Sneak Peek at the sixth installment in the Spies of Texas series!
Chapter 1 – Jailbreak
Sawyer
June 3, 1950 – Scotland
My glasses slid down my nose as I approached the towering medieval fortress with forged papers and a cover story. A breeze straight off the North Sea threatened to steal my bowler hat—an accessory handpicked by Jenny. Her reasoning: ‘No one has ever looked threatening while wearing a bowler hat. And when one stages a prison break, unassuming is a wise choice, Finn.’
She wasn’t wrong. If even one part of the plan failed, the team would be captured and imprisoned for espionage. We couldn’t afford a single hiccup.
I shoved the immense pressure deep into my gut and focused on reconnaissance. We had reports and pictures, but visiting Ravenloch in person and putting boots on the ground made it real. Dangerous. We were no longer operating in theory.
The castle prison was perched atop a rocky peninsula. On one side, jagged cliffs dropped into the sea, making a seaward escape nearly impossible. On the other, a dense, untamed Scottish countryside created a sense of isolation and foreboding.
My grip tightened on my leather briefcase as I crossed the single-stone bridge to the heavily fortified main gate. It was wide enough to allow one car to pass at a time and could be raised in an emergency. I glanced over the edge to the genuine moat below. A deep, murky channel surrounded the inland side of the castle, fed by the cold waters of a nearby stream. Algae and reeds made navigating it impossible. As did the armed guards patrolling from walkways along the walls.
My eyes lifted above the round wire rims. I felt the weight of everyone watching me, assessing my threat level. Four corner towers rose from the fortress, topped with battlements, and served as watchtowers. Guards roamed from the guardhouse carrying radios as they paced by the electric fence. The juxtaposition of medieval architecture and modern security measures increased the difficulty of the job.
The last sliver of sunlight reflected in the sea as the sun slipped below the western horizon. A powerful searchlight flicked on and began scanning the grounds. With each pass, I worried it would alert the prison to my breach.
This isn’t a jailbreak. You’re a simple country solicitor. I repeated the mantra, hoping I would eventually believe it.
A large oak door, reinforced with iron, loomed before me. I flashed my forged documents, and the guard waved me into the security checkpoint, a modern addition to the medieval structure.
With an expression colder than the drafty fortress, the stone-faced guard in a military-style uniform held up a hand. He barked orders in a Scottish brogue so thick it sounded like another language.
“Dinnae think ye can just stroll in an' oot. We’re a bit stricter than yer usual court.”
Would the mission's success hinge on my ability to understand the brute? I glanced from him to the identical expression of his Doberman companion. The intelligence said German Shepherds were their search dog of choice. The snarl of a Doberman was more intimidating.
I shoved my glasses and played the role of a meek Yankee. Two things I definitely wasn’t. “Sorry, bud. I didn’t catch that last part.”
“Whaur’s yer credentials, lad? Need tae see yer official stamp.”
“Right, yes. Of course.” I patted my jacket and checked various pockets. I unbuttoned the blazer and located the papers in my waistcoat. “There you go, Sport.”
“Hae ye met wi' the prisoner afore? Ye look a bit fresh.”
“I’m his new attorney, S.W. Stephens of O’Malley, Peters, and Stephens. My father, not me. I’m not a partner. Not yet, but maybe my second year out of Yale law.” I crossed my fingers.
“You’re American?”
“Yes, sirree Bob. As is my client, allegedly.” I cupped a hand in front of my mouth. “Though, between you, me, and the priest over there, I think he might be a Ruski.”
The guard reviewed my paperwork and compared it to the logs. Even though I was confident everything was in order, my heart hammered. He slid the documents across the table. “How long ye plan tae be, eh?”
“I realize I’m cutting visitor hours a bit close.” I checked my watch. “But our court date is coming up, and I still need to get myself one of those snazzy powdered wigs you guys wear…”
He waved to the briefcase. “Whit’s in the case? Best nae be anything ye shouldnae be bringin'.”
“No, sir.” I heaved it onto the table and opened the latch with a click.
The guard looked to the Doberman for cues before inspecting it himself. He flipped on a flashlight and lifted the files and stack of documents. “An’ ye'll be signin' oot the exact minute ye leave, nae lingerin’ after yer time’s up.”
I saluted. “Sure thing.”
He whistled for a flunky to lead me to the private meeting room to speak to my client. This fella was short, skinny, and easy to overpower if it came to that.
I tipped my hat to the priest. “Father.”
“Bless you, Child. May God be with you as you carry out the work set before you. His path is clear, though hidden to many. Go in peace, and may you be guided by His hand,” he said in a perfect British accent that would be the envy of Laurence Olivier.
But the blessing was so much more. It was a signal to proceed with the plan. The priest was in on the jailbreak.
I entered a small, windowless room, and the guard locked the door behind me. The cold stone walls and sparse furniture made it look more like a cell than a meeting space. A bulb hung from the ceiling, casting everything in a dull yellow glow. A musty stench lingered in the air, reminding me of Ravenloch’s age.
The iron door separating the room from the rest of the prison swung open, and my shackled client entered. The guard standing post outside likely listened to our conversation.
“How do you like my hair, Boss?” The cuffs jingled as he coifed thick black hair. “A very nice woman from the church gave me a shave and a trim.”
“Terrific. You look ready for court.”
“Think we have a chance to win?”
I opened my briefcase. “As long as you did your part, Dmitri. Did you do as I asked?”
“Of course, Boss. I’m not stupid. When a man is given an opportunity like this, you don’t refuse. Even if success seems wildly unlikely.”
I wanted to discuss specifics to make sure Waley got our message. My gaze cut to the guard. I couldn’t tell if he heard us, but I had to assume he did. “Everything is in motion, Dmitri.”
“How soon are we talking? Tomorrow?”
“If I had my way, it wouldn’t take ten minutes.”
“Really? That fast. I have some packing to do then.”
I rubbed my chin. “Make sure you remember who your friends are.”
“I spoke to the priest. My house is in order, Boss.” He placed his palms on the table. “Is that all?”
“Yup.” I slammed the briefcase and motioned to the guard. “We’re done here.”
Dmitri darted through the prison door, and the small-stature guard led me back down the drafty hall to the check-in point. I switched the case to my left hand and prepared to swing it if necessary.
“This castle is fantastic. I’ve never seen such a swell prison. It reminds me of Alcatraz in Frisco. You ever been?”
“No.” The guard jingled his keys.
“Alcatraz is famous for being impossible to escape from. It’s surrounded by San Francisco Bay, which has freezing waters about a mile wide. So, if you survive the jump, you’ll likely freeze in the water. Has anyone ever escaped Ravenloch?”
“Why, you planning to bust out the jailhouse snitch?”
I pushed my glasses by the bridge. “Me? No, I don’t know Dmitri well enough to do something that stupid. I’m just his lawyer.”
The priest popped from around the corner, blocking our path. “Ah, two strapping young lads. I require assistance if you please. The prisoners got a bit rowdy and tipped over a pew—”
“Not now, Father,” the guard said.
The priest leaned on his cane, making his hunch more prominent. “It won’t take but a minute.”
“Baird gave strict orders not to let the solicitor loiter. I’ll send someone back, Father.”
“Remember, my boy, blessing be to those who lend a helping hand.”
The guard tilted his hat. “Fine, but we can’t dally.”
The priest waved us into the chapel. “It will be quick and painless, I assure you.”
Candlelight reflected in the stained-glass windows, casting eerie shadows on the vaulted ceilings. The chapel was one of the oldest parts of the castle and the least secure. The door closed with a shrill squeak of the hinges.
“Where’s the tipped pew?” the guard asked.
“Right over there, lad.” The priest pointed with his cane. When the guard turned his back, the father’s demeanor shifted. He replaced the hunch with perfect posture. The friendly face became stoic determination. He stabbed the cane into the guard's leg, and the man fell like a tree instantly.
“Nighty, night.” Tobias Hutchinson combed a hand through his white hair. The only trace of the priest remaining was the collar.
“What the heck was in that poison, Hun?” Margo, his beautiful blonde wife, stepped out of the shadows with her barbershop bag.
“He’ll be fine. His head will ache like a terrible hangover, but he’ll live.”
As a retired couple in their sixties, the Hutchinsons were often overlooked and underestimated. As a priest and a female barber, they were invisible.
“Do you have the detonator?” Tobias asked.
Margo held up a leather case containing sharp scissors. “You know, Sawyer. This is the second time we’ve come out of retirement to save your bacon. Not that I’m complaining about going on a mission with a charmer like you.”
“This time, we’re saving Waley.” I snapped open my briefcase and removed the false bottom. Hidden underneath was the detonator.
“How the Admiral, a brilliant CIA agent, got himself thrown in a Scottish hoosegow by the British government, I’ll never understand.” She twisted to her husband. “Aren’t you redcoats supposed to be our allies?”
“The explosive, please, Margo.”
“He hates when I insult jolly old England.” She rolled her eyes as she carefully detached the cap from a hollowed-out comb. “Ready for the soup?”
Tobias unscrewed the trigger from his cane and went to work assembling the explosive device. “You better change, Sawyer. This will be armed in just a moment.”
Margo cocked her head to the side and placed a hand on her hip. She scrutinized the guard at her feet. “You shoulda taken out a bigger guy. You’ll never fit into this little fella’s uniform.”
“The entire plan hinges on placing the charges in the guardhouse in four minutes,” Tobias said. “Please figure out another way.”
I checked my watch. “And what happens if Jenny’s early?”
Margo tossed blonde curls. “Don’t start with that. I’m too old to wear pinstripe jumpsuits. I’ll look like one of those old-timey Victorian women in bathing suits. Not happening.” She snagged Tobias' cane. “Where’s the button to shoot poison?”
“On the shaft.”
“Ooh, Anne has outdone herself again.” She arched a brow. “I need to get me one of these.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Attack a six-foot-two guard with broad shoulders and a chiseled jaw.”
“What does his jaw have to do with uniform size?” Tobias asked.
“It seemed relevant at the time.” Margo twirled the cane as she stepped out into the hall. A few beats later, she rushed inside, her voice shrill and panicked. “Hurry, Officer, they’re in here!”
A tall guard sprinted by her. “Oy! What are you boys—”
Margo jabbed him in the back, and he fell face-first in the aisle. “En garde.”
“Y’all don’t waste any time.”
Tobias armed the explosive device. “You should take a page out of our book, Sawyer. Waley’s life depends on this happening down to the second.”
I loosened my tie and threw off my jacket. “No pressure.”
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