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.
‘Hey, you managed to bring half of ’em home,’ the handover guard said sarcastically, much to the amusement of the others. ‘Walk on,’ he said to Stratton as another guard joined them.
Several more prison wagons were parked around the hangar, with clusters of guards standing around them, chatting and smoking. Stratton walked up a short flight of metal stairs onto a concrete platform and stopped in front of a heavy-duty steel door. The handover guard pressed a button on the wall by the door, a buzzer sounded inside and he looked up at a video camera. ‘Come on, wake up,’ he mumbled impatiently. Seconds later there was an electrical buzz followed by a clunk.
The guard pulled the steel door open and Stratton was led into a white room where a female officer seated inside a steel cubicle watched them from behind a thick glass window. The guard bringing up the rear closed the door behind them and a red light above another steel door on the other side of the room turned green. ‘Walk on,’ the female officer said over a loudspeaker.
The two guards moved Stratton towards the door, one of them in front, the other behind. The handover guard pushed open the steel door and they entered a sterile concrete corridor with a high ceiling. Halfway along they turned and entered a room with yet another heavy steel door already open.
Stratton was led to a metal bench that was bolted to the wall.When he sat down a chain attached to the bench was threaded through rings on his mesh belt and fastened with a lock.The handover guard left the room while the other stayed by the door, one hand on his holstered baton alongside a Mace dispenser, a zapper and a radio.
‘You’re gettin’ booked in,’ the remaining guard said in a Southern drawl.‘Gonna be a while.You need the can?’
Stratton shook his head.
‘That’s just fine,’ the guard said, taking a toothpick from his pocket to service his tobacco-stained teeth.
Stratton remained in silence for almost an hour before the handover guard returned to release him from his seat and lead him out of the room. The trio continued to the end of the corridor, their footsteps echoing, and through another door. They had to wait until the entry door had locked magnetically before the exit door was unlocked by an officer inside a bulletproof cubicle.
Stratton was ushered into another room where four male prisoners wearing the same uniform as him were chained to a long metal bench. Stratton was placed at the end of the row where he was secured beside a surly unshaven individual who ignored him.
An older guard walked in, carrying a clipboard. Judging by his demeanour he was the senior officer. He stopped in the centre of the room, planted his feet wide and addressed the group. ‘Listen up,’ he said in a gravelly voice. A couple of the prisoners sat up but the rest ignored him. ‘You’ve arrived at Styx transfer point. Shortly you’ll be moved to the dock where you’ll board a boat that’ll take you to the ferry platform. From there you’ll commence the final leg of your journey. Did anyone have a problem understanding what I just said?’
A dirty-brown-skinned Latino inmate with a straggly goatee glanced up at the senior guard, a quizzical expression on his face.
‘
‘Give Ramos the Spanish card,’ the senior guard said. One of his colleagues responded by walking over to Ramos and holding a plastic card in front of him. It had the requisite information written on it in Spanish.
‘I take it you
The senior guard walked to a steel door at the end of the room, reached for a small hatch at face level and opened it. He pulled a two-way radio to his mouth as he looked through the opening. ‘Transfer room to dock . . . Transfer room to dock.’ ‘Dock reading you loud and clear,’ a voice crackled over the radio.
‘This is Perkins, senior watch. Those guys from Styx ready for transfer of five packages to the dock?’
‘That’s an affirmative. Officer coming up now.’
A look of irritation passed across the senior guard’s face as he closed the hatch and turned to look at the prisoners.There was a deafening silence, one that Ramos chose to break with an extended fart.
‘You fuckin’ stink, Ramos,’ said a large, muscular, tattooed neo-Nazi beside him.
‘Shut it,’ the senior guard said before Ramos could respond. ‘You’re still mine until you get on that boat and I ain’t too pleasant if you get me riled.’
The other guards remained watching silently, their cold expressions reflecting their boss’s threat.
A minute later a clunk signalled that the outer door had been unlocked. The senior guard checked through the hatch once more before unlocking the door on his side.
It opened to reveal a Styx prison guard in his tailored one-piece lime-green uniform.‘Hi,’ the Styx guard said, a broad smile on his face that was destined to irritate anyone who saw it.
The senior guard retained his grim look as he checked his clipboard. ‘You Gann or Palanski?’
‘I’m Palanski.’
The senior guard handed Palanski a sheet of paper from the clipboard.‘You taking any of your stores down with you this trip? They’re piling up all over my goddamned hangar.’
‘Sorry. Not this time. I hear they’re gonna be runnin’ ferries all day tomorrow, shippin’ stores.’
‘They better be.’
Palanski smiled again as he finished reading the paper, took a pen from his breast pocket and signed the bottom of it.
‘No matter how often I see that uniform I can’t help thinking how cute it is,’ the senior guard said mockingly.
