Unexpected Repercussions - Chapter 7

A loud bang jarred him awake rudely.

Michael jack-knifed up, his eyes darting around apprehensively. For a moment, disorientation overcame him and he struggled to remember where he was. His hazel eyes took in a small television mounted on the wall in front of him before they flitted to the window on his left. The cream-coloured curtains fluttered around gently, letting in rays of sunlight which landed on the smooth surface of a pine desk. The clothes he had worn yesterday were in a neat pile on the bedside table, beside the cushion.

The motel.

He was at the motel, his mind supplied, allowing him to relax back onto the bed. Although lumpy, it was the most comfortable bed his body had rested on in months. Rubbing his eyes, he stared at the ceiling, noting the cracked plaster to its underside as the events of the previous evening replayed through his mind.

Dusk had approached when they finally reached Indianapolis. Despite her protests, he had insisted that the woman drop him off just on the edge of the city. After her kindness to him, the last thing he wanted was for her to be in trouble, on the off-chance that he got caught. He had then made his way on foot until he reached this motel.

Michael yawned and stretched his arms above his head. Swinging his legs out of the bed, he stood up and headed towards the bathroom, clad only in a pair of boxers.

A twist of the tap on the wall brought a small trickle of water from the showerhead. Then the trickle grew and cascaded over his weary body in a rush of hot water. He ran his palms over his face and sighed at the nearly forgotten luxury.

As the water continued to flow down his sleek body, his mind cleared enough to formulate a plan for that day.

Westmoreland’s daughter was in Sacred Hearts Hospital, located within walking distance from the motel, so it should not take him long to get there. With his disguise, he should be able to make it there fairly easily.

He turned the tap off and wrapped a white towel around his hips. Beads of water still clung to his skin as he surveyed his appearance in the mirror over the sink. The dark two-day-old stubble along his jaw helped to cover his features, Michael thought in satisfaction as he ran his hands over the rough hair. Then he walked out, heading for his new backpack.

He pulled out the change of clothing he had bought yesterday and slipped them on over his once again distended midsection. Clad in a pair of blue jeans and an oversized beige shirt, he reached into the pockets of his old slacks and pulled out a wad of notes, grimacing as he counted them. He had to do something about his financial state. At the rate his cash was going, it would not be long before he ran out altogether.

He was going to have to talk to Lincoln about Westmoreland’s money under the silo in Utah. Westmoreland was right, there was enough to split between them. C-Note already knew about the five million dollars. But so did T-Bag, Tweener and Sanchez.

Michael frowned, wondering if T-Bag and Tweener had already made a move in that direction. Or perhaps the authorities had managed to beat it out of Sanchez.  Either way, it meant that they had to hurry. Their survival depended on it.

The linen wads in his cheeks and the dark-rimmed spectacles completed his disguise. Gathering his belongings, Michael headed for the door.

The park was quiet, which was not surprising considering the early hour.

He walked until almost the end of the park and sat down on the bench. The hospital was across the road from his bench, and he could clearly make out the entrances and exits. Previously, in his rush to see Sara, he had neglected to survey the hospital before he entered. He had no intention of making the same mistake this time. This time, he would make sure that he had a better idea of where the exits were before he entered, just in case something happened.

A small dog ran up to him. The excited canine wagged his tail and jumped, putting his furry paws on Michael’s knees. For the first time in a long while, Michael laughed out loud, suddenly feeling free.

He looked up when a petite blonde clad in jeans and a hooded jumper ran up to them, her expression apologetic. A short leash was dangling from her left hand.

“I’m so sorry,” she rushed out, her large green eyes expressing her sincerity. “Shouldn’t have taken the leash off him.”

“It’s okay,” Michael said. His smile forced back the linen wads in his cheeks, but the awkward action was getting easier. “He’s a lovely dog,” he added.

She tried to catch her dog, but he kept dodging her. Michael bent down and easily scooped up the reluctant dog in his arms. “Here. Put it on,” he said to her.

Another girl in the distance hollered, making Michael look up, “Marloes! We’ve got to go!”

The girl waved at her friend and then quickly attached the leash around the struggling canine’s neck. She took her dog from him and then flashed him a grateful smile. “Thanks,” she said.

Michael watched her retreat, scolding the small dog as she walked back to her friend, and then returned his attention back to the hospital. His keen eyes noted the entrance and exit doors, the fire escape and the window openings, hoping that he would not need to use any of the two latter options.

Taking a deep breath, he stood up and made his way to the front entrance.

Stopping beside a flower stall, he picked up a bouquet of flowers and paid the vendor before he entered the hospital. At the reception desk, he was directed to the second floor.

When he reached the room, he pushed the door open a little and walked in. Shutting the door softly behind him, his gaze landed on a pale woman lying on the white sheets. Her features confirmed her identity to him, there was no mistaking the family resemblance. Only this woman was obviously ill, her features gaunt, her shoulder length hair hanging limp around her face. Surrounded by flowers, tubes and monitors, she was fast asleep, oblivious to his presence.

Michael placed the bouquet of flowers beside the rest of the flowers and sat down in the chair beside the bed. Westmoreland should be there, not him. The old man had played such a large role in the escape plan that it seemed unfair that he did not even get the chance to see his daughter one last time.

“Miss Westmoreland?” he called out softly. “Anna?”

She stirred slightly and turned towards him. Then her eyes opened.

“Miss Westmoreland, I’m Michael,” he said quietly, not wanting to startle her.

Her brows came together, obviously confused. “Do I know you?” she asked weakly.

Michael shook his head. “No. But I know Charles, your father,” he explained.

Her eyes watered. Then, she lifted a trembling hand to her lips. Her sorrow was so palpable that Michael could almost feel it.

Inhaling through the lump in his throat, he continued, “He wanted to come to see you, but he couldn’t. So he sent me instead. He said to give you his love.”

A sob escaped her as she said, “They called me yesterday morning with the news. He shouldn’t have done it. Shouldn’t have risked it to come see me,” she said brokenly.

 

Michael felt his heart constrict at the sadness in her tone. “No. He needed to see you. Enough to do anything.”

 

She glanced at him, her sobs subsiding as she studied him. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” she asked, and then looked around warily. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

“I promised him,” Michael said simply, and then pulled out Westmoreland’s watch from his pocket. “He wanted you to have this.” He put the watch in her unsteady hands.

A fresh flood of tears trailed down her cheeks as she opened it. “He had this for so long,” she whispered, studying the watch sadly. Then she looked at Michael again. “I wanted him to visit because I don’t have much time left.”

“He told me. That was why he wanted to desperately to come out.”

She nodded. “I also wanted to give him something. Something that I’ve kept from him for a while now. And now I can’t,” she said sadly.

“What is it?”

“But I need to give it to someone,” she continued as if she had not heard his question, frowning.

Michael waited for her to go on. To his surprise, the frown on her brow suddenly eased to be replaced by something akin to realisation.

She then gave him an assessing look, her eyes surprisingly sharp considering her state. “He trusted you enough to ask you to come see me. And you came despite the risks. You didn’t have to keep the promise, no one would know but the two of us. But you did anyway.”

“It was his last words, Miss Westmoreland,” Michael remarked gravely.

“But most people would rather save their own necks,” she pointed out. Then, exhaling loudly, she reached to the bedside table and pulled out a small, brown leather-bound journal. “I want you to have this.” She pushed the book into his hands.

“What is it?” Michael asked, looking down at the book in confusion.

“My journal.”

Michael’s brow furrowed. Why would she give him something like this? Something so personal.

“I don’t want it to fall into wrong hands and I have no one else to give it to. Friends have a habit of disappearing when a close member of your family has a reputation, not to mention ending up in prison.” Her lips lifted in a mirthless smile before she continued, “And the things inside probably wouldn’t make much sense other than to someone who knew my father really was.” She gave him a meaningful look.

“DB Cooper,” Michael whispered softly as comprehension sank in. There must be something in there about Westmoreland’s activities.

She smiled, shaking her head slightly. “My father never told anyone about it but me. But I’m not surprised that you already know. I think he trusted you.”

Michael gave her a cautious look, and then said carefully, “So you know about the silo-”

She interjected in a low tone, “-in Utah. Yes.” Nodding to the book, she said, “That’s why you need to keep hold of that.”

Confusion marring his expression, he said, “Miss Westmoreland, you need to be a little more specific here. I’m afraid I’m not really following.”

She gestured weakly for him to lean closer. When he did, she whispered into his ears, “I found the buried money, but I couldn’t use much of it without raising suspicions. I didn’t want the government after me. The sum I kept with me was enough for me to live on comfortably. The rest, I kept aside.”

“Kept aside,” Michael echoed, the implications of her words sinking in. Did that mean that Westmoreland’s money was no longer under the silo as the old man had thought?

She yawned before she continued, “I’ve been trying to find a way to tell my father about it, but with all the security around him, it’s impossible. So I put in down in there.”

“You mapped out its location in the journal?” Michael asked with a frown. It sounded too simple to him. Too risky. Anyone who read the journal would know where it was hidden.

Smiling, she shook her head wearily. “Not literally, but in some ways, yes.” A far-away look entered her eyes. “And oh, I hope you play chess. My father loved chess. We used to play together.”

“I do,” he said, wondering what it has got to do with the hiding place.

“Then you’ll see what I mean when you read the journal,” she said enigmatically just as her eyelids began to droop.

Michael sat down on the edge of her bed and took her thin hand in his. “Are you okay?” he asked, concerned. His presence seemed to have drained her even further, much to his regret.

Eyes still closed, she smiled softly. “I’m tired now. Thank you for coming.”

“Do you want me to call the doctor?”

 

She shook her head as she patted his hand. “Now go. Be safe.”

He felt strangely reluctant to leave the lonely woman. She was approaching the end, but no one was there to sit beside her, to hold her hand. But she was right, he had to leave.

Standing up, Michael gave her one last look before he turned around and left the room.

The half-empty bus bumped along a dusty, quiet road. Trees whizzed past, and so did the desolate landscape, sparsely dotted with farmhouses and tractors.

Michael stared blankly out of the window of the bus, mulling over the conversation he had just had with Westmoreland’s daughter. The small journal was tucked securely in the inner lining of his jacket. He itched to study it but the bus was hardly an appropriate place to do so.

Her chess comment really puzzled him. It was clear that it had something to do with the contents of her journal, but what?

Chess was a strategy game, the pieces moving one after another, complimenting each other, all in the quest of capturing the opponent’s king. Maybe she had managed to somehow convey the location of the money by the sequence of the moves. Westmoreland would know how to decipher it, considering the old man’s passion for the game. But Michael would not know for sure until he looked closer at the journal.

When a familiar signboard rushed past the window, Michael’s eyes sharpened in recognition. Standing up, he made his way to the front of the bus and stepped off at the next stop.

He watched the bus as it droved off, leaving a trail of dust behind it, before he started walking.

It took him almost half an hour before he set eyes on a derelict looking single-storey farmhouse, almost completely hidden by the overgrown trees and bushes around it. The walls were leaning slightly to one side, threatening to fall over. However, Michael knew that it was stable enough for them to use it. The windows were boarded up from the outside, preventing him seeing inside.

A feeling of apprehension suddenly overcame him. What if Lincoln and the rest did not make it there. What if they had been caught?

Michael closed his eyes and inhaled. There was only one way to find out.

He opened the door and stepped into the living room.

An unexpected force impacted upon him, sending him sprawling onto the floor. His hat flew off his head and the spectacles fell off.

“What the-” he started, then realised that he was pinned down. A surge of panic rose in him.

“Whoa! Hold on, Abruzzi. It’s Scofield,” Michael heard a voice exclaim in surprise. C-Note made it, he thought fleetingly, recognising the voice.

His mind cleared as his panic receded. Michael grunted and shoved hard against the body holding him down. “Get off, Abruzzi!” he ordered tersely.

Abruzzi scowled as he got up to stand beside a small, rectangular table. Running his eyes up and down Michael’s new disguise, he remarked, “What happened to you? You look like shit.”

Before he could reply, a burst of laughter came from the other three. Sucre extended a hand to help Michael up. Smirking, Michael glanced up at his cellmate, who was standing beside a smiling Lincoln.

“Man, that’s one good cover,” Sucre said, gesturing at the padding and Michael’s face.

“Needed it to move around,” Michael stated simply.

Lincoln closed the gap between them and enveloped him in a bear hug. Then, pulling back and releasing him, Lincoln asked, “You okay?”

Michael nodded. “Did what I needed to do.” He picked up his backpack and laid it on the table. Then he looked at the rest of the escapees, all standing in the middle of the sparsely furnished room. The last occupants had left some furniture when they abandoned the farmhouse. “So, anyone want to fill me in? What happened, C-Note?” he asked.

C-Note shrugged carelessly. “I headed back to the hideout after you left, but the next thing I knew, there were cars coming at me from all directions. Had to take a detour. Hid under a truck for a little while and then ran back. Got there just before they left.”

Abruzzi muttered under his breath, earning a sharp glance from Michael.

C-Note sneered at the mob-boss.

“Good thing you did, or we’d just have to leave without you,” Sucre commented. Then flicking a questioning glance at Lincoln, he continued apprehensively, “I called Maricruz.”

Michael inhaled sharply.

Before he could say anything, Lincoln interjected, “They already know we’re in the area so I thought, why not make the call before we left. There’s no harm done, Mike. And I made a call as well.”

Michael gave his brother a thoughtful look and then nodded. “You’re right. Did you speak to LJ?”

“Called Veronica. She told me that LJ’s fine. Not saying much since he got caught.”

“Runs in the family, huh?” Abruzzi taunted, raising an eyebrow.

Lincoln tensed visibly. Directing a glare at Abruzzi, he warned, “Watch what you’re saying.”

Abruzzi held his hands up, widening his eyes. “Hey, just expressing an opinion, that’s all,” he replied, completely unperturbed.

“We’re not fighting over this, alright?” Michael turned to Abruzzi. “It might help if you keep certain opinions to yourself.”

Abruzzi leaned closer and hissed, “Listen, Fish. The only reason I put up with all this…” He gestured at the rest. “…is because of our deal. Now, the way I see, I’ve done my half. And now, you owe me YOUR half.”

Michael gave him a unreadable look. “Maybe I’ve got another deal for you.”

 

Abruzzi snorted and shook his head. “No chance. The deal is the deal. You deliver what you said you would. No other deals,” he spat out harshly.

Michael smirked. “A seven figure number in cash might change your mind,” he dangled. Then waited.

The sudden speculative light in Abruzzi’s eyes was unmistakeable as he straightened immediately. “What are you saying?”

C-Note gave Michael a meaningful look. “You’re saying what I think you’re saying?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.

Michael only continued to watch Abruzzi, not answering C-Note’s question.

Glancing back and forth between C-Note and Michael, Sucre piped up, “Anyone want to tell me what’s going on? A little lost here.”

Lincoln frowned at Michael. “But we can’t afford to be seen out there.”

Michael glanced out of the corner of his eyes towards his brother. “We can’t hide forever. The money will buy us some mobility. We need to get hold of it.”

“What money?” Sucre asked, completely puzzled.

“Yeah, Scofield. What money? Seven figures, you said?” Abruzzi asked, his eyes gleaming.

Michael nodded. “Seven figure number. If you’re in for this one, our last deal is off.”

C-Note grinned. “And if he’s not, there’s more for each of us,” he remarked. “Not a bad thing, if you ask me.”

Abruzzi tossed him a glare before returning his attention to Michael. “Listen, why do I have to give up something when the rest of them don’t even have to do anything for this escape?”

“Hey,” Sucre interjected indignantly. “I risked my life going back to patch up that hole. Not to mention I lost my conjugals.”

Abruzzi rolled his eyes up. “Big deal.” Then he nudged towards C-Note. “What about soldier-boy here, huh? What did he do?”

Michael said levelly, “He already knows about the money. And before you ask, all this would not even exist if Linc was not in Fox Rivers.” He smirked, “Looks like everyone’s accounted for, Abruzzi.”

Abruzzi stalked slammed his hands against the table. “I don’t believe this!” he snarled.

C-Note snickered, and then tilted his head to one side. “Something eating you, Abruzzi?”

“Shut up!” Abruzzi snapped irritably, his brow furrowed. He walked to the boarded-up window and peered out through the gaps.

Michael watched him silently, knowing that Abruzzi was weighing the advantages and disadvantages of the latest ‘deal’. Then he broke the silence. “You think it over. But don’t take too long. We don’t have much time left.

Abruzzi grunted in response to his words.

The corner of his lips tilting, Michael gestured for Lincoln to follow him to the back of the farmhouse.

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