being from the future and all,” I intoned. “We’re obviously not very good prison-breakers.”

Suddenly, Molly bolted up. Had she been a cartoon, “Eureka!” would’ve appeared above her head.

“We might be able to jump him out!” she exclaimed. “You know, use our advantages. They’ve been taking me down to his cell when I visit Gaige. They lock it behind me, and a guard is stationed outside of it, but the cells are underground. The walls are
stone
. So we’ve got earth. We just need water. Or we could start a fire in his cell? That might be tricky, I don’t know if they’d be cool with us taking matches in for a friendly visit with a supposed murderer.”

“And water isn’t problematic?” I said dryly.

She shrugged. “Maybe not. There are a lot of exposed pipes down there. We might be able to flood the cell.”

Even though the jailbreak scenario had been my idea, I stared at her doubtfully.

“Flood the cell? Seriously? We’d have to flood the whole level.”

“No. We just need enough running water to stand in. Then we could jump.”

“Okay. What about the guard?” I asked.

“Hit him with a little memory modifier,” she said, as if it were really that simple.

Memory modifier was a last-resort drug. It was typically only used by the cleanup crews, and only in rare, extreme cases when an individual saw something they shouldn’t. Things that couldn’t be explained away.

“All the guy will remember is Gaige being in his cell one minute, and gone the next,” Molly continued. “It will look like a run-of-the-mill prison break. Except, no one will see Gaige leave.” She grinned at me. “His disappearance will be one of the great mysteries of all time.”

“What about time sickness? An unorthodox jump will make Gaige sick. And you, too. Although, you don’t have to be there. I can go on my own, and you can go back through customs.”

Molly gave me a look of exasperation.

“I’m not sitting out a prison break,” she declared. “You commit a felony, I commit a felony. That’s how we roll.”

“Molly, do you really want to go through that again? Especially so soon?” I asked gently. “It was miserable. I don’t want to see you like that ever again. Not to mention, the risks inherent with suffering time sickness repeatedly. Do you want to end up in a nuthouse?”

“Look around, Stass. We already live in one. Plus, I’m retired from running now anyway, so it isn’t like I need to worry about time sickness in my future.” Steely reserve shone in my best friend’s eyes. “Besides, it’s for a good cause.”

“You really do care about him, don’t you?” I asked gently.

Color infused her porcelain complexion.

“Of course I care about him,” Molly replied, her tone matter-of-fact.

We stared at each for a long moment that seemed to stretch on forever.

“This plan is nuts,” I said finally.

“Oh, totally,” Molly agreed.

Another long pause.

“Should we get permission first?” I asked.

Molly scoffed at my rule-abiding ways.

“It’s easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”

WE SPENT THE
rest of the night working out the details of the most ridiculous, outlandish plan ever. Every time I mentioned how nuts it was, Molly just reminded me that it had been my idea.

Customs stations kept a stash of memory modification drugs, so they were actually easy to obtain. Almost scary easy.

“How many do you need?” Ines asked when we inquired about it. Nothing more, no questions about what we needed it for. Just how many.

In her defense, we’d just requested blueprints for the jail, so it was probably glaringly obvious what we had in mind. If the Frenchwoman found our plan crazy, she didn’t let on. In fact, Ines was more than willing to help out with every one of our odd requests. She even went as far as to help us find the Department of Sanitation records, to ensure that the pipes down in the cells had water running through them, and not sewage. All that was left was figuring out how to break one of the pipes.

“Axe?” Molly suggested.

“Don’t be absurd,” Ines tisked. “How would you go about smuggling an axe into the prison? Where would you conceal such a large weapon? Let’s be sensible about this.”

“Fine.” Molly threw her hands up in the air. “We need a blowtorch, then. We can burn a hole in the metal.”

Ines’s dark eyes flashed with interest.

“Now that is an idea. Not the blowtorch, of course. But blowing a hole in the pipe could work.” She looked around the deserted customs station, as if suddenly worried about being overheard. As if we hadn’t been there for hours, scouring random blueprints and discussing a prison escape. Fortunately, the likelihood of anyone bearing witness to our shenanigans was slim to none; it was the middle of the night, and Ines was the lone agent on duty.

“We do have small incendiary devices, no larger than a bandage,” Ines continued. “The force is powerful enough to create quite a large hole. As an added bonus, the actual device is consumed in the explosion.”

Molly and I exchanged glances. I couldn’t decide if our plan suddenly seemed doable, or if involving explosives crossed the line from a little crazy to utterly batshite insane.

Choosing optimism, I grinned at my roommate. She mirrored my expression. Man, I loved the alchemists’ toys.

“You can give us a couple?” I asked.

“Of course, dear. These desperate types of situations are precisely what incendiary devices are for. Now, fair warning, once the package is opened, you will only have so much time before it detonates.”

“Exactly how much time are we talking?” Molly asked.

“That depends. How much time do you need? I have ones that will explode anywhere from thirty seconds to twenty minutes after being exposed to air,” Ines responded, her tone all business.

Molly and I exchanged another glance. “What do you think?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Thirty seconds seems kind of short. Maybe a minute? Five, tops. I mean, we don’t want to stand around twiddling our thumbs, waiting for it to go off.”

“We’ll split the difference and go with the two minute explosives,” my roommate said decisively.

Ines nodded, as though approving of the choice. “Wait here and I will get them for you.”

The alchemist disappeared inside of a storage closet, surfacing a moment later with five rectangular packages. She handed them to me.

“Do not open them until you are ready to use them,” Ines reminded us. “Once they have been activated, you cannot deactivate them.”

“Got it,” I said, tucking the tiny explosives into my pocket.

“And try not to go overboard. We cannot have you blowing up the whole jail.”

I laughed at her pragmatism. Somehow, she’d managed to make this situation seem utterly reasonable.

Ines glanced at a slim gold wristwatch on her arm.

“Thank you, Ines,” I said, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Thank you so much for all of your help.”

She gave me a tight smile in return. “This is my job, Stassi. I am happy to help you.” Ines gestured toward the stairway leading to the hat shop. “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

Footsteps sounded from the other direction, down the hallway that led to the vortexes.

“Are you expecting a runner?” Molly asked. She wrinkled her nose and her eyes went wide. “Oh, shant. Is Cyrus coming through tonight? He
cannot
see us.”

A brief moment of alarm made my chest tighten. It passed quickly. Now that we had a more solid plan, instead of the Hail Mary, half-court shot for the win that we’d started with, I wasn’t overly concerned with Cyrus’s reaction. If anything, my boss might be upset I was out of bed and running headlong into danger.

He’ll get over it
, I decided.

“We should talk to him,” I said to Molly, who was already sweeping the prison blueprints off the countertop. She glanced around wildly, looking for other evidence of our scheme.

“Are you crazy?” she asked, not pausing in her frenzy. “I think that’s everything, let’s get out of here.”

“Molls, listen to me,” I pleaded, knowing I’d feel better if Cyrus backed our plan. “We should talk to him.”

“It’s not Cyrus,” Ines snapped, taking a deep breath before continuing in her typically apathetic tone. “I believe another member of Atlic is due to come through.”

She glanced around the room, narrowing her eyes at the jumbled mess Molly had made of the building plans.

“Is there anything else I can help you with? No? Best of luck then.”

Ines shooed us towards the exit.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let the door hit me on the ass,” Molly muttered sarcastically, as we climbed the stairs to street level.

“I wonder who it is,” I replied quietly. “Maybe we could enlist their help.”

“Definitely not,” Molly quickly decided. “Two of us are plenty. It’s simple. Less opportunity for disaster along the way. Plus, we don’t need to clog the infirmary with more sick runners than necessary. Cyrus
definitely
won’t approve of that.”

“Good point,” I agreed.

It was late by the time I crawled back into my cushy Parisian bed. Molly had taken up residence across the hall in Gaige’s room. We were both mentally exhausted. I was struggling physically, as well. Still, sleep didn’t come easily.

Every time I came close to meeting Mr. Sandman, worry over one detail or another pulled me back to full consciousness. All of the tossing and turning was fruitless, and only exhausted me further. The first rays of dawn were streaming through my window when I finally gave up.

Donning a white silk robe over my pajamas, I plodded downstairs to make coffee and start my day. Thankfully, the door to Gaige’s room was still closed.

At least one of us will be well-rested,
I thought enviously.

After boiling water and figuring out the French press, I dug in the back of the cabinets for something bigger than the dollhouse-sized teacups the Europeans were so fond of. Being a modern, American girl, I needed my caffeine in large doses. Today, in particular, I needed it in an extra-large dose.

Victorious in my pursuit, I settled onto the couch with my twenty-ounce mug of strong black coffee in hand, feeling quite pleased with myself. The black writing on the ceramic read “Hogsbreath is Better Than No Breath”—evidently another runner with sticky fingers had left it behind. Instead of contemplating the meaning of the phrase, I spread out the copies of the prison and sanitation system blueprints that Ines had delivered overnight.

The main floor of the station consisted of an intake area with an adjacent waiting room, several interrogation rooms, and a large bullpen where all of the inspectors’ desks sat. That was the area I was in with Thoreau, and while visiting Gaige. Administrative offices for city officials made up the three uppermost levels of the préfecture. Of the two underground levels, one was divided into a records room and an evidence storage area. The other was entirely devoted to prisoner housing.

According to Molly, only about half of the cells were in use on any given day, since the préfecture was meant for short-term incarceration. According to the map, there were twenty cells total. Though the presence of other arrestees was worrisome, we had a few extra doses of the memory modification drug if they became problematic. Given the sort of people down there, I didn’t anticipate running into trouble with them. The jail was only used to house drunks needing to sleep off intoxication, individuals awaiting bail, and men and women currently on trial.

Visiting hours were from eleven until six. Molly and I intended to have our butts sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chairs of the waiting area by 10:45, ensuring we would be the first visitors taken down to the cells.

I grabbed a notepad to start a list of everything we needed to take with us. Yes, my inner control-freak was rearing its head. But being systematic was the only way we’d have a snowball’s chance in hell of pulling off this harebrained scheme. I jotted down everything that came to me.

1. Explosive bandages
   
2. Memory modification injections
   

Okay, so my list wasn’t a long one.

I tapped my pen and contemplated what item three could possibly be.

“For the love of chocolate!” Molly’s voice called from the top of the stairs. Startled, I jumped in my seat, sloshing coffee over the rim of my Hogsbreath mug. “Why are you up so damned early?”

Molly’s huge yawn turned into a throaty chuckle at my reaction as she descended the steps.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I muttered, setting the mug down next to my short checklist.

“Really? Because it sort of looked like you were just sleeping with your eyes open, Stass. You were completely zoned out. Everything okay?”

“Just tired,” I replied with a sleepy smile. “And wracking my brain for things we might forget.”

“You made a list, didn’t you?” she intoned.

“I didn’t not make a list.” I stuck my tongue out at her, drawing another laugh.

“Is there more coffee?”

“Yeah, but it’s probably cold by now,” I said with an apologetic smile. “I can make more.”

Molly waved me away. “I’ll make it. You, my friend, definitely need more caffeine.”

The telephone rang as Molly turned on the burner under the kettle. We exchanged glances. Though I’d been up for a while, it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. I couldn’t imagine who’d be calling so early.

“Dishes for a week says it’s lover boy,” Molly called with a smirk, snatching up the handset. She was standing next to it, so my sleep-deprived self didn’t stand a chance of beating her to the phone. Not that I wanted to talk to Charles. Definitely not….

I watched as the expectant grin faded from my best friend’s face, her expression sinking as she learned the caller’s identity.
Not Charles,
I thought, my own feelings of disappointment mirroring Molly’s.

“Hi Hadley…. Yep, it’s Molly…. So nice to speak to you, too…. No, no, I was already awake…. Of course, just give me a minute to see if she’s up. I haven’t seen her yet.” Molly covered the phone receiver and raised a questioning eyebrow at me.

I shook my head in response.

“Take a message,” I mouthed, tossing the notepad with my extensive list across the counter to Molly. The throw lacked oomph, and the notepad sailed only two feet before fluttering to the carpet.

Molly rolled her eyes at my pitiful attempt.

“It’s not heavy enough,” I whispered. “Not my fault—it’s science.

“I’m sorry, Hadley,” my roommate said into the receiver, sparing me an exasperated smirk. “It appears as though she is still asleep. Can I give her a message?”

There was a pause while she listened to Hadley’s answer. The teakettle sang its shrill song, and she stretched to remove it from the burner. Cradling the awkward handset in the crook of her shoulder, Molly filled the French press as she listened.

“Of course…. Oh, today? The 10:15 from Gare de l’Est Station to Frankfurt? Of course…. I’ll let her know…. I’m sure she’ll try….”

Molly glanced over at me.

“She’s doing much better, but still a little weak…. Yep, of course…. Toodles.”

“So she’s leaving today?” I asked, as soon as Molly had replaced the receiver.