me get you to the hospital.’
Christine appeared to understand enough to help him get her to her feet although everything else was a blur. Mandrick’s image kept flashing across her mind, a memory only, disconnected to time and her current location despite her efforts to marshal her thoughts. She heard the doctor’s gentle voice that she remembered and trusted urging her to take a step. She obeyed.
Mandrick watched Mani help Christine through the door. He hit the close button and removed his minicomputer from his belt, opened the leather cover, placed the card inside one of the small pockets and returned it to his belt.
He opened a cupboard beside his desk to reveal a safe with a keypad on its face and punched in several numbers. A beep indicated that it had unlocked. He pulled open the door, removed a CD box on top of a pile of US banknotes, opened it, selected a red CD at the back of the box and carried it over to the main operations panel with a degree of care.
Mandrick hit several commands on a keyboard, following a series of paths offered on the monitor, and pushed the CD into a slot on the panel. A few seconds later an alert flashed on the monitor, warning that the disk was unauthorised and could contain potentially lethal viruses. Permission to continue was authorised for password holders only and Mandrick typed in a code. Seconds later the monitor indicated that the CD had been accepted.
The image changed to a graph of the prison’s gas systems, showing the different pressures throughout. As the information reeled off the CD a warning flashed onto the screen that deleting certain files could have disastrous effects.
Mandrick left the program to run as he picked up a waterproof bag, put it on his desk, removed the money from the safe and placed it in the bag along with the other CDs, some paperwork and a pistol. The last item he removed from the safe was a leather pouch whose opening was secured with a drawstring, which he untied. Inside were a substantial number of gems of various colours and sizes. He refastened the drawstring, placed the pouch inside the waterproof bag and looked around to see if he had forgotten anything. His hand went to his belt and his minicomputer which he unhooked, placed in the bag and pulled an airtight zip tightly across. That was everything.
He went back to the monitor to check on the progress of the virus. The warnings continued as one section after another began to flash red.
Mandrick picked up the phone on his desk and punched in a number. ‘Mandrick here. Are the ferries ready for that scheduled stores run? . . . Good. I want you to send them. I want all those stores cleared off the platform and brought down here . . .Yes, do it now. I know there’s a ferry booked for the inspector this evening but she’s not leaving until tomorrow . . . Just do what I goddamn say, OK?’ He put the phone down, checked his watch and went back to the computer monitor that showed how the virus was spreading.
In the OCR a light flickered on the main panel, accompanied by a beep. The controller and his assistant were seated at a table, eating sandwiches and drinking coffee.
The assistant took a large bite out of his sandwich, got to his feet, walked over to the panel and eyed the read-out curiously as he brushed his hands on his chest. ‘Pressure spike in C cell,’ he said, his mouth full of food.
‘The interrogation chamber?’ the senior controller asked as he flicked through the pages of a girlie magazine.
‘Yep.’
‘They’ve got nothing booked for right now.’
‘Nope,’ the assistant agreed, checking a calendar on the side of the panel.
‘Give ’em a call. Tell ’em we’d appreciate it if they let us know before they start playing their little games.’
‘You want me to ask it exactly like that?’
The senior controller frowned without looking at his colleague. ‘Just ask ’em what they’re doing.’
The assistant picked up a phone and punched in a number.
The CIA interrogation-room technician was in the pressure chamber, checking the wiring to the central chair, when the phone on the wall buzzed. As he stood up to reach for it he felt suddenly flushed and paused to loosen the clothing around his neck.
Two interrogation officers were in the elevated room, going over several files and making notes. ‘You getting hot?’ one of them asked.
‘Yeah,’ his colleague replied, loosening his collar as he looked through the thick glass at the tech reaching for the phone.
The tech picked up the receiver. ‘C cell.’
‘You guys working that room today?’ the assistant controller asked.
‘Just some routine wiring. No one’s touching the pressure.’
‘Well,
‘I can feel it. The air’s getting pretty thick in here.’
The assistant controller scrutinised the gauges. ‘Holy cow! You’re down more’n a hundred feet below ambient.’
The interrogation room was filled with a loud crunching sound from above.The technician looked up as dust sprinkled down onto him. ‘There’s something happening with the ceiling,’ he said, his expression deepening with concern.
‘Harry, we got a problem,’ the assistant controller said to his boss as he pushed a couple of switches to check several other read-outs. ‘You’d better get outta there,’ he said into the phone. ‘The pressure’s dropping and the oxygen level isn’t compensating.’
The technician was overcome by dizziness as his face reddened. Another loud crunching sound and this time a large crack was visible around the ceiling hatch. The technician dropped the phone and headed for the pressure door, which was closed.
The agent in the booth watched the technician stagger to the door and pull on the handle. ‘What’s up with Marty?’ he said, getting to his feet.
The pressure door would not respond to the open button and the technician dropped to his knees as he fought to breathe. A third loud crunch was accompanied by high-pressure water shooting through the cracks. A second later the ceiling collapsed ahead of a wall of water and the technician disappeared under the tremendous force of it all.
The agents in the booth stepped back from the glass as the room beyond it filled with water. The technician’s severed head rolled across the glass and both men went for the door. It did not respond to the control lever and they pulled on the handle with all their might. Cracks suddenly streaked across the thick glass and as the two men fought the door the centre of the window gave way and the water burst into the room.
‘Hello!’ the assistant controller shouted into the phone. All he could hear was static and he looked over at his boss. ‘I think we’ve got a problem.’
Hamlin finished cutting a hole in the thick rubber door seal large enough to poke a couple of fingers into, withdrew the saw bit and inspected his work, using a small flashlight. ‘Does that look like it to you?’ he said, stepping back so that Stratton could take a look.
Stratton scrutinised inside the hole. ‘That’s it,’ he agreed.
He handed Hamlin a small bottle cap with a heavily greased rim. Hamlin pushed it in through the hole and positioned it over the sensor.
‘It’s in place,’ Hamlin said as he felt around inside the hole, making sure he was right.
Stratton handed him a flat piece of rubber with a sealing-compound coating one side. Hamlin placed it over the hole he had cut, ensuring it made a tight seal. ‘Perfect . . . I got a good feelin’ about you, ferryman. I think you’re lucky.’
Stratton was bemused by Hamlin’s upbeat attitude and was burning to know what was fuelling his confidence.
