"Fine," Tracy lied. Her mouth was dry, and her heart was beating erratically.

"Well, we're both leavin' here today."

Tracy found it hard to swallow. "Uh-huh."

"You sure you kin get away from the warden's house by one-thirty?"

"No problem. Amy always takes a nap after lunch."

Paulita said, "You can't be late, or it won't work."

"I'll be there."

Ernestine reached under her mattress and took out a roll of bills. "You're gonna need some walkin' around money. It's only two hundred bucks, but it'll get you on your way."

"Ernie, I don't know what to---"

"Oh, jest shut up, girl, and take it."

Tracy forced herself to swallow some breakfast. Her head was pounding, and every muscle in her body ached. I'll never make it through the day, she thought. I've got to make it through the day.

There was a strained, unnatural silence in the kitchen, and Tracy suddenly realized she was the cause of it. She was the object of knowing looks and nervous whispers. A breakout was about to happen, and she was the heroine of the drama. In a few hours she would be free. Or dead.

She rose from her unfinished breakfast and headed for Warden Brannigan's house. As Tracy waited for a guard to unlock the corridor door, she came face-to-face with Big Bertha. The huge Swede was grinning at her.

She's going to be in for a big surprise, Tracy thought.

She's all mine now, Big Bertha thought.

The morning pa.s.sed so slowly that Tracy felt she would go out of her mind. The minutes seemed to drag on interminably. She read to Amy and had no idea what she was reading. She was aware of Mrs. Brannigan watching from the window.

"Tracy, let's play hide-and-seek."

Tracy was too nervous to play games, but she dared not do anything to arouse Mrs. Brannigan's suspicions. She forced a smile. "Sure. Why don't you hide first, Amy?"

They were in the front yard of the bungalow. In the far distance Tracy could see the building where the utility room was located. She had to be there at exactly 1:30. She would change into the street clothes that had been made for her, and by 1:45 she would be lying in the bottom of the large clothes hamper, covered over with uniforms and linens. At 2:00 the laundryman would come by for the hamper and wheel it out to his truck. By 2:15 the truck would drive through the gates on its way to the nearby town where the laundry plant was located.

The driver can't see in the back of the truck from the front seat. When the truck gets to town and stops for a red light, just open the door, step out, real cool, and catch a bus to wherever you're goin'.

"Can you see me?" Amy called. She was half-hidden behind the trunk of a magnolia tree. She held her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.

I'll miss her, Tracy thought. When I leave here, the two people I'll miss will be a black, bald-headed bull-d.y.k.e and a young girl. She wondered what Charles Stanhope III would have made of that.

"I'm coming to find you," Tracy said.

Sue Ellen watched the game from inside the house. It seemed to her that Tracy was acting strangely. All morning she had kept looking at her watch, as though expecting someone, and her mind was obviously not on Amy.

I must speak to George about it when he comes home for lunch, Sue Ellen decided. I'm going to insist that he replace her.

In the yard, Tracy and Amy played hopscotch for a while, then jacks, and Tracy read to Amy, and finally, blessedly, it was twelve-thirty, time for Amy's lunch. Time for Tracy to make her move. She took Amy into the cottage.

"I'll be leaving now, Mrs. Brannigan."

"What? Oh. Didn't anyone tell you, Tracy? We're having a delegation of VIP visitors today. They'll be having lunch here at the house, so Amy won't be having her nap. You may take her with you."

Tracy stood there, willing herself not to scream. "I--- I can't do that, Mrs. Brannigan."

Sue Ellen Brannigan stiffened. "What do you mean you can't do that?"

Tracy saw the anger in her face and she thought, l mustn't upset her. She'll call the warden, and I'll be sent back to my cell.

Tracy forced a smile. "I mean... Amy hasn't had her lunch. She'll be hungry."

"I've had the cook prepare a picnic lunch for both of you. You can go for a nice walk in the meadow and have it there. Amy enjoys picnics, don't you, darling?"

"I love picnics." She looked at Tracy pleadingly. "Can we, Tracy? Can we?"

No! Yes. Careful. It could still work.

Be in the utility room by one-thirty. Don't be late.

Tracy looked at Mrs. Brannigan. "What--- what time do you want me to bring Amy back?"

"Oh, about three o'clock. They should be gone by then."

So would the truck. The world was tumbling in on her. "I---"

Are you all right? You look pale."

That was it. She would say she was ill. Go to the hospital.

But then they would want to check her over and keep her there. She would never be able to get out in time. There had to be some other way.

Mrs. Brannigan was staring at her.

"I'm fine."

There's something wrong with her, Sue Ellen Brannigan decided. I'm definitely going to have George get someone else.

Amy's eyes were alight with joy. "I'll give you the biggest sandwiches, Tracy. We'll have a good time, won't we?"

Tracy had no answer.

The VIP tour was a surprise visit. Governor William Haber himself was escorting the prison reform committee through the penitentiary. It was something that Warden Brannigan had to live with once a year.

"It goes with the territory, George," the governor had explained. "Just clean up the place, tell your ladies to smile pretty, and we'll get our budget increased again."

The word had gone out from the chief guard that morning: "Get rid of all the drugs, knives, and d.i.l.d.os."

Governor Haber and his party were due to arrive at 10:00 A.M. They would inspect the interior of the penitentiary first, visit the farm, and then have lunch with the warden at his cottage.

Big Bertha was impatient. When she had put in a request to see the warden, she had been told, "The warden is very pressed for time this morning. Tomorrow would be easier. He---"

"f.u.c.k tomorrow!" Big Bertha had exploded. "I want to see him now. It's important."

There were few inmates in the prison who could have gotten away with it, but Big Bertha was one of them. The prison authorities were well aware of her power. They had seen her start riots, and they had seen her stop them. No prison in the world could be run without the cooperation of the inmate leaders, and Big Bertha was a leader.

She had been seated in the warden's outer office for almost an hour, her huge body overflowing the chair she sat in. She's a disgusting-looking creature, the warden's secretary thought. She gives me the creeps.

"How much longer?" Big Bertha demanded.

"It shouldn't be too much longer. He has a group of people in with him. The warden's very busy this morning."

Big Bertha said, "He's gonna be busier." She looked at her watch. Twelve-forty-five. Plenty of time.

It was a perfect day, cloudless and warm, and the singing breeze carried a tantalizing mixture of scents across the green farmland. Tracy had spread out a tablecloth on a gra.s.sy area near the lake, and Amy was happily munching on an egg salad sandwich. Tracy glanced at her watch. It was already 1:00. She could not believe it. The morning had dragged and the afternoon was winging by. She had to think of something quickly, or time was going to steal away her last chance at freedom.

One-ten. In the warden's reception office Warden Brannigan's secretary put down the telephone and said to Big Bertha, "I'm sorry. The warden says it's impossible for him to see you today. We'll make another appointment for---"

Big Bertha pushed herself to her feet. "He's got to see me! It's---"

"We'll fit you in tomorrow."

Big Bertha started to say, "Tomorrow will be too late," but she stopped herself in time. No one but the warden himself must know what she was doing. Snitches suffered fatal accidents. But she had no intention of giving up. There was no way she was going to let Tracy Whitney get away from her. She walked into the prison library and sat down at one of the long tables at the far end of the room. She scribbled a note, and when the matron walked over to an aisle to help an inmate, Big Bertha dropped the note on her desk and left.

When the matron returned, she found the note and opened it. She read it twice: YOU BETTER CHEK THE LAUNDREY TRUCK TO DAY.

There was no signature. A hoax? The matron had no way of knowing. She picked up the telephone. "Get me the superintendent of guards..."

One-fifteen. "You're not eating," Amy said. "You want some of my sandwich?"

"No! Leave me alone." She had not meant to speak so harshly.

Amy stopped eating. "Are you mad at me, Tracy? Please don't be mad at me. I love you so much. I never get mad at you." Her soft eyes were filled with hurt.

"I'm not angry." She was in h.e.l.l.

"I'm not hungry if you're not. Let's play ball, Tracy." And Amy pulled her rubber ball out of her pocket.

One-sixteen. She should have been on her way. It would take her at least fifteen minutes to get to the utility room. She could just make it if she hurried. But she could not leave Amy alone. Tracy looked around, and in the far distance she saw a group of trusties picking crops. Instantly, Tracy knew what she was going to do.

"Don't you want to play ball, Tracy?"

Tracy rose to her feet. "Yes. Let's play a new game. Let's see who can throw the ball the farthest. I'll throw the ball, and then it will be your turn." Tracy picked up the hard rubber ball and threw it as far as she could in the direction of the workers.

"Oh, that's good," Amy said admiringly. "That's real far."

"I'll go get the ball," Tracy said. "You wait here."

And she was running, running for her life, her feet flying across the fields. It was 1:18. If she was late, they would wait for her. Or would they? She ran faster. Behind her, she heard Amy calling, but she paid no attention. The farm workers were moving in the other direction now. Tracy yelled at them, and they stopped. She was breathless when she reached them.

"Anythin' wrong?" one of them asked.

"No, n--- nothing." She was panting, fighting for breath. "The little girl back there. One of you look after her. I have something important I have to do. I---"

She heard her name called from a distance and turned. Amy was standing on top of the concrete wall surrounding the lake. She waved. "Look at me, Tracy."

"No! Get down!" Tracy screamed.

And as Tracy watched in horror, Amy lost her balance and plunged into the lake.

"Oh, dear G.o.d!" The blood drained from Tracy's face. She had a choice to make, but there was no choice. I can't help her. Not now. Someone will save her. I have to save myself. I've got to get out of this place or I'll die. It was 1:20.

Tracy turned and began running as fast as she had ever run in her life. The others were calling after her, but she did not hear them. She flew through the air, unaware that her shoes had fallen off, not caring that the sharp ground was cutting into her feet. Her heart was pounding, and her lungs were bursting, and she pushed herself to run faster, faster. She reached the wall around the lake and vaulted on top of it: Far below, she could see Amy in the deep, terrifying water, struggling to stay afloat. Without a second's hesitation, Tracy jumped in after her. And as she hit the water, Tracy thought; Oh, my G.o.d! I can't swim....

BOOK TWO.

Chapter 12.

New Orleans.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 25--- lO:OO A.M.

Lester Torrance, a teller at the First Merchants Bank of New Orleans, prided himself on two things: his s.e.xual prowess with the ladies and his ability to size up his customers. Lester was in his late forties, a lanky, sallow-faced man with a Tom Selleck mustache and long sideburns. He had been pa.s.sed over for promotion twice, and in retaliation, Lester used the bank as a personal dating service. He could spot hookers a mile away, and he enjoyed trying to persuade them to give him their favors for nothing. Lonely widows were an especially easy prey. They came in all shapes, ages, and states of desperation, and sooner or later they would appear in front of Lester's cage. If they were temporarily overdrawn, Lester would lend a sympathetic ear and delay bouncing their checks. In return, perhaps they could have a quiet little dinner together? Many of his female customers sought his help and confided delicious secrets to him: They needed a loan without their husbands' knowledge .... They wanted to keep confidential certain checks they had written.... They were contemplating a divorce, and could Lester help them close out their joint account right away? Lester was only too eager to please. And to be pleased.

On this particular Friday morning, Lester knew he had hit the jackpot. He saw the woman the moment she walked in the door of the bank. She was an absolute stunner. She had sleek black hair falling to her shoulders, and she wore a tight skirt And sweater that outlined a figure a Las Vegas chorine would have envied.