CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Two rooms," Vic was saying to the desk clerk. "Preferably on the same floor."
Miles stood slightly behind her, rubbing his eyes.
His head ached from staring at computer screens, and his shoulders were tight with tension.
They were close to something with Ashford; he could feel it.
It all fit together in a way that felt right even if all the pieces hadn’t yet snapped together.
When he heard his phone ring at low volume, he almost wasn’t surprised.
The Elementalist cases tended to move fast, and it was becoming common to get late night calls.
When he checked the caller ID and saw that it was AD Hayes, he instantly began to assume the worst. Another victim, maybe or, God forbid, another disciple had started their work before they’ve even found this one.
Miles answered, trying to sound as calm as possible. "This is Sterling."
"Sterling." Hayes's voice was tight, controlled in a way that immediately put Miles on alert. "Where are you right now?"
"Manhattan. We're checking into a hotel for the night. We've identified a strong suspect in the platinum killings and we're planning to interview him first thing tomorrow morning."
"Good. Keep that as your priority." Hayes paused and the two seconds that passed were so tense that Miles could feel them pressing into him through the phone. "I'm calling because you need to hear this from me before you see it on the news.”
“Okay…what is it?”
“Gabriel Kane escaped from prison approximately two hours ago."
Miles felt the floor tilt under him. Surely, he’d heard Hayes incorrectly. "What?"
"Based on early reports I’m getting, it seemed that there was a coordinated attack at the prison.
Someone planted incendiary devices throughout the facility.
The explosion knocked out power and filled the ventilation system with chemical smoke.
In the chaos, Kane's cell was opened and he walked out with an accomplice.
Two guards are dead. Three more are injured. "
Miles couldn't speak. He stared at the marble floor of the hotel lobby, at the pattern of veins running through the stone, and tried to process what Hayes was telling him.
"The U.S. Marshals are leading the manhunt," Hayes continued. "The FBI is providing support but this is their jurisdiction. Your assignment hasn't changed. You stay focused on the platinum killer. That's your priority."
"Sir, I should be helping with Kane. I know him better than anyone. I know how he thinks, how he operates."
"Which is exactly why you need to stay on the platinum case. Kane has disciples still active, still killing. The one in Manhattan is your responsibility. Let the Marshals handle Kane himself. Right now, it just makes the most sense."
Miles wanted to argue but he knew it was pointless. Hayes had made the decision and nothing Miles said would change it. And Miles knew if he pressed too hard, there could be repercussions.
"There's something else you need to know," Hayes said.
His tone shifted slightly, became almost sympathetic.
"The media is going to connect Kane's escape to you.
You're the agent who captured him. Your face has been all over the news for months.
When this story breaks nationally, your name is going to be everywhere.
Reporters will want statements, interviews, reactions.
I need you to ignore all of it and stay focused on your case. "
"I understand."
"The bureau will handle the press. You handle the investigation. Find this platinum killer before he strikes again. That's how you respond to Kane's escape. By proving his philosophy doesn't work, that his disciples can be stopped. Show the bastard how much better you are than him."
"Yes, sir."
Hayes ended the call. Miles stood there with the phone still pressed to his ear, staring at nothing.
Vic appeared beside him with two key cards in her hand. She took one look at his face and her expression changed. "What's wrong?"
Miles lowered the phone. It seemed that he had to literally push the words out of his mouth when he answered. "Kane escaped."
"What?"
"Two hours ago. There was an attack at the prison. Chemical fires, coordinated breakout. Two guards dead." He could hear his own voice saying the words but it felt disconnected from him, like someone else was speaking. "Kane's gone."
Vic's hand went to her mouth. "Oh, my God."
Miles pulled up his phone's browser and searched for Gabriel Kane. As the results loaded, he walked over to a small waiting area and plopped down in an armchair. On his phone screen, dozens of news stories popped up, all posted within the past hour. The headlines were variations on the same theme, and each one drove a nail right into Miles’ heart.
GAbrIEL KANE ESCAPES MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON
MASTERMIND OF ELEMENTAL KILLINGS brEAKS FREE
TWO GUARDS DEAD IN VIOLENT PRISON brEAK
Miles clicked on the first link. A video started playing automatically, showing aerial footage of the prison. Smoke poured from the large, eastern building on the property, and fire trucks surrounded the complex. A reporter's voice provided narration over the scene.
"Federal authorities confirm that Gabriel Kane, the convicted serial killer known as the Elementalist, has escaped from USP Hazelton in West Virginia following a coordinated attack on the facility.
Early reports indicate that an accomplice planted chemical incendiaries throughout the prison, creating chaos that allowed Kane to escape during the evacuation. "
The video cut to file footage of Kane being led into court during his trial. Miles recognized the clip. He'd been there that day; he had watched Kane walk past the cameras with that same calm expression he always wore.
The reporter continued. "Kane was captured seven months ago by FBI Special Agent Miles Sterling after a nationwide manhunt. Sterling, who has been investigating Kane's network of followers known as disciples, was unavailable for comment."
There it was, already. His name attached to Kane's escape. Miles scrolled down and found another article. This one had his photograph next to Kane's, the two images side by side like opposing forces.
He kept scrolling. More articles, more speculation, more connections between him and Kane. Some were already questioning how the escape had happened, whether there had been security failures, whether Kane had help from inside the prison system.
Another video started playing. This one showed a press conference from earlier in the evening. A U.S. Marshal stood at a podium with the official seal of the Marshals Service behind him.
"We are treating Gabriel Kane as armed and extremely dangerous. He had assistance in this escape and we believe he may still be with his accomplice. Anyone with information should contact the U.S. Marshals immediately. Do not attempt to approach Kane yourself."
The Marshal took questions from reporters. Voices overlapped, everyone shouting at once. It was a scene of controlled chaos.
"Do you know who helped him escape?" asked one reporter
"Was this planned by his disciples?" asked another.
"Is Agent Sterling involved in the manhunt?"
The Marshal held up a hand. "We're not releasing details about the investigation at this time. I can confirm that the FBI is providing support and that multiple agencies are coordinating the search."
Miles clicked on another article. This one included photograph from the prison. Smoke damage, burned corridors, emergency vehicles. The caption mentioned white phosphorus as the likely chemical used in the incendiaries.
More headlines appeared as Miles refreshed the page.
KANE ESCAPE RAISES QUESTIONS ABOUT PRISON SECURITY
AUTHORITIES SEARCH FOR ACCOMPLICE IN PRISON brEAK
ELEMENTAL KILLER ON THE LOOSE AFTER VIOLENT ESCAPE
It was escalating fast. Within another hour or so, it would be everywhere. And by morning, it would be all over the nation.
Miles felt sick. Not just because Kane was free, though that was horrifying enough.
But because he knew what this meant. Kane was out there right now, probably already making contact with his remaining disciples.
The network that Miles had been working to dismantle was about to become active again.
More killings, more chaos, more people dying in the name of elemental philosophy—and they’d all be encouraged and given renewed faith by Kane’s escape.
Including the killer they were currently searching for.
Miles scrolled through more articles, his stomach churning. Photographs of the prison, interviews with officials, speculation about where Kane might be heading. The coverage was everywhere, overwhelming, relentless.
"Miles." Vic's voice was gentle. "You need to put the phone down."
He kept scrolling, pausing at another headline.
FBI AGENT STERLING'S HISTORY WITH GAbrIEL KANE.
The article included a timeline of every interaction they'd had, every case where Kane's philosophy had been involved, every disciple Miles had tracked down.
It painted a picture of obsession, of two men locked in an ongoing battle.
Miles felt his throat tighten. The hotel lobby seemed too bright, too loud. His hands were shaking and the phone screen blurred in front of him.
"Miles," Vic said again, more urgently.
He tried to respond but couldn't form words. The nausea hit him suddenly and completely. He dropped his phone and stumbled toward the nearest hallway, looking desperately for a bathroom.
He found one just past the elevators and pushed through the door. Made it to the first stall before his stomach emptied itself. He retched violently, gripping the sides of the toilet, his entire body shaking.
He retched again, bringing up nothing but bile. His forehead pressed against his arm and he tried to breathe, tried to calm down, tried to think clearly.
But all he could see was Kane's face. That calm expression. That knowing smirk. The look of a man who was always three steps ahead, always planning, always in control even when he appeared to be captured.
Miles stayed there on his knees, shaking, as the reality of Kane's escape crashed over him in waves.