‘Use your imagination.’
Forbes stared at him, unsure quite what he meant. ‘My imagination’s not that good.’
‘You’ve got people who have imaginations.We went to a lot of trouble to put them in the right places to help you in the event of situations just like this.’
‘Mandrick.’
‘For one.’
‘What precisely are you expecting to happen?’
‘There’s over half a dozen men in the next intake. Since we don’t know which of them is the agent we can’t afford to let any of them get inside.’
‘We can’t turn them all away.’
‘I know.’
Forbes struggled to think where the agent’s line of thought was headed. When it eventually struck him his eyes widened in horror. ‘You’re insane.’
‘It’s the only way. There has to be a little accident before they get to the prison . . . The ferry - before it docks.’
‘You don’t get
The agent’s smile was gone.
‘That’s going too far,’ Forbes said, his voice quivering.
‘Too far, congressman, is a distant star we haven’t been to yet . . . You want to be a patriot. Nothing is too far when it comes to protecting this country, even from itself.You will block this move. There’s a lot more road ahead.We like our little partnership. As always, you help us, we’ll help you.’
‘This is not cooperation. It’s blackmail.’
‘Blackmail is for civilians. We strategise. If Styx goes down before we’re ready you’ll go with it. Is that simple enough for you to understand? You hang in there and you’ll get your villa on a mile of Caribbean beach with a little cottage at the end of it that your wife won’t know about where you’ll keep the little chick - Melissa? - currently living in an apartment you rent for her in Alexandria . . . You back out now and you’ll sure as shit remain in the jail business, Forbes. Someone else’s.’
The man started to walk away.
‘If I go down you’ll go with me,’ Forbes growled.
‘You don’t even know who I am,’ the man said without looking back.
Forbes stared after him with a scowl that quickly melted into an expression of utter anguish.
A prison transport wagon made its way along the San Luis Pass road from Scholes Field Airport, the sun rising out of the tepid waters of the Gulf of Mexico making a splendid view from the driver’s window.There was no view for Nathan Charon and the prisoner seated opposite him, or the guard at the other end of the windowless cabin sealed off from the cab by a steel wall.
The prisoners were wearing crisp new white convict suits with light green stripes made up of small forks, the official inmate uniform for Styx penitentiary. On closer inspection the forks turned out actually to be mythological tridents, an attempt at irony by the uniform’s designer.
Charon was staring down at his handcuffs, chained to his seat in utter disbelief at his predicament. The prisoner opposite, a bald-headed, grotesquely scarred beast, was half dozing as the van shook gently.
Charon looked at the guard at the other end of the cabin who was leaning forward in his seat reading a magazine. ‘Hey? . . . Hey?’
The guard sighed heavily. ‘Give it a rest, will ya, for Pete’s sake. You’re driving me nuts.’
‘You’re the last person from the outside world who will see me before I go into that place,’ Charon whined.
‘Yeah, I know, you said - several times now.’
‘Don’t you care that you’re taking part in this enormous travesty?’
‘I’ll get over it,’ the guard said, turning a page.
‘Doesn’t anyone think it’s just a little odd that a minimum-security prisoner with just two months left to do is being transferred to the highest-classified security prison on the goddamned planet?’
‘It is kinda weird, ain’t it?’ the guard said, turning the magazine and holding it at arm’s length to appreciate the centrefold.
‘Kinda weird?!’ Charon echoed, resting his head back against the van’s internal wall with a bang. ‘That’s the final word, folks. That’s what happened to good old Nathan Charon. Kinda weird, though. But hey - these things happen.’ He dropped his face into his hands.
‘It’s gettin’ old, Charon. One more word outta you an I’m gonna gag yer. Ya hear me?’
‘Yeah, shaddap, Charon,’ the other prisoner said without opening his eyes.
The vehicle suddenly shuddered violently, swerving slightly before rolling along with a rhythmic judder. The brakes were applied sharply and the dozing prisoner slammed his head painfully against the frame of the next seat.
The guard got to his feet as the vehicle came to a stop. He opened the small hatch into the driver’s cab.
The guard sitting beside the driver turned to look at the cabin guard as he reached for the door. ‘We gotta flat,’ he said.
‘Great,’ the cabin guard sighed.
There was the sound of doors slamming, a clunking from outside, and a moment later the back of the van opened and the light spilled in, silhouetting the driver’scab guard who was standing on the road. ‘Get your ass out here, Jerry.’
‘Technically, I ain’t supposed to get out, Chuck,’ Jerry said.
‘Oh yeah. Well,
‘In that case we’re supposed to call in roadside.’
‘You wanna sit here for the next four hours?’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Well, I do. Besides, we gotta have these guys delivered by twelve.’
‘Who cares if they’re a little late?’
‘Don’t screw with me, Jerry. I ain’t in the mood. Get your ass outta there. I don’t wanna hear anything more about it.’
‘Who put him in charge?’ Jerry mumbled as he lowered his oversize frame out of the back of the transport wagon and onto the road. A car cruised past with no others in sight as he joined his colleagues who were kneeling on the grass verge inspecting the flat.
‘I still think we should call someone,’ Jerry said, unwrapping a strip of gum and pushing it into his mouth.
‘It’s a flat tyre, not a broken axle,’ Chuck said. ‘You don’t wanna get your hands dirty, fine. I’ll do it.’
‘Come on,’ Jerry said. ‘I didn’t mean anything. I’m gonna help.’
‘You don’t have to,’ Harry said, removing his jacket.
‘I
‘We’re all gonna help,’ Chuck said, removing his jacket. ‘I’ll get the spare, you do the jack, you untie the wheel nuts. OK?’
Everyone agreed and set about their respective task.
Fifty metres from the side of the highway Stratton, wearing a pair of overalls, sat in among a dense crop of bushes, unscrewing a silencer from the end of a rifle barrel. He placed it in a box designed to house the weapon pieces and started to unscrew the scope. Paul and Todd, both wearing prison-guard uniforms identical to those of the guards in the prison van, sat a few feet from him. The two young men looked pensive in contrast to Stratton as they watched him place the final piece of the rifle in the box, along with an empty brass bullet casing, close the lid and fasten the clips. Stratton opened a small backpack beside him and removed what looked like an ordinary black tube-flashlight except for its unusual bulbous end.
