‘What do you mean, he’s gone?’
Those words prompted Hunter and Garcia to look back at Kennedy expectantly.
‘When did this happen?’ A sliver of trepidation managed to find its way into Kennedy’s voice.
‘What’s going on?’ Garcia asked, frowning at the director.
Kennedy signaled both detectives to wait.
‘How the hell is that even possible?’ Kennedy’s shoulders came up in a shrug, the trepidation in his voice quickly turning into anger. ‘Because correct me if I’m wrong here, but wasn’t he supposed to be in a high-security facility?’
. . .
‘So how does an inmate, who is being held in a high-security federal prison, manage to waltz out of a heavily guarded building, through the outer perimeter gates and straight into freedom without being stopped? What kind of amateurish, circus security do we have running down there?’
. . .
‘I’m sorry, he was transferred where?’ Kennedy’s livid stare met Hunter’s worried one for just a split second.
. . .
‘Still, security should’ve been—’ Kennedy paused mid-sentence. ‘He killed how many guards?’
As Kennedy heard the answer, his hand shot up to his forehead and he began massaging his temples with his thumb and forefinger.
‘A booby-trap in the control room?’ Kennedy’s eyes widened. ‘How can he have set a booby-trap in the control room? Using what?’
. . .
‘How in God’s name did he get hold of a . . . ?’ Kennedy paused again, finally realizing that, at this point, the ‘hows’ made absolutely no difference anymore. ‘OK. I want a nationwide APB to go out immediately,’ the NCAVC director ordered. ‘And I mean immediately, am I clear? Every law enforcement office and station in the country, no matter how small. I want everyone mobilized on this . . . everyone. Also, I want you to inform the Department of Justice that this will be a joint fugitive hunt between the United States Marshals Service and the Federal Bureau of Investigation, you understand? They’re not going after him by themselves.’ Kennedy took in an angry lung of air. ‘And I want the name of the prison warden. Someone is paying for this incompetence. You can bet on— There’s more? What else can there be?’
He listened for another ten to fifteen seconds.
‘Wait, wait,’ he interrupted the caller. ‘You’re going to have to repeat that. Take a breath, calm the hell down and repeat what you just told me, but this time do it slowly.’
Kennedy glimpsed at Hunter and his facial expression morphed again, this time into a pained one. ‘Are you sure of that?’ he asked the caller. ‘All right.’ His voice sounded half defeated. ‘I need you to send me an image confirmation of that; and I need you to do that right now, do you hear me?’
. . .
‘Yes, right now.’
Kennedy disconnected from the call and, so as not to throw his cellphone against the wall, he took another deep breath and held it in his lungs for as long as he could.
‘What’s going on, Adrian?’ Hunter asked, his voice full of concern.
No reply.
‘Adrian,’ Hunter asked again. ‘What the hell is going on?’
The look in Kennedy’s eyes as he finally looked back at Hunter was vacant and lacking in comprehension, but Hunter also noticed something else in the NCAVC director’s stare. Something he couldn’t quite identify yet.
‘He’s gone, Robert,’ Kennedy replied at last. ‘He’s escaped. Walked out of a federal high-security facility as if no one was even there. Killed three guards and two infirmary nurses in the process.’
‘Who escaped?’ Garcia asked, confusion covering his face like a mask. ‘It can’t be the killer we just caught.’ He shook his head at Hunter. ‘He hasn’t been sentenced yet, which means he was never at a high-security prison, though I’m sure he will be.’
‘No, it’s not the killer you just caught,’ Kennedy confirmed.
‘So who are we talking about here?’ Garcia insisted.
Once again, Kennedy’s gaze moved to Hunter. The look that the LAPD detective had failed to identify just seconds earlier was still floating in Kennedy’s eyes. This time Hunter read it like an open book. It was an apologetic look – an ‘I’m sorry’ of sorts.
Hunter felt an empty pit start to form inside his stomach because he didn’t have to ask. He already knew the name Kennedy was about to throw at him.
Garcia, on the other hand, still had no idea of whom the NCAVC director was talking about, but he clearly saw the silent exchange between Kennedy and his partner.
‘Who escaped?’ he pushed yet again.
‘Lucien,’ Kennedy finally revealed.
Hunter closed his eyes and breathed in pain.
‘Lucien?’ Garcia asked, his eyes playing ping-pong between Hunter and Kennedy. ‘Who’s Lucien?’
Hunter reopened his eyes but said nothing in return. It was Director Kennedy who clarified.
‘Lucien Folter.’
As he said the name out loud, his entire demeanor changed into one leaden with anguish.
Garcia had never seen his partner look the way he did right at that moment. If he didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn that Hunter looked almost scared.
‘Who the hell is Lucien Folter?’
Three
Detective Robert Hunter grew up as an only child to working-class parents in Compton, an underprivileged neighborhood of South Los Angeles. His mother lost her battle with cancer when he was only seven years old. His father never remarried and had to take on two jobs just to cope with the demands of raising a child on his own – a child whose brain seemed to work at a different pace to everyone else’s – a much faster pace.
From a very early age it was obvious to everyone that Hunter was different. School never really offered him a challenge, on the contrary, it bored and frustrated the young Robert Hunter to such an extent that after finishing all his sixth-grade work in less than two months, he sped through seventh-, eighth- and even ninth-grade books just for something to do. Not surprisingly, that feat grabbed the attention of the school principal who, after consulting Hunter’s father, got in contact with the Mirman School for the Gifted in Mulholland Drive, North West Los Angeles. After a battery of tests, both academic and psychological, Hunter was offered a place at Mirman as an eighth-grader. He was only twelve years old.
By the age of fourteen, Hunter had glided through Mirman’s English, History, Biology, Mathematics and Chemistry curriculum. Four years of high school were condensed into two and at fifteen he’d graduated with honors. With recommendations from all of his teachers, Hunter was accepted as a ‘special circumstances’ student at Stanford University, the top psychology university in America at the time.
In spite of being an attractive young man, the combination of being too thin, too young and having a strange dress sense made Hunter unpopular with girls and an easy target for bullies. He didn’t have the body or the aptitude for sports and preferred to spend his free time in the library, where he chewed up books on a plethora of subjects with incredible speed. It was then that he became fascinated with the world of criminology and the thought process of individuals dubbed ‘evil’.