Charles Day looked exactly as she remembered him: tall, lean, immaculately shaved, a man whose uniform always seemed to come with its own starch supply.His hair seemed to contain even more silver now, but his eyes were unchanged — the colour of a cold shower.
“Agent Valentine,” he said, holding the door.“Or should I say… Special Agent?I never know the rank protocols with you Bureau types.”
“Kate’s fine.”
He smiled thinly.“You’re early.”
“I left before the traffic.”
“Wise.Portland’s a nightmare when it freezes.”
They shook hands.His was dry and strong, meant to assert boundaries.
“I appreciate you making time,” she said.
“For you, always.Though I must admit, I was surprised by your call.Given our… history.”
She nodded.“It was never anything personal, Governor.”
During the official enquiry into Cox’s escape, the prison and Day’s management of it, had come in for heavy criticism, some of it directly from Kate.But he was still in his job, and apparently instituting a raft of improvements, so she had no wish to sour relations.The Bureau needed strong, co-operative relationships right across the field, or its agents couldn’t do their jobs.
He gestured for her to follow him down the corridor.The air smelled of disinfectant and floor wax.
They walked past a series of frosted-glass offices, each one labelled with black stencils: ADMINISTRATION, LEGAL, SECURITY.Somewhere deeper in the building, a buzzer sounded and a door clanged shut.
“I hear you’re keeping busy,” Day said.“The Bureau’s been in the news again — an historic land-swindle, isn’t it?”
Kate was surprised; she’d expected him to mention Brennan’s murder, make the inescapable link to Cox.In that instant, she realised, or rather, remembered, that the world kept turning, people listened to other news.“That’s right,” Kate said lightly.“Our Portland field office’s handling that.”
He looked at her sidelong.“But you’re clearly not.”
“I’m on a different assignment.”
He raised an eyebrow.“Unofficial?”
She smiled without answering.
They reached his office — a neat, windowless room that managed to be both spotless and claustrophobic.On the wall behind his desk hung a framed quote in serif type:Discipline is the bridge between goals and success.
He caught her glance and smiled.“Motivational gifts from the Bureau of Prisons.They send one every Christmas.”
“Does it work?”
“Rarely.”He sat down, motioning for her to take the chair opposite.“So.You want to talk to Cox’s sewing circle.”
“To be honest, it was a stab in the dark,” Kate said, referring to the email she’d sent the Governor yesterday.“But men like Cox need followers.They need them like people need air.And you said there were a few who fit the bill?”
“A couple,” the Governor corrected her.“Derren Kowalski and Tray Purvis.”
“The YouTubers.Otherwise known as Mole Crew.”
He gave a small, dry laugh.“Yes.Urban explorers.Fancied themselves as the next generation of gonzo journalists until they broke into a former restricted weapons facility and nearly killed a guard.”
“Accidentally.”
Day’s mouth twitched.“The guard’s still in a coma.”
“I just wanted to talk to them about Cox.”
