Chapter 14: PI and Prediction
Michael started his campaign at 0800. April 22nd. Twenty-six days left.
I watched from across the workshop as he "accidentally" knocked over a stack of license plates. They clattered across the floor, disrupting the entire work line.
"Scofield!" Bellick stormed over, face already red. "What the hell?"
"Sorry, boss. Slipped."
"Slipped my ass. That's three violations this week. Work quota issues, talking during count, and now this?" Bellick's smile was pure malice. "Congratulations. You just earned yourself PI duty. Report to the infirmary tomorrow at 0800."
Michael's face showed perfect contrition. "Yes, sir."
But as Bellick walked away, Michael caught my eye across the room.
Phase one complete.
MICHAEL'S POV
Michael Scofield had spent six months planning this break. Every detail calculated. Every contingency mapped.
Getting PI duty was critical. The infirmary was his access point to the bolt hole in the wall—the entry to the utility tunnels that would lead them under the walls.
But Bellick's body language bothered him. The way the CO had smiled, the slight pause before assigning punishment.
He suspects something.
Michael couldn't tell what exactly. But Bellick was watching him more closely than the other inmates. Making notes. Asking questions.
I need to be more careful. One slip, and this whole thing falls apart.
That evening, Daniel found him in the library.
"Bellick suspects something," Daniel said quietly, sliding into the chair across from him. "His body language changed when you requested PI transfer. He's not sure what, but he's watching."
Michael's stomach tightened. "How do you know?"
"The way he paused before assigning you. The way he's been tracking your movements all day. He's building a file in his head, trying to connect dots." Daniel leaned forward. "You need to be aggressively normal tomorrow. No checking the tattoo. No measuring distances. Just work."
"I can do that."
"Good. Because if Bellick figures it out before we're ready, we're all dead."
DANIEL'S POV
The next morning, C-Note found me in the yard.
He didn't waste time with pleasantries. Just walked up and said, "You, Scofield, Sucre, and Abruzzi. That's an odd crew. What's happening?"
I'd been expecting this. C-Note was too smart, too observant. Military intelligence background meant pattern recognition was his specialty.
"We're friends," I said simply.
"Bullshit. You don't become friends with a mob boss in prison unless there's profit involved." C-Note crossed his arms. "I'm asking nicely. What are you planning?"
I studied him. Desperation in every line of his body. Pictures of his family hidden in his cell. Letters from his wife getting shorter, more stressed. His daughter sick, bills piling up.
He needs out. Needs it desperately.
"How are your wife and kids?" I asked. "Darius and—"
C-Note's hand shot out, grabbing my shirt. "How the fuck do you know my son's name?"
"Because I pay attention. And because you're a good man in a bad situation." I didn't struggle against his grip. "Your wife Kacee is struggling. Medical bills for your daughter. You're trying to stay strong but you're terrified they'll give up on you."
"You been reading my mail?"
"I don't need to. It's all there in how you move, how you talk, who you call, when you look most stressed." I met his eyes. "You're going to figure out what we're planning eventually. You're too smart not to. So here's my question: when you do figure it out, are you going to help or hurt?"
C-Note released my shirt, stepping back. "That depends on what you're planning."
"Can't tell you that. Not yet. But think about this: what would you do to get back to Kacee and Darius? How far would you go?"
"As far as it takes."
"Then maybe we're on the same side. Maybe we can help each other." I straightened my shirt. "I'll be in touch."
I walked away before he could respond.
C-NOTE'S POV
Benjamin Miles Franklin stood in the yard, watching Miller disappear into the crowd.
That kid knows too much. Way too much.
But he'd also just offered something C-Note desperately wanted: hope.
What would I do to get back to my family?
Anything. Everything. Break out of prison if that's what it took.
And if Scofield and his crew were planning a break—if they were actually crazy enough to try it—then C-Note wanted in.
But I need to know for sure. Need to see proof before I commit.
He'd watch. Listen. Wait for confirmation.
And when the time came, he'd make his move.
DANIEL'S POV
That evening, I found Michael before his first PI shift.
"C-Note's going to figure it out," I said. "Military intelligence background—pattern recognition is his specialty. We can either bring him in now or prepare for him to leverage his way in later."
Michael's frustration was visible. "How many more people are we adding?"
"As many as we need. C-Note's smart, capable, and desperate. Those are good qualities in a crew member."
"They're also qualities that make people unpredictable."
"True. But predictably unpredictable is still useful. We know he'll do anything to get back to his family. That's reliable motivation."
Michael rubbed his face. "Fine. Monitor him. If he gets too close, we bring him in controlled. I don't want him discovering things and forcing leverage."
"Agreed."
The next morning, Michael started his first PI shift at 0800. I provided overwatch from the yard, tracking guard movements.
At 1415, I caught his attention through the infirmary window. Held up two fingers.
Two minutes until rotation.
Michael nodded imperceptibly.
At 1417, he accessed the supply closet. I watched the corridor—Stolte was on bathroom break, Patterson was outside smoking, Bellick was in the guard station.
Twelve-minute window.
Michael found the bolt hole entrance behind the false panel. Examined it quickly, checking measurements against the tattoo. Everything matched.
At 1428, he was back to normal work. Tools cleaned, supplies restocked.
Dr. Tancredi walked past at 1430, right on schedule. She smiled at Michael—genuine warmth, professional courtesy.
Michael smiled back, charming but distant.
Good. Don't get involved with her. Too many complications.
That evening, Michael found me in the library.
"It works," he said quietly. "The bolt hole is exactly where the plans said. Measurements are perfect. We can access the utility tunnels."
"Guard timing?"
"Tight but manageable. Your intelligence was precise—rotation happens at 2:15, twelve-minute window before Dr. Tancredi's rounds."
"So we're on schedule."
"We're on schedule." Michael allowed himself a small smile. "Twenty-five days. We can actually do this."
"Never doubted it."
"Liar."
I grinned. "Okay, maybe a little doubt. But productive doubt. The kind that makes us plan better."
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of what we were attempting settling over us.
"Danny?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For everything. The key, the intelligence, the preventative measures." Michael met my eyes. "I couldn't do this alone."
"You're not alone. That's the point." I stood. "Come on. Let's go pretend to be normal inmates for a while."
MICHAEL'S POV
That night, Michael lay in his bunk with Sucre snoring above him, and allowed himself to feel something he hadn't felt in months: genuine hope.
The infirmary access worked. The bolt hole was real. The measurements were perfect. The plan was actually, impossibly viable.
Twenty-five days.
He pulled out the origami crane from his pocket, unfolded it, stared at the notes hidden in the creases.
Lincoln. I'm coming. Just hold on a little longer.
Above him, Sucre mumbled about Maricruz in his sleep.
Across the prison, Abruzzi was coordinating with his outside connections.
Westmoreland was considering his final flight.
C-Note was watching, waiting, calculating.
T-Bag was spiraling into paranoid delusions about ghosts and conspiracies.
And Daniel—Daniel was probably awake, organizing everything in that impossible mind palace, planning three steps ahead like always.
My crew, Michael thought. Crazy, dangerous, desperate. But mine.
He refolded the crane and closed his eyes.
Twenty-five days until everything changed.
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