Undersea Prison

The man opened up a well-stocked make-up artist’s box and set about his work with agile precision. He gave Stratton a super-quick haircut to match Charon’s. The colour match wasn’t perfect enough for him and he sprinkled a little powder onto Stratton’s hair and rubbed it in to lighten it. He compared the two men’s faces back and forth, adding colour to eyebrows and complexion. The make-up man finally shook his head and frowned. ‘His cheekbones aren’t as wide here as his are. I can’t do anything about it.’

‘Is the difference massive?’ Todd asked, moving to where he could make his own comparison. ‘He’s right. It’s noticeable.Your cheeks are slightly thinner than his,’ he said to Stratton.

‘By much?’ Stratton asked.

‘Enough,’ the artist said.

‘A tad, but noticeable, like I said,’ Todd agreed.

‘Mine need to be bigger?’ Stratton asked.

‘Yes,’ Todd said.

‘Hit me,’ Stratton ordered.

‘What?’

‘Hit me. On the cheeks. Mess me up a little.We only have to fool these guards until they drop me off. The picture in the replacement file is me.’

‘He’s right,’ Todd said, standing back. ‘Hit him.’

‘I’m not going to hit him!’ the artist cried.

‘You’re the bloody make-up artist.You know where it needs swelling.’

‘We never did thumping as a technique in make-up class.’

‘Hit me, you little prick,’ Stratton shouted at Todd. ‘Now!’

Todd didn’t hesitate a second longer and belted Stratton across his cheek. ‘Well?’ he asked the artist, nursing his sore knuckles. ‘Bloody check it, then,’ he shouted.

The artist looked at the blow, comparing it to Charon’s cheek. ‘I suppose it confuses the issue. Do the other side.’

Todd lamped Stratton on the other cheek and the artist inspected it. ‘I suppose that’ll do,’ he said, and shrugged. ‘It’ll be better when the bruising sets in.’

‘Get this guy into the van,’ Stratton said nudging Charon and the men moved with urgency to obey.

Meanwhile, Paul climbed into the prison truck’s cab where he found a metal box file. He sorted through the keys, found the one he wanted, opened the box, removed a file, checked that it was Nathan Charon’s, replaced it with another identical file from his backpack and relocked the box.

He climbed out of the cab and put the keys back into the guard’s pocket. The guard moaned and started to move.

Paul hurried to the back of the truck.‘They’re coming round,’ he said.

Everyone speeded the final tidying-up.

Stratton sat in Charon’s seat and Todd shackled him in while the others piled into the van.

Todd took a last look around. ‘Good luck,’ he said.

‘Get going.’

Todd was about to climb down when he paused. ‘Thanks,’ he said holding out his hand. ‘Please come back in one piece.’

Stratton looked up at the sincerity in Todd’s face. He held out his hand as far as the shackles would allow.

Todd shook it, dropped the keys on the floor, jumped down onto the road, hurried to the smaller van and climbed in. It sped away even before he had closed the door.

Harry pushed himself up into a sitting position and felt his head as he wondered what the hell had happened to him. Jerry rolled onto his back, his eyes flicking open, and stared up at the sky, trying to remember where he was. He suddenly sat up and looked towards the roadside foliage while grabbing for his gun.

Chuck sat up too, blinking his eyes rapidly to help bring them back into focus. ‘What the hell happened?’ he asked as Harry turned over onto his knees.

Jerry looked towards the rear of the truck, staggered to his feet and used the side of the wagon to help him keep his balance as he hurried around to the back. Stratton, unconscious, was slumped forward in his seat, the seat opposite him empty and the shackles lying on the floor. ‘Shit!’ Jerry exclaimed. ‘We got a break!’ he shouted as he moved out into the road to look in all directions.

The other two guards came to take a look. Chuck climbed inside to check on Stratton who moaned as he regained consciousness.

‘What the hell happened?’ Chuck shouted at him. ‘Talk to me!’

Stratton took his time, pretending to gather his senses. The plan was to avoid talking to the current guards because they knew Charon’s voice. He shook his head and acted dazed.

‘What did you see?’ Chuck insisted. ‘Where’d Rivers go?’

Stratton continued to act stunned and shook his head, his eyelids drooping.

Chuck gave up and jumped back down. ‘We gotta call this in,’ he said as he headed for the truck’s cab.

‘Oh, boy,’ Jerry sighed. ‘Are we in the crapper.’

Chapter 7

Congressman Forbes sat in his office, staring at his phone. He was weighing his options, all of which looked grim. He had survived many a tight situation in his career but if there was a way out of this one he could not see it.The Agency had him well and truly by the throat and was tightening its grip.

Throughout his professional life Forbes had been an advocate of moderation when it came to the division of spoils. ‘Always leave enough for others to fatten on’ was one of his sayings. Sharing the profits along with the risks provided allies as well as scapegoats. He had never been greedy - not by his definition, at any rate. Styx was a way of making a tidy income, not without legitimate risk. His mistake had been in allowing the Agency to convince him they could mitigate that risk when all they did was to present him with greater ones. He had not seen the trap coming. The adventure had looked too good to pass on. Now, for his sins, he was faced with the grimmest choice he had ever had to make.

There had been life-and-death decisions to be made in the past but all of these had been in the name of national security. But this was purely to save his own skin. He could, he guessed, call it quits, suffer the consequences, the humiliation, the likely prison sentence and bring down a handful of colleagues with him. Better still, he could throw himself off a tall building. But that would take a type of courage that Forbes did not have. He loved life far too much and it was that same love affair that would make the final decision for him. The truth was that it had been made the instant he’d been faced with the ultimatum. This wrestling with his conscience was only a private show, a pathetic effort to convince himself that he was confronting a moral dilemma and therefore this was proof that he did in fact possess such things as a conscience and a moral sense. He had them, all right, but they were just not up to this level of testing.

Forbes stared at the ornately framed picture of his wife and two grown-up children in front of him, all smiles and confidence. It was more than enough to bolster his decision and compel him to get on with it.

Forbes picked up the phone, flicked through a notebook on his desk and double-checked the number before dialling it. The line buzzed rhythmically for several seconds before a voice came on. ‘Mandrick? . . . Yeah, it’s me. We have a problem . . . a big one. We’ve been offered a deal we can’t refuse from our Agency partners . . . They’ve informed me we’re to have an unwanted visitor . . . an undercover fed . . . Today . . . That’s the point. We don’t know who. That’s why there has to be a terrible accident . . . The ferry, I think. Unless you can come up with something better. But it must be a success . . . This puts us into outer space on the risk chart . . . Can you handle it? . . . What do they say? They don’t mind at all. They’re the ones insisting on it.’

Pieter Mandrick was half American and half South African. Taking a man’s life on the orders of a superior was nothing new to him but he had never received such a request from a civilian employer before and never for a hit