He closed the top of his computer and turned in his seat to look at Stratton. After studying him for a few seconds he held out a hand. ‘Tusker Hamlin,’ he said in a cordial if neutral tone.
Stratton knew the name immediately. He was in the presence of America’s most infamous domestic terrorist. This guy was into everything from deadly toxins and chemical agents to home-made explosives. It must have been ten years ago that the media had been filled with the news of his capture. Stratton remembered the footage of a solitary dilapidated caravan in the midst of some vast forest miles from anywhere in one of the northern US states. He took Hamlin’s hand and they shook. The older man’s grip was firm and his palm calloused as if he’d been doing hard labour.
‘You’re lucky to be alive,’ Hamlin said, sitting back in his chair.
Stratton could not disagree.
‘Zack said if you hadn’t floated out of the milk when you did he wouldn’t have seen you.’
‘Zack?’
‘Diver who pulled you out and got your ticker goin’ again.’
Stratton had wondered who he had to thank for saving his life.
‘You believe in God?’ Hamlin asked.
‘More than I did last week.’
‘Where you from?’
‘Vermont. I spent a long time in the UK if you’re wondering about the accent.’
‘Never been there,’ Hamlin said in a way that suggested he didn’t care either. ‘What you in for?
Stratton shrugged. ‘Can’t keep outta jail. I guess they think this place’ll change my mind.’
‘Let ’em think what they damn well want to,’ Hamlin said, his mind suddenly elsewhere.
‘Aren’t you a bit old to be down here?’ Stratton asked, genuinely curious. ‘I didn’t mean that to sound rude,’ he added, intent on being respectful.This was the kind of place where a person needed to make friends, especially when he had enough enemies already.
Hamlin took a packet of tobacco from a pocket and proceeded to make a roll-up. ‘They think they’ve finally found a prison that’ll hold me . . . I’ve escaped from three so far.’
‘I remember you.You made a lot of news . . . I guess they think you’re still dangerous?’
‘Assholes,’ Hamlin muttered, licking the paper and completing the roll-up. ‘I’ve always been fascinated by what I could make in my garage that would scare the bejeezus out of anyone. Made my first atomic bomb when I was twenty. That was without the plutonium, of course. Science department got into more trouble’n I did,’ he said, lighting up and blowing the smoke at the ceiling. He held the tobacco out to Stratton who shook his head.
‘Didn’t you make some anthrax?’
‘That was the one that shot me to infamy. Easiest thing I ever made,’ Hamlin said, amused at the memory. ‘All I did was go to the old testing grounds in Oklahoma and pluck me up some samples right out of an open field that wasn’t even fenced. I grew the stuff in culture dishes - had enough to fill a biscuit tin within months.’
Stratton was fascinated by home-made devices himself, particularly explosives. Hearing such details first- hand from a grandmaster was entertaining. ‘I remember you mostly for your mail bombs. I saw a diagram of one of your circuits. Very innovative.’
‘You technical?’
‘I’m not in your league.’
‘My mistake was in getting too political,’ Hamlin sighed, taking a long drag and clearly enjoying it. ‘I should say, in going for the wrong political targets . . . Up until then I was just some anti-abortion, animal-rights, pro- environment nut who on occasion plucked a member or two of the general public to make a point. There was just one detective lookin’ for me in those days. Then I sent a coupla letter bombs to a selection of high-ranking Republicans and the entire FBI was set loose on my ass.’ The reminiscing amused him.
Stratton couldn’t decide what to make of Hamlin. He didn’t appear to be crazy. Had he not known the man’s history he would have guessed him to be a normal harmless old codger. ‘How do you rate this place - compared to other prisons you’ve been in?’
‘This place? I’m havin’ a great time!’ Hamlin said. ‘It’s gonna be a little harder than the others to get out of, though.’ He held the last quarter-inch of the roll-up between tobacco-stained fingertips and took a final drag. ‘I’m busier than I’ve ever been,’ he said as the vent kicked in again and the cell was filled with a current of air that did not smell particularly fresh. ‘I keep those suckers runnin’, for one,’ he said, pointing to the vent.
Stratton looked up at the small air duct, its orifice coated in black dust. ‘You help maintain the scrubbers?’
‘Help? Since they put me in engineering the engineers don’t come down here so much. I kinda made myself a little niche. They love it, I love it. They get to spend more time topside. I get to spend less time in here. I should get a piece o’ their pay cheque.’
Stratton suddenly thought about his task. It was as if it had been waiting in his head for some attention, had lost patience and jumped out at him. He didn’t have a plan yet but before he could begin to devise one he was going to have to get his hands on some information. It was too early to get frustrated although it already felt as if he’d been on this mission for an age. He needed to see the lie of the land, experience the routine and gather details about his target.
Stratton got to his feet, walked to the end of the little cell and turned around.
‘You pacin’ the room already?’ Hamlin asked. He took one of the books off his desk and held it out to Stratton. ‘Here.’
Stratton took it and looked at the front cover. It was a history of deep-sea diving, stretching back to ancient Greece and Aristotle.
‘Hey. You never know when it’ll come in handy,’ Hamlin said, winking.
Stratton saw the funny side, decided to shelve his problems for the moment and sat back on his bed. Exercising some patience was sound advice. He opened the book and read the introduction. It made him think of his emergency diving equipment sitting at the base of the Styx umbilical just beyond the prison walls. Stratton shuddered at the thought of being out there once again with only a lungful of air to fuel a one-way journey to an objective he could not see. But there were the standby diving sets in the dock that he could utilise if he could get to them. The problem with that was getting inside the dock itself. But then, before he could escape he had to get the tablet.
Stratton told himself once more to be patient and to put the mission to one side for the moment.
A klaxon sounded somewhere outside and Stratton looked over at Hamlin who had gone back to his laptop.
‘The dinner bell,’ the older man said. ‘Highlight of the afternoon for most. In the early days they fed us in the cells. That got to be too much work for the guards and so they opened up a mess hall.’
The door hissed loudly and the seal around it shrank. ‘You been to the mess hall yet?’ Hamlin asked as he got to his feet.
‘No.’
‘Watch yourself. It’s a place where things can go wrong.’
The door moved in on its hinges and Hamlin helped it open. There was no one outside and Stratton leaned out to take a look.
Hamlin put a hand out to stop him. ‘Steady, son,’ he said in a low voice. ‘From here on you don’t move without being told.There’re some guards ain’t as kindly as others - one in particular.’
Stratton could guess who he was referring to.
‘STEP OUTSIDE YOUR CELL INTO THE CORRIDOR!’ boomed a voice from tinny speakers.
Hamlin obeyed and Stratton followed.
All the other doors along the corridor were open. A prisoner walked out of each one.
‘TURN TO YOUR LEFT AND FACE THE RED LIGHT,’ the voice demanded.
A red light shone above a door at the end of the corridor. Every prisoner obeyed lethargically.There was a loud hiss and a clunk and the door below the red light opened. Stratton could feel the pressure change and looked up at a CCTV camera that was pointing directly at him.
‘KEEP THE SAME DISTANCE FROM THE MAN IN FRONT OF YOU. HE STOPS, YOU STOP. DO NOT BUNCH . . . FORWARD MARCH!’
Stratton trooped off behind Hamlin.
