Undersea Prison (16 page)

Mandrick replaced the phone, pushed his fingers through his short tan hair and walked over to a detailed model of the prison facility.

A buzzer sounded and Mandrick glanced at one of the monitors showing two angled images of a large man wearing a lime-green tailored uniform and standing outside a door. The man looked up into one of the camera lenses, his expression blank, his eyes cold.

Mandrick took a hand-held remote from his pocket and pushed one of several coloured buttons on it. The sound of escaping gas lasted a couple of seconds as a thick rubber seal around a steel oval-shaped door shrank and, after a heavy clunking sound, the door moved back into the room like a filing cabinet drawer before pivoting open.

Gann walked into the room, a big heavy-boned man of distant Scandinavian origins. He was almost a head taller than Mandrick and remained standing by the opening like a barely obedient hound, staring at his master with an arrogant indifference that those who did not know him might have mistaken for insolence.

Mandrick pushed a button on his remote and the door closed with another clunk and a further escape of air as the seal puffed back up to fill the space around it. ‘You’ll be picking up the next in-transfer,’ Mandrick said without a trace of drama.

Gann waited for an explanation. He was not particularly interested but was curious nevertheless about why the schedule was being changed.

‘Didn’t we have a problem with one of the ferries a couple weeks ago?’ Mandrick asked, suddenly remembering.

‘Number four,’ Gann said.

‘What was the problem?’

‘The number-three relief valve in the main cabin. The seal needs changing. It leaks.’ Gann’s accent was soft: many thought he was from Chicago or Philly but no one knew for sure.

‘Why hasn’t it been changed?’

‘It has a scheduled service next week. I guess they’re waiting till then.’

Mandrick looked at Gann, gauging him as he often did. The man was a gift from Felix Corp, a special assistant. A thug, in other words. He hadn’t gone through the normal vetting procedures and his personnel file was clearly a fairy tale. Gann was supposedly a former US Marine sergeant, an ideal pedigree for the prison service in which he had to look after the most desperate individuals in the world. Mandrick knew soldiers and Gann did not even begin to fit the profile. What Gann did for the company required a pedigree far more ominous than any that the Marines could provide. When they’d first met at the corporate offices in Houston, the day Mandrick was promoted to warden, Gann had been introduced as his key security officer. Forbes went even further, seeming to boast of some secret information when he said to Mandrick,
sotto voce
, that Gann would take care of any ‘delicate situations’.

At the time Mandrick could not accurately imagine what that might entail but he got a taste within the first few days Gann was on the job when an inmate was caught stealing gems from the mine. The prisoner, an armed robber and escape artist from Leavenworth penitentiary who was serving three life sentences, had a partner in the guard force who was smuggling the ‘merchandise’ ashore. The inmate suffered a paralysing injury when a piece of machinery fell on his back and in that same week the guard was involved in a fatal alcohol-related traffic accident. When Mandrick had mentioned that the inmate could have died Gann must have thought he’d said ‘
should
have’ because his reply was that a dead man attracted attention whereas one who’d had an accident and was recovering from his injuries did not.

It was a wise theory. Only one inmate had died in Styx since it had opened, an impressive record which helped protect it from outside scrutiny. But it did have an unusually high rate of injuries, the level of whose seriousness was often concealed. But as Gann so accurately pointed out, as in a war, the ‘merely’ wounded were hardly taken into account, no matter how serious the damage they’d sustained.

Mandrick had never personally ordered Gann to do anything unsavoury, nothing beyond the bounds of what a normal prison guard looking after category one-plus prisoners might be expected to do. That was indication enough that the man received his orders from someone else. Mandrick had no problem with that. They were all steering in the same direction. And this particular request was going to require a team effort. It was not only serious but technically complicated. Gann could not achieve success without Mandrick’s assistance.

The order was also proof that Forbes received his orders from someone. It wasn’t easy to get a congressman to become a willing party to a murder - and of an FBI agent, at that. Forbes wasn’t a tough guy. Mandrick personally found him weak and pathetic. He was typical of the type: born to wealth and influence, carried through school, did his time in the army in an administrative role, thus avoiding Vietnam, and was handed his political career on a plate. Someone must have dangled him by his testicles over a pool of sharks to get him to do this.

‘We have a problem,’ Mandrick said in his usual calm, controlled manner. ‘One of the prisoners on the next intake cannot be allowed to enter the prison.’

The printer on Mandrick’s desk came to life and spat out a sheet of paper. Mandrick picked it out of the tray and glanced over it.‘Six prisoners . . . but we don’t know which one is our unwanted guest.’ Mandrick glanced up at Gann who was staring at him without a shred of emotion in his expression. ‘Would the valve be enough, do you think?’ Mandrick asked, knowing the answer but wanting Gann to get involved in the conversation.

‘Everyone?’ Gann asked, impressed. This was by far the biggest deal he had been presented with since taking on the job. Come to think of it, it was the biggest hit numbers-wise that he had ever been asked to carry out.

‘It looks that way. We don’t have the time to figure out who it is.’

Gann took a moment to absorb the request. ‘I guess the valve would do it . . . with some added insurance.’

‘Like what?’

‘It would have to happen deep . . . close to the dock would be best but not too close. They’d have to be denied access to the escape suits, for one thing.’

Mandrick was satisfied that Gann was on the right track and would come up with a plan. He looked at the six names again, none of whom he had heard of before. Five would be collateral victims. Once again he was surprised at how easy it was for him to ignore the evil of the decision. Perhaps it was because they were all scum anyway. The list did not include their crimes - he would have to look at the files for that - but he didn’t need to. No one got a ticket to Styx who wasn’t a special-category prisoner. As for the FBI agent, the risk came with the job.

‘We can’t afford to screw this up,’ Mandrick said, sounding like an officer even to himself. He did not particularly care what Gann thought about him. The man was an ape and needed to be reminded as often as possible of his place in the pecking order, even if his strings were usually pulled from somewhere way above Mandrick’s own position.‘What about the other guard?’ Mandrick asked.A minimum of two guards was required to ferry an intake of prisoners from the surface. Escape was considered impossible but this minimum was a procedural requirement in case there was a medical incident - like a guard becoming incapacitated due to a bad compression or something similar.

The prison’s seventy-five guards were divided into three shifts. When the dark side of the system was designed it had been regarded as dangerous if not impossible to try and recruit only corrupt employees. However, applying principles learned from the infiltration of entire police forces by organised-crime syndicates, the compromising of key positions of responsibility could be coordinated. Once the necessary personnel were in place it was easy to recruit and then manipulate the lower ranks by using the basic motivating principle of greed.

The thinnest of smiles came to Gann’s lips. ‘Use Palanski.’

‘Palanski?’ Mandrick was unaware of any significant connection between Palanski and Gann. ‘Why him?’

‘He’s a leak,’ Gann said. ‘He’s been talking to a journalist. They’ve met a coupla times already. We’ve been wondering what to do with him.’

We?
This was another reminder that Gann had sources and controllers that bypassed Mandrick’s own authority. It had CIA written all over it. Mandrick showed no hint of surprise or disapproval. Palanski was a fool for going outside the corporation and deserved whatever he got anyway.

‘They won’t survive,’ Gann said reassuringly, as if Mandrick needed convincing.

‘That will be unfortunate,’ Mandrick said, checking a screen on his computer monitor. ‘Ferry four is officially operable.’

Gann knew nothing about Mandrick beyond his role in the prison. He suspected that the man might be weak. Treating him as a boss was an act. Mandrick was the warden but Gann did indeed answer directly to others and looked upon his official prison duties simply as a cover for his real purpose. Mandrick’s cold willingness to be complicit in the deaths of so many people did, however, impress Gann. Mandrick obviously had to have some kind of background that qualified him for the position. But what Gann didn’t know he didn’t particularly care about as long as it did not directly affect him.‘It must be important,’ Gann said, wondering if Mandrick knew more about what lay behind the plot.

Mandrick would not tell Gann the precise nature of the problem, that the victim was an FBI agent - it might even have negative implications if he did. This sabotage was a serious act of desperation and had ‘endgame’ stamped clearly right through it.The writing was on the wall.

Mandrick didn’t want anyone prematurely jumping ship, not before him. If the feds were snooping around it was a warning that the party was coming to a close. The death of one of their agents might only accelerate it. But perhaps the end could be delayed, which was clearly what the Agency was hoping for. It suited Mandrick too.The mine was still generating cash while the CIA was extracting information from Taliban and al-Qaeda insurgents. All affected parties wanted it to go on for as long as possible.

Mandrick made a mental note to start putting together his escape plans in greater detail.‘We can afford to have at least one serious mishap, I suppose,’ he said as he touched a button on his desk and another gush of air announced the opening of the door.

Gann smirked, wondering if Mandrick knew anything at all. He walked out of the room.

The door closed behind him with a clunk and yet another hiss of air and Mandrick looked once more at the names of the men who were going to die. He dropped the paper onto his desk, walked over to an antique bureau, opened it up and took out a bottle of fine Scotch. He poured himself a small glass and took a sip.

The prison truck slowed to a crawl in order to negotiate a fat speed-bump, its chains and metal innards rattling as it lurched over it. Out of the corner of his eye Stratton watched the guard pull himself to his feet.

Jerry had scrutinised Stratton when he’d eventually climbed back inside the van after the police had arrived at the scene of the escape on the highway. The guard’s expression conveyed his irritation with the prisoner for not being of any help to the investigators.

While a medic had cleaned Stratton’s wounds and inspected his body for anything more serious a police officer had questioned him. For the most part Stratton just shook his head and mumbled how he had seen nothing. They eventually left him alone, unsure if he was telling the truth or simply protecting a fellow con. Stratton felt confident that neither of the guards was suspicious about his identity.They were preoccupied by their own problems and were also still suffering some minor after-effects of the strobe.

Before the police had arrived the guards had huddled outside the truck, trying to clarify the events leading up to the escape. They were worried about their descriptions of the strange hypnotic device and wondered if they would be taken seriously. Harry described a multicoloured flashing light while Chuck remembered the man in the bushes pointing something at them that was not a gun. Jerry could only remember feeling nauseous, followed by an intense paranoid feeling that he was going to die. It all sounded too much like science fiction.

The first thing the police did on hearing the story was to breathalyse all three of them and then take samples of their blood for testing. The cops eventually provided an escort for the rest of the journey while the investigation continued.

Stratton was pleased with how it had gone. He had successfully passed through the phase that many in the planning department had considered the greatest gamble - mainly because it had been left entirely up to the Americans who had failed to send through a photograph of Nathan Charon to confirm the degree of likeness between him and Stratton. Handing control of such an important segment of the operation over to any other outfit had always been going to be difficult but the Yanks had, Stratton reckoned, just about come through, with a little help from Todd’s fists. So far, so good. The rest of the journey into the prison would be relatively straightforward.

The vehicle continued slowly around a tight corner before it came to a stop. The guard walked to the rear doors and waited beside Stratton.The outside latch was pulled aside with a heavy clunk and fluorescent light spilled into the cabin as the doors creaked open.

Jerry climbed out of the back and exchanged greetings with several men. Another guard climbed in and unshackled Stratton from his wrist and ankle chains. ‘Let’s go,’ he said and Stratton got to his feet. ‘Prisoner coming out!’ he shouted and Stratton was helped down.

‘Stand still,’ Stratton was ordered as his feet touched the concrete floor surface inside a large hangar. A robust wire-mesh belt was fastened around his waist and his hand shackles were secured to it, in front of his stomach.

Chuck appeared from the front cab, holding out a box file. ‘Here’s his files,’ he said to the handover guard who took the metal box.