Take The Reason Prisoner Part 11

"Yes."

"You can have the whole command. And if the AG's office can't dig up at least six good precedents for my decision, we can always let slip the story of the hula girl and the hot cigarette b.u.t.t. I may do that, anyhow. I always did think he went too far to get good pictures."

"I may need more," Bennington said soberly.

"What you need, you get, Jim, but why?"

"Two of them got away."

"Yes?" Mosby was interested, but not especially so.

"One was a very good escape artist--guy call Dalton. _Harry Dalton._"

"Um, yes," Mosby interrupted, "I recall that name. If I were his commanding officer, I would call him 'Always AWOL'."

"The other was a fairly young man named Clarens."

A silence grew. At last Mosby spoke, "I've heard of him, too. How did they get through the road blocks?"

"We had to use everything." The tired man standing at the door was Corporal Forester. "We used even trainees from the Academy, and those two must have gotten out of here as soon as the riot started.

"There was only one checkpoint between here and Harrisburg and the truck looked legitimate, full of clothes picked up around the countryside. There seemed to be only one man in it and he was a sort of everyday-looking fellow."

Bennington remembered his own impression of Dalton.

"I can't blame the trainees. Dalton's gotten by better men than they are yet," the corporal continued. "And they were looking for desperate criminals, not for someone in a cleaning company's uniform who asked, when they stopped him, if they wanted some work done."

"Anybody been killed yet?" Thornberry asked.

Forester was a long time answering. "Not yet, doctor. But a man answering Clarens' description bought six steak knives near the railroad station tonight."

"Six steak knifes?" Mosby asked.

"Yes," Forester answered. "Clarens and Dalton split the money the cleaning man was carrying."

"How do you know this?" Bennington asked.

"Dalton gave himself up," Forester answered. "He wanted nothing to do with Clarens when the boy started eying the knives."

"We've got to get to Harrisburg," Bennington said, "and the first thing we've got to do is to find Judkins."

"If only our files had not been shot up when the cons took over Message Center," Thornberry worried, "we could have gotten in touch with his sister-in-law."

"No," said Bennington and Forester together.

"No," agreed General Mosby.

The two generals looked at each other, then at the corporal.

Forester took the cue. "I think it's a planned job. The riot, that is.

Someone wanted to disgrace you the first day you took over, general.

Or, listen! This may be it: they wanted to be sure that someone here in prison didn't talk. I mean--" The trooper rubbed his hand across his forehead. "Thought I had something there."

"I think you do," Bennington said, "but first things first. Let's find Judkins. Then Clarens."

"We'll fly down," Mosby decided. "And let's do something I always wanted to do. We'll land on the Capitol grounds. Give me your phone, Jim. We will need more than the battalion I brought with me."

"And it's upstairs, ready and waiting."

Considering Harrisburg from above, Bennington decided the town, as a tactical problem in setting up patrols, offered unique difficulties.

The way those railroad yards stretched up and down each side of the river....

The riot-control copter had moved ahead of them and was their guide to a relatively clear spot among the trees dotting the Capitol grounds.

Three dignitaries awaited their arrival, Governor Willoughby, Mayor Jordan and Chief of Police Scott.

"This way, sir," said Scott, elbowing aside the other two.

"Formalities can wait, we've got work to do."

Introductions were performed on the way to another grove lanced with searchlights. A photographer was busy over the body of a middle-aged man.

"Some folks you can't tell anything," Scott said, "and especially when they're in heat. We never had any complaints about this guy, but we knew what he was. I myself told him that someday he would pick up the wrong man.

"And he sure did this time," he added unnecessarily.

Corporal Forester squatted beside the body. "He was kneeling, grabbed by his long hair, head pulled back, one good slash did the rest."

"Real nice slash," General Mosby agreed professionally. "I'd like to show that to some of my men." He pushed the head back so that the cut across the throat was more clearly visible. "Just one swipe."

"Clarens was a pre-med student," Thornberry stated.

Bennington noticed that his psych-expert had kept his gaze fixed on the trees after a glance at the body.

"No idea where he went from here, of course?" Mosby asked.

"None," Scott admitted, "but I've got patrols out."

"I've got another battalion upstairs," Mosby remarked, jabbing toward the stars with his thumb, "and the rest of the regiment on the way.

"You know this town. Tell me how you want them distributed."

"I'd like to." Scott meditated a moment. "But, I can't. I can't even swear them in. They're Federal troops."

"I've just declared martial law," Governor Willoughby emerged from the shadows.