Page 152 of The First Gentleman
CHAPTER
138
Rockingham County Jail, New Hampshire
Cole Wright barely fits on the metal cell cot. Since lights-out, he’s been turning from side to side, pulling the tissue-thin blanket over his shoulders, trying to get comfortable.
It’s not possible. His hip bones and shoulders press down hard on the thin mattress; he can feel the steel underneath. In the opposite cot, his cellmate is awake, keeping watch. It’s difficult for Cole to grasp that these four walls now contain his life.
He gave Garrett Wilson all the information he had and told him to follow the trail wherever it led. But Garrett’s dead. And whoever really killed Suzanne is still free.
Cole flops onto his back and stares at the ceiling. He finds patterns in the rust stains and watermarks until exhaustion slowly takes over, his eyes close, and everything fades to black.
He wakes to the sound of banging on the cell bars and the metallic grind of the door opening. Rough hands shake his shoulders, then pull him upright. A flashlight shines in his face.
He sees Knox jump off his cot across the cell. A huge guard with a nightstick holds him back. The guard tells Knox, “We’re here for him, not you.”
“Put on your shoes,” somebody orders Cole. He sticks his feet into his prison sandals and is shuffled out of the cell and down the dark corridor.
Is he being transferred already? Taken for more questioning? “What’s happening?” he asks. “Where are we going?”
“Not far,” says one of the guards.
And then they’re through the double doors and in the outer corridor, the same place he was strip-searched and processed just sixteen hours before.
An administrator in a rumpled suit holds out the handset of a corded phone. “For you,” he says.
Cole takes the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, sweetheart. Ready to bust out of the joint?”
“Maddy? I… they just grabbed me from my cell. What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain when you get here.”
“Here? Where?”
“Put the administrator back on.”
Cole hands the phone back to the man in the suit, who listens and nods vigorously. “Yes, Madam President. Understood, Madam President. Goodbye, Madam President.” He hangs up.
He pulls a piece of paper from a folder and turns it toward Cole. He points to a signature line and holds out a pen. “Sign here, please.”
Cole takes the pen. “What is this? What am I signing?”
“Pending official processing,” says the administrator, “you’re being released into the custody of the president of the United States.”
One of the guards takes Cole by the arm. “This way.” The otherguards fall in behind them. They pass through a series of doors and corridors and arrive at a loading area with enough clearance for a semitruck.
When Cole is about ten feet from the loading bay’s door, an earsplitting Klaxon sounds. In one smooth motion, the door, via a mechanism that resembles a bank vault’s, appears to split in two, one part rising up and the other sinking into the floor.
Through the opening, Cole sees a floodlit road and a line of state trooper vehicles, lights flashing. A heavy black SUV roars up to the entrance and brakes to a stop.
Cole feels the grip on his arm release. He’s through the doorway and standing free.
The rear door of the SUV opens. Agent Doug Lambert steps out.
“Good morning, sir. Air Force One is waiting in Portsmouth. We’re here to take you home.”
