Lots of places to hide.
If you were going to set up a secret prison on American soil, the middle of the desert wouldn’t be a bad place. Is that where he was? Somewhere in Death Valley?
Of course, there were gaps in his memory—there
The mental map zoomed out further to include the entire United States, then North America, then further still, the globe spinning, the Atlantic whizzing by, and Europe and Africa and the Middle East swinging into view…
He could be anywhere.
And at the same time…
Okay.
Forget the location for now.
Didn’t matter where he was.
What mattered was finding a way out of this place, and
Hardie blinked crust out of his eyes and twisted his body up into a half-sitting position, supporting his upper body weight with his right arm this time. His left arm was still numb, his right leg throbbed, and oh, how his head still pounded.
Now that Hardie could see it properly, the room turned out to be no bigger than a college dorm. Bed, sink, desk, small beat-up wooden dresser that looked like it had been painted back in the 1950s. There were no bars in the doorway, so it wasn’t a prison cell—but there wasn’t a door, either, which meant no privacy.
Hardie swung his legs over the side of the bed and rested his feet on the concrete floor for a few moments until he felt like trying to stand up. Uh…no. That wasn’t going to happen right now. Apparently Old Man Hardie needed his cane first. Someone had helpfully left it hanging from the metal bedpost. As he reached for it Hardie could feel the blood rush to his extremities. Out of nowhere, his heart began to race. He took a deep breath, which is when a voice startled him:
“A bit more calm now, mate?”
It was the Aussie guard, the one with the neatly trimmed beard and bright blue eyes, perched in the doorway, a nervous smile on his face. He was either Australian or he enjoyed faking the accent.
“You gave us kind of a scare. Never had the new warden, uh,
“Why are you calling me that?” Hardie said.
“What?”
“Warden.”
“Uh…because you
“Vacation.”
The Aussie was dumbstruck for a moment before cracking a broad smile and nodding. “Ah, you’ve got a sense of humor. That’s good. It’ll serve you well down here.”
Hardie thought about this. He had to play it carefully. Either the Aussie knew the truth—that Hardie had been sent here against his will—or he didn’t. For now, Hardie thought it best to reveal as little as possible. The moment you open yourself up is the moment your problems multiply. He rubbed his eyes again. Why couldn’t he wipe the gunk away? Maybe he’d slept longer than he thought, because his eyes were seriously crusted over. The Aussie just stood there, grinning and waiting patiently.
Hardie had to break the silence. “So what do you want?”
“Just wanted to introduce myself,” the bearded guy said. “I’m Victor.”
“Right,” Hardie said. “I’m Ch—”
“Uh uh uh.” Victor interrupted. “Can’t know your real-world name. We don’t know your name, you don’t know ours. It’s better that way.”
“You just told me your name.”
“Victor’s not my real-world name. It’s just a handle. All the guards have them. There’s me, Whiskey, X-Ray, and Yankee. This protects our identities as well as our loved ones out there in the big bad world, you know?
“Whiskey? X-Ray?”
“You know—the NATO alphabet? Hey, it’s better than colors, for fuck’s sake. Anyway, when a new guard arrives, they’re given the next letter down. Next guard will be Zulu. Then Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and so on. What’s funny is, I’ve been Victor so long it’s starting to feel like my real name.”
“So that makes me…what, Zulu?”
“No, that makes you the
No, they—or in this case, Mann—had neglected to add this little detail.
“Right,” Hardie said. “Okay. Well, if I’m the warden, pardon me while I take a look around the place.”
“Hang on,” Victor said. “Got some prezzies for you.”
The guard reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of goggles and a small plastic teardrop.
“What’s this?” Hardie asked as Victor dropped the items into his hand.
“The goggles help block out some of the fluorescent lights, since they never turn them off—even in our quarters. You’ll also want to wear them when dealing with the prisoners. Some of them have been known to, uh, spit.”
They reminded Hardie of a child’s plastic swimming goggles. He turned them over and saw that the insides of the lenses were indeed dark—pitch-black as the screen on a busted TV.
“And the earpiece”—Victor tapped his right ear—“is how we communicate with each other. You want to call the other guards, just make a single whistle and click twice. That engages the system. Watch.”
Hardie sat there, watching.
“Well, you have to put the earbud in first,” Victor said.
After turning it around with his fingers, Hardie gave in.
“Pretty neat, huh?”
Another male voice quickly chimed in: “Everything all right, Victor?”
“Yes—sorry, mate. Just giving the warden an earpiece demonstration.”
“Is he awake?”
“Yes, Yankee, he’s awake,” Victor said. “And he’s listening.”
Victor made two clicks, and the earbud went dead.
“I think Yankee was taking a little nap there. Sucks to have to wake the others, but communication is everything in this place. If something happens, you want to know the other guards will come running immediately.”
“Right.”
So there was some kind of wireless system down here. Hardie wondered if he could figure out a way to broadcast a signal beyond these walls. This would do no good if the secret prison were buried in the middle of nowhere, of course. And Hardie had no idea how cell phones worked, let alone how to hijack a wireless communications system and make it broadcast out. But it was something. A possibility.
Hardie finally wrapped a hand around his cane and steadied himself. He wished Victor weren’t here. If Hardie was going to fall on his ass, he’d rather do it in peace and quiet. He tried waiting a few seconds, not making eye