Panting, Madison forced herself through one more push-up before collapsing on the floor. Being stuck in this room with nothing to do for hours on end was driving her nuts. Finally she’d resorted to exercise, usually the bane of her existence. She spent a good chunk of each day performing half-remembered calisthenics from gym class- lunges, push-ups. She had a vision of herself as that ripped chick in The Terminator by the time she got out of here. Not that she would be getting out, but at least it kept her busy.
Madison forced that thought from her mind and started again. For a long stretch after they hurt her, she’d curled up in bed. Lurch had even added a piece of cake to her morning tray, but she didn’t see the point in fighting the inevitable anymore. She decided that she’d stop eating and drinking. If she was going to die anyway, she might as well do it on her own terms.
But for some reason when she awoke again, she felt better. Maybe it was because even in this dark place she could smell a change in the air. For the first time the metal walls felt warm; summer had finally arrived wherever she was. She figured it was time to stop sulking and get back to her routine. She might only have a few days left to live, no point spending them in bed.
She was getting stronger, now she could get to eight without collapsing. Madison lay on her stomach for a minute, gasping, catching her breath. The face of the man who had come for her rose unbidden in her mind and her teeth clenched. She pictured slamming her fist in his mouth, clawing out his eyes, yanking that creepy smile off his face. Gritting her teeth, she pushed off the floor again and kept counting.
“Apparently Mack Krex was a model prisoner.”
“Really? I find that surprising.” Jake crossed his legs and sat back in the chair. The Corcoran prison warden faced him. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it definitely wasn’t this glamorous woman in her fifties with a coiffed updo and manicured nails. She looked like someone who would be at home sipping martinis on the ninth hole. Yet here she was running a prison that harbored some of the most ruthless offenders, including Charles Manson and Juan Corona. Of course, when it was revealed a decade ago that guards were staging “Gladiator Days,” orchestrating fights between inmates, the Department of Corrections had frantically attempted to burnish the prison’s image. And appointing a woman like Elise Faulkner to run it was definitely a sea change. Despite her high society appearance, Jake sensed a steeliness that accounted for her success in such a testosterone-filled environment.
“It says here he had one or two incidents right after arriving, nothing too serious. We tend to see that sort of thing during the initial adjustment period.” Warden Faulkner pushed her designer glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Hmm,” she said, lips turning down as she read further. “Looks like he joined the Brotherhood.”
“What, the Aryan gang?”
She glanced up sharply. “Gangs are a way of life here, Mr. Riley. I don’t like it any more than you do, but I’d be hard-pressed to find a prisoner who didn’t join one.”
“Sure.” Jake knew that gangs offered protection in what could generously be described as a difficult environment. Without that, chances of surviving a prison term were slim.
“And once he matched up with them, no more trouble. Early parole, thanks to overcrowding.”
“Even for a violent offender?”
Warden Faulkner shrugged. “We only have so much room these days, Mr. Riley. And according to his record he never actually hurt anyone. The board would have taken that into consideration.”
“Great.” So much for keeping the streets safe, he thought.
“What’s he done now?” she asked, setting down the file and crossing her hands on the desk.
“We’re pretty sure he kidnapped a sixteen-year-old girl.”
“Interesting. That doesn’t match his priors.” The warden pursed her lips.
“I’m thinking he’s not the brains behind this. Someone else is pulling the strings.”
“That would make sense. Based on his file Mack wasn’t an initiator.”
“So can you tell me who he answered to in here?”
The warden sighed and tapped her thumbs against each other. “How much do you know about the Brotherhood, Mr. Riley?”
He shrugged. “They’re not fond of minorities and have a real thing for swastikas.”
She smiled thinly. “True. But don’t underestimate them. This is one of the most highly organized gangs in the entire country. Their methods of communication continually stump us, they’ve even managed to exchange information with inmates in solitary confinement. They have a whole system of hand signals that we’ve had no luck in deciphering, they pass coded messages with invisible ink created from their own urine. They make up one-tenth of the prison population, but they’re responsible for nearly a quarter of the murders.”
“Lovely,” Jake said. “Jesus.”
“Jesus, indeed. They’re practically a mercenary army, even assigning military ranks to members. Once indoctrinated they’re taught a very strict code, and they follow it or suffer the consequences. Chain of command, loyalty. You won’t find a more devoted band of soldiers.”
“And when they get out?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Excellent question. We, of course, don’t track them.” She leaned forward in her chair. “I will tell you something I’ve noticed personally. The rate of recidivism has dropped substantially in the past few years.”
“Here at Corcoran?”
The warden shook her head. “Everywhere. At the last national conference on Corrections, there was a seminar about it. One of the hacks in charge of the prisoner reentry program claimed we’re finally seeing the results of changes implemented years ago.”
“You sound skeptical.”
She leaned back in her chair and waved her hand. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Mr. Riley. And leopards never change their spots.”
“So I’m guessing you’ve got a theory?”
Warden Faulkner eyed him. “I do. Just a pet one, but I’d like to know if it’s correct. Which is why I agreed to speak with you, despite the fact that you have no legal right to the information I’m providing.”
Jake tensed in his chair. Seeing his reaction, Warden Faulkner winked. “Relax, Mr. Riley. All I want from you is answers, if you happen to solve this little mystery of mine.”
“So?” Jake shifted uncomfortably. For the past five years he’d worked for one of the most powerful men in the world, and before that an FBI badge always greased the skids. Now that he was in business for himself, he had no real authority anymore. He was beginning to grasp how much harder that made things. “What do you think is going on?”
The warden leaned forward, a glint in her eye. “Someone has finally organized them. Think about it, Mr. Riley. An entire army of violent men with a wide range of skills and few morals. All these years they’ve been focused on survival, eliminating immediate threats to themselves. But what if someone with vision managed to organize them?”
“Like who?”
“That’s the real question here, isn’t it?” She sat back and arched an eyebrow.
“Huh.”
“You’re looking at me like I should be committed,” she noted. “All right, then. But keep it in the back of your mind. There might be a reason that men like Mack Krex are suddenly resurfacing, committing crimes outside their MO.”
Jake had to admit she had a point. Who would have expected a Saudi to orchestrate a plot from the mountains of Afghanistan that would take out the World Trade Center and a good chunk of the Pentagon? “So can you give me any leads?”
She pushed another file toward him. Jake flipped to the mug shot. A large man with a shaved skull, goatee and hooded eyes stared back at him.
“Dante Parrish, the capo of the Brotherhood when Mack was here. Rumor has it his influence extended beyond Corcoran. Track down Dante, and you’ll probably also find Mr. Krex. And a lot of other men, too. So be forewarned, Mr. Riley. These are the worst of the worst.”
“Sounds like my last family barbecue.”
“You have a robust sense of humor, Mr. Riley,” Warden Faulkner said, extending a hand across the desk. “I
