Undersea Prison (35 page)

Gann only began to accept Mani when the Indian assured him that he had no time for Muslims. Hinduism, he explained, did not get in the way of making money even by dubious means as long as there was a sound philosophy behind it. Mani pitched himself as simply a healer. The philosophy was flawed but not sufficiently so to keep Mani from turning up to work. Besides, there was also the small matter of him being unable to practise his profession anywhere else in America.

Mani had been struck off the medical register after a patient he was treating had died. He was running a detoxification clinic at the time and was accused of serious malpractice after giving a heroin addict an experimental cocktail of opiate antagonists that led to a fatal seizure.

Mani might have avoided the subsequent litigation had it not come to light that he also happened to be a director of a company that was concentrating on commercialising an ultra-rapid detoxification treatment that had not been officially approved. In addition, he recruited heroin addicts as guinea pigs for experiments without informing them of the extreme risks. Mani was lucky not to have been incarcerated when it also transpired that the dead patient was not his first failure. No others had died but many were found to be suffering from a variety of debilitating physical and mental conditions. Fortunately for him the evidence that his treatment had been directly responsible was inconclusive. But the court case cost Mani every penny he had and, unable to practise, he found himself in a desperate situation.

Mani was an Indian immigrant who had moved to America with his parents when he was five years old and, much as he loathed the thought, he considered moving back to Calcutta where he’d been born to continue making a living the only way he knew how. He sold his car, the last remaining possession of value he had, in order to buy the air ticket. But two days before he was due to leave America he was approached by a man who said he represented the Felix Corporation in Houston and that they had a job they would like him to consider.

When Mani started to explain he was no longer able to practise the man said he knew everything about Mani’s past and that the Indian had all the right qualifications for the job. By that he meant Mani was not only a doctor but was also corrupt. And there was no need to be concerned about the legalities since the job was not on the American mainland.When Mani learned the whereabouts of his new practice he brought up the obvious point that the prison was still in sovereign waters. It was explained to him that certain legal technicalities allowed him to work offshore as a medical-supplies officer as long as he didn’t call himself a doctor.

As a medical-supplies officer Mani was permitted to give demonstrations to the guards of how to use the most basic of equipment, which he was required to do whenever there was an illness or injury. It was one of the reasons why Gann felt free to come and go as he pleased - not that the man needed a reason. Gann enjoyed watching Mani ply his trade, the more serious the medical problem the better.

Mani loosened Durrani’s trousers and pulled them down to expose his abdomen. He felt around the area, firmly pressing the flesh in places in search of any muscle tightening that might indicate an internal injury. Finding no obvious signs of damage he realigned the scanner and slowly moved it from Durrani’s ribcage onto his abdomen. As it moved down to Durrani’s hips a small black object just above his groin area appeared on the monitor.

Mani’s brow furrowed as he tuned the scanner’s focus. The object became clearer.

‘What’s that?’ Gann asked.

‘I have no idea.’

‘He swallow something?’

‘It’s not in the gut,’ Mani said as he examined the flesh to find the small pink scar.

‘Maybe it’s a piece of shrapnel,’ Gann suggested.‘These guys’ve been in all kinds of shit.’

‘Maybe,’ Mani muttered as he took a closer look at the object on the monitor.‘It doesn’t look like a random splinter or a bullet. That bit there.’

Gann drew closer to the monitor, squinting as he examined the dark patch.‘No shit.That ain’t no shrapnel.’

Mani went back to Durrani’s abdomen and felt around the scar, prodding his fingers into the flesh.

‘Cut it out,’ Gann suggested enthusiastically.

‘You think I should?’ Mani was unsure.

‘Sure as shit you cut it out.’

‘I should call Mandrick.’

‘Look, pal. I’m tellin’ you to cut that out. He’s got somethin’ in there. He’s smuggled it in. He could come to at any time and . . . I dunno, maybe activate it or somethin’.’

‘I don’t think it’s a bomb,’ Mani said sardonically.

‘Maybe it’s some kinda suicide device. If he wakes up he might kill himself.’

‘I didn’t think the Taliban were that sophisticated.’

‘Maybe he ain’t a Talibuttfuck. Maybe he works for the Russians.’

Mani thought that sounded just as ludicrous. ‘I think we should go and see Mandrick.’

‘OK. I’ll stay here. But if he starts comin’ to I’ll cut it out myself.’

Mani believed Gann would do it too, and probably with his penknife. He ran his fingers through his thick short black hair, frustrated by his indecision. ‘OK,’ he said finally. ‘I’ll open him up and take a look.’

‘It ain’t gonna do him no harm anyhow.’

‘I’ll do it, OK?’ Mani whined, taking a paper bag off a nearby silver trolley and opening it. Inside was a plastic bowl with a collection of surgical instruments each in its own sterile bag, an assortment of absorbent gauzes and a pair of plastic gloves. He took a syringe and a small bottle from a drawer under the counter top, removed the sterile cover from the syringe, pushed the needle through the top of a bottle and drew out some of the liquid.

‘He don’t need anaesthetic.’

‘The pain might wake him up and that would not be a good idea if I’ve got my hand inside him at the time.’

‘I’ll take care of him if he wakes up, don’t you worry about that.’

Mani shook his head, containing his impatience and anger. He wanted to tell Gann he was the biggest idiot he had ever met but the satisfaction might come at an unacceptable price. ‘Would you mind just staying back and allowing me to do my job, please?’

Gann frowned as he took a step back and leaned against the counter.

Mani injected Durrani’s skin in several places around the small scar, placed the syringe on the trolley and pulled on the gloves. He inspected the scar closely again, pulling at the skin lightly to test its elasticity. He pulled the sterile wrapping from a scalpel and positioned it over the skin. Gann leaned forward to get a closer look.

Mani cut into the flesh, keeping the incision to the length of the scar. Blood immediately dribbled down the side of Durrani’s abdomen. Mani wiped it and dabbed the cut. The bleeding was minimal. Mani stuck a finger into the opening and moved it around. He couldn’t feel anything solid and pushed a couple of fingers in up to his knuckles. He shook his head in frustration as he took out his bloody fingers. ‘I can’t find it. I’ll use the scanner - would you mind?’ he said, indicating the scanner above Durrani’s chest and his bloody hand that he could not use to take a hold of it.

Gann was eager to be of help in this kind of surgical situation and he moved the scanner down Durrani’s body, watching the monitor until the black object appeared. Mani took a pair of forceps from its bag and slipped the end into the cut while looking at the monitor. He opened the forceps and soon had the ends placed either side of the object. He carefully closed the ends around the item. He withdrew the forceps, the small device in its little bag sliding out of the bloody hole.

Mani placed it in the bowl and, with Gann literally breathing down his neck, he wiped the bag clean of blood.

‘Take it outta the bag. Let’s have a look at it.’

Mani took a pair of scissors from the tray and snipped one end of the bag. The small memory card fell out of the bag onto a piece of gauze and both men stared at it.

‘What do you make of it?’ Mani asked.

‘No idea,’ Gann said.

Mani used the scissors to turn it on its side. He took a magnifying glass off the counter and examined the object more closely. ‘Whatever it is, it’s very sophisticated. ’ He held it with the forceps and used the scalpel to gently pick at what looked like a join. The gap widened slightly and he applied a little more pressure. The piece slid fully open to reveal a finely patterned gold strip similar to that on the face of a SIM card. ‘It looks like some kind of memory chip.’

Gann took the magnifying glass and had a look for himself. ‘Yeah. Like you get in digital cameras,’ he muttered. Tumblers started moving inside his head. ‘That’s why that Charon guy was talking to him. And that’s why he pulled his shirt up. He was looking for this. He ain’t workin’ for our side otherwise he wouldn’t need to be sneakin’ around as a prisoner. Charon’s a friggin’ spy.’

Mani wasn’t entirely sure what Gann was going on about and didn’t particularly care. He took a small zip-lock bag from a drawer, placed the card inside it, sealed it and removed his gloves. ‘I’m taking this to Mandrick,’ he said.

‘Fine,’ Gann said, uninterested in the device. ‘And I think I’ll have that little meetin’ with Charon that I was plannin’.’

Mani placed a piece of gauze over Durrani’s wound as Gann walked purposefully out of the room. The doctor left shortly after and closed the door behind him.

Durrani’s eyelids flickered and slowly opened.

When Christine walked into Mandrick’s office he immediately noticed something about her that he had been unable to see on the monitor. She had groomed herself, only a little, but more than she had in the past. There was also a hint of eyeliner. That was a significant effort for her.

Christine saw the lecherous glint in his eye as she entered the room. Mandrick was standing there with a superior demeanour as if he was all-knowing. Once again she suddenly wondered if he knew who she really was, or at least that she wasn’t what she claimed to be. It was not just with Mandrick either. She never completely trusted her cover, always feeling most unlike prison-inspector material. Every time someone looked her directly in the eye she would stare back at them searching for traces of suspicion. There were so many reasons to get the job finished and be out of the damned place.

She forced a smile.‘Have I caught you at a bad time?’

‘No. I was about to do my rounds of the prison but I’m happy to put it off.’

‘I can come back later if you’d prefer,’ Christine said, stepping closer to him while at the same time wondering if her discomfort at being so close to him was obvious.

Despite being certain of her duplicity Mandrick was struck once again by her attractive qualities. As well as her beauty and intelligence she had an aura about her, an undeniable strength beyond her physical athleticism. She was a superior creature. There were times when he felt strangely inadequate beside her. The feeling was bizarre and on certain levels it irritated him.Which was why he became far more of a predator in her company than he would normally be with women.

He moved towards her. Inwardly she braced herself, expecting him to take hold of her. But he brushed past like a matador.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ Mandrick asked, going to an antique bureau and a collection of fine crystal decanters and tumblers.

‘I shouldn’t really.’

‘Is that for medical or professional reasons?’ Christine grinned. ‘How does it affect you at this depth?’

‘You do get more of a buzz for your dollar . . . But don’t let me pressure you.’

‘Very funny.’

‘Bourbon do?’

‘Sure.’

Mandrick poured two glasses, opened a small fridge beside the bureau, took out a bowl of ice, plopped a couple of cubes in each glass and brought them over to her.

Christine took the drink and held it to her mouth as she watched him take a sip of his. She let the glass touch her lips and poured a little of the burnt-gold fluid between them. It tasted bitter to her. She didn’t like hard liquor but on this occasion it reminded her of younger days in college after a game of touch football or baseball, joining the guys for a drink. They’d been purely bonding moments for her but fun nonetheless. Now those days seemed like ancient history. From college girl to secret undercover agent standing in the warden’s office of a damp, humid prison far beneath the Gulf of Mexico.

As she watched Mandrick eyeing her with the confidence of a great cat, she was less sure of her strategy than ever. Her scheme was nothing more complex than to separate him from his minicomputer, remove the memory-storage cards without him knowing and then head for his personal escape pod. There were some glaring flaws in the plan. The first was the difficulty of getting the keypad entry code to gain access to the pod. She didn’t know it. The only way around that was to somehow get Mandrick to show her the inside of the pod and then make her move to get inside it and eject. The other flaw was that as she arrived on the surface he could have her picked up by his own people. She would be stuck inside the pod for hours anyway, waiting to decompress. He would also have plenty of time to cancel some of the information on the storage cards; PIN codes and passwords, for instance.

It was not the best of plans by a long stretch but Christine was out of other ideas. She almost scratched the whole notion several times but the only reason she continued to pursue it was that she was not entirely desperate to pull it off. Taking the storage cards was surplus to the mission objective, anyway. It was all about personal ambition. If the ideal opportunity failed to materialise she would cancel it and surface just with her report.

At that moment the scheme was certainly looking doubtful. Mandrick was being more forward with her than he’d been at any other time. He had a hunger in his eyes. She reckoned she had been too overtly sexual in setting him up and he was clearly expecting more than she was prepared to give. ‘Why don’t you take me on a tour?’ she suggested. ‘I can come on your rounds with you.’