(no subject)
There's always luck involved in these things. Whether some people want to admit it or not. Some times, there's more luck than others.
Luck that none of the people reading Harvey or Judah's postcards lingered on them long enough to pick out the coded messages. (Or really cared to.) Luck that Pickman got photos of Arkham's layout all the way to and back from the new maximum security wing, and photos of the security bracelets. Luck that he met Judah, and gave those to him.
Luck that the temporary disabling mechanism on the bracelets (as Judah and Selina found once they knew which model to look for), was magnetic, and could be affected by magnets other than that key. Luck that Harvey had a magnet with him, constantly, since the day he lost his eye. (When you don't have a lid to keep the false eye in, a bit of steel in the orbital implant and a magnet in the glass, it seems, will do just fine.)
Luck that, waiting for somewhere around four a.m. (a time the Warden can't, just can't be up, because really), he doesn't fall back asleep, and miss everything entirely.
Luck that when he calls an orderly, groggily complaining that he can't sleep, he needs a sedative, the man actually comes.
...and that's when the real luck kicks in. That the guys they've got watching the security cameras tonight are replacements, just ordinary orderlies grabbed out of the halls after Warden fired the two who were supposed to be on duty tonight. They don't know what the hell they're doing, which screens to watch. They're over watching a feed from the womens wing as on a monitor on the other side of the room, Harvey yanks the orderly into his cell, knocks him out, and starts hurriedly stripping him down. He swaps their clothes (a little tight, but he'll live), and lays the man out on his bunk, then -- pauses, crouching down. He flips, and looks at the coin...
...and wrenches the unconscious man's head around, hard and sharp, until he feels-hears bone snapping. Noise rushes in his ears (laughter? is the damn clown watching?) as he rises.
The blanket's pulled up. A newspaper is laid over the man's face (something Harvey's prone to doing on occasion), and his cap is grabbed from the cart and pulled down low over Harvey's own face. Some folded-up papers with Harvey's cramped handwriting on them are slipped into his shirt-pocket. He takes his glass eye from where it sits on his desk, places it on the floor, and pounds down on it with the heel of the man's hard-soled shoe until it cracks, white-blue glass splinters and a dark little pellet of magnet. It goes in the little hole in the bracelet where the electromagnetic key is supposed to, and when a light flashes to life on the damn thing, he slides the dead orderly's key card against it, and -- it's off. Easy as that.
(He sweeps up the splinters of glass, carefully piling them on the cart, and taps the magnet out and palms it. You never know.)
The bracelet goes around the dead man's wrist with a satisfying click-beep, and by the time the men up in the camera room check the screens in the maximum security wing again, there's a figure laying in Harvey Dent's bed, face covered, and one just outside, fidgeting with his belt and keyring.
Luck that none of the people reading Harvey or Judah's postcards lingered on them long enough to pick out the coded messages. (Or really cared to.) Luck that Pickman got photos of Arkham's layout all the way to and back from the new maximum security wing, and photos of the security bracelets. Luck that he met Judah, and gave those to him.
Luck that the temporary disabling mechanism on the bracelets (as Judah and Selina found once they knew which model to look for), was magnetic, and could be affected by magnets other than that key. Luck that Harvey had a magnet with him, constantly, since the day he lost his eye. (When you don't have a lid to keep the false eye in, a bit of steel in the orbital implant and a magnet in the glass, it seems, will do just fine.)
Luck that, waiting for somewhere around four a.m. (a time the Warden can't, just can't be up, because really), he doesn't fall back asleep, and miss everything entirely.
Luck that when he calls an orderly, groggily complaining that he can't sleep, he needs a sedative, the man actually comes.
...and that's when the real luck kicks in. That the guys they've got watching the security cameras tonight are replacements, just ordinary orderlies grabbed out of the halls after Warden fired the two who were supposed to be on duty tonight. They don't know what the hell they're doing, which screens to watch. They're over watching a feed from the womens wing as on a monitor on the other side of the room, Harvey yanks the orderly into his cell, knocks him out, and starts hurriedly stripping him down. He swaps their clothes (a little tight, but he'll live), and lays the man out on his bunk, then -- pauses, crouching down. He flips, and looks at the coin...
...and wrenches the unconscious man's head around, hard and sharp, until he feels-hears bone snapping. Noise rushes in his ears (laughter? is the damn clown watching?) as he rises.
The blanket's pulled up. A newspaper is laid over the man's face (something Harvey's prone to doing on occasion), and his cap is grabbed from the cart and pulled down low over Harvey's own face. Some folded-up papers with Harvey's cramped handwriting on them are slipped into his shirt-pocket. He takes his glass eye from where it sits on his desk, places it on the floor, and pounds down on it with the heel of the man's hard-soled shoe until it cracks, white-blue glass splinters and a dark little pellet of magnet. It goes in the little hole in the bracelet where the electromagnetic key is supposed to, and when a light flashes to life on the damn thing, he slides the dead orderly's key card against it, and -- it's off. Easy as that.
(He sweeps up the splinters of glass, carefully piling them on the cart, and taps the magnet out and palms it. You never know.)
The bracelet goes around the dead man's wrist with a satisfying click-beep, and by the time the men up in the camera room check the screens in the maximum security wing again, there's a figure laying in Harvey Dent's bed, face covered, and one just outside, fidgeting with his belt and keyring.