New York City, October 21st, 10:03 p.m.

Solomon Friedrich walked across the yard of the metropolitan correctional center. The bite of the chilly fall air was a bitter reminder of what his life had become. A chilly breeze blew his wispy white hair around in a haphazard fashion.

Maybe I can meet my grandson someday.

Solomon sighed. His grandson was five and had never met him.

I shouldn't get my hopes up, that’s what I get for trafficking in nuclear material.

A push thrust Solomon out of his thoughts. He looked back at a burly guard named Smalls, if his name tag was to be believed.

“Playtime is over, it’s time to go, Sol,” Smalls said.

The guards lined him up behind two other prisoners, and Solomon followed a man who looked like a human tank and another smaller skinny man. The guards left the prisoners chained in a featureless hallway while Smalls discussed something with another corrections officer just out of earshot.

“Hey, buddy, are you with us?” the skinny man said.

“What?” Solomon said.

“Bubby and I are making a break for it. Watch for the sign.”

Before Solomon could respond, the guards herded the men onto an oversized and reinforced bus. They separated the prisoners. The guards placed the large balding man in the back of the bus, Solomon in the middle, and the smaller man in the front. Soon the bus was moving toward the Hudson.

“How long until we reach USP Canaan?” Smalls asked.

“A few hours, maybe less,” the driver said.

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Solomon held his breath as they entered the Holland Tunnel. The idea of having so much water above his head was a little unnerving. He released a long breath once the bus cleared the city.

About an hour later, the skinny man turned in Solomon’s direction. He nodded his head, Solomon looked toward the back of the bus. The larger man appeared to be staring straight ahead toward the front of the bus. If he was communicating with the skinny man, it wasn’t obvious.

“I don’t feel so well,” the smaller man said.

“You look fine to me. We will call ahead for a doctor,” Smalls said.

The skinny man clutched his stomach. “Argh, the pain!” Then he started foaming at the mouth.

What the hell is going on here? Solomon wondered. Is this part of the diversion?

“I think he needs a doctor, he is foaming at the mouth,” Solomon said.

“Pull over,” Smalls said.

“There’s no room. Hold on—I’ll try to find a place to pull over,” the driver said.

Moments later, Solomon noticed the bright red glow of flares burning on the road. Cars were strewn about haphazardly.

An accident?

“Something doesn’t feel right—you better call it in,” Smalls said.

“Dispatch, we have an accident and a sick prisoner, request local help,” the driver said.

Moments later, Solomon was thrust into a world of confusion. The bus rocked, throwing Solomon into the side of the bus. Blood squirted everywhere as the skinny man’s head bashed against the window. The glass shattered inward, pelting everyone with an array of shards. The bus was rolling off the road. Solomon covered his head. His hands, neck, and arms were distressed in flames of agony. The bus came to a stop. The world became blurry, then faded.

Sometime later . . .

Solomon awoke to a flurry of pain and confusion. He opened his eyes. Smalls was checking on the skinny man; he wasn’t moving and appeared to be dead. Seconds later, the guard started bleeding from his neck and chest, and then his head exploded.

What the hell is going on?

Another yelp came from the driver, and then silence. Solomon tried to turn his head around to get a better view, but pain shot through his neck and back. The world of consciousness began fading away.

Solomon tried opening his eyes, but the intense light above interfered. He blinked as he adjusted to the bright light.

“Doctor, he is waking up,” a female voice said.

Doctor? Solomon thought.

“He can take one more dose, but no more. He is too important, and I will not let him expire before his work has begun,” a man’s voice said.

Solomon watched a man in a white suit, but he couldn’t see his face because he was wearing a mask.

“I know who you are . . .” Solomon tried to say.

They placed something over his mouth and nose. The world blurred again.