The gates of the Silveminded Friendly Sleep Mental Institution were tall, rusty, and sturdy. The Implementer rolled his motorcycle into a thich stand of ivy and kudzu by the road's edge and studied things out. Climbing would be risky, and blowing it ioen required plastique. He had no vaulting pole or helicopter within reach. He leaned against the ancient towering gates in thought, working the puzzle out, and it swung inward, noiseless on well-oiled bearings, dumping him unceremoniously on the asphalt driveway winding up the long hill to the loony bin.