by Ted Dekker
“Maybe not.” We both grinned, but our attempt at humor fell flat.
“We stick to our agreement,” Keith said. “We go in, confront Randell, tell him if he touches Danny he’ll spend the rest of his life in a far worse place, learn what we can about Sicko from him, warn Danny, then get out. If everything falls apart, we call the authorities using the number on speed dial. I’d rather be at the mercy of law enforcement than of the warden. If neither of us can make a call and we can’t get out…” He blew out some air. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come down to that.”
“You’re sure they won’t search us?”
“They could by law but they won’t. I’ve checked. Once they process us we can come and go as we please. Just remember that and wear it on your face, not just on your badge.”
“Like I said, I can handle myself.”
I wasn’t exactly new to this. I knew I could flip a switch if I had to. You do what you have to do when the world is at stake, and Danny was my world.
We passed the bluff where I’d stood and looked down at Basal just over a week earlier. Keith guided the car around a curve, and the prison’s first checkpoint came into view. A brick guardhouse with a gate. Two officers stood inside behind the large glass window.
“Here we go,” Keith said. “Let me do the talking.”
He slowed the car and came to a stop next to the reinforced glass. I immediately recognized one of the men in the guardhouse. It was the blond man I’d talked to on my first visit.
My first thought was that it was over. He’d recognize me. He knew I wasn’t with the OIG.
But I wasn’t the same woman he’d met, was I? I was Julia Wishart, OIG.
Keith beamed at the man. “Afternoon, gentlemen.” He casually stuck out his ID. “Myles Somerset, OIG. We need access to the facility for an inspection, if that’s not a problem.”
The man stared at Keith, then at his ID, then looked at me. For a moment I wasn’t sure how to take his stare. He’d been confident, casual, completely in command when I’d met him before. Now he seemed off guard, and I wasn’t sure if it was because he sensed something wrong or because a visit from the inspector general naturally set most prison staff on edge.
“OIG,” he said. “What’s the nature of your visit?”
“Well now, that would take all the fun out of it, wouldn’t it?”
The officer stared at him. We all knew that OIG had no obligation to explain itself. Keith let the question stand for a second, then grinned.
“We’re doing routine inspections tied to an investigation of the Prison Industry Authority. You can understand my reluctance to give any opportunity to suppress evidence. It’s a supply-side issue. We’ll be in and out in an hour.”
The guard’s eyes met mine again. “Identification?”
I reached across Keith and handed him my ID. “Afternoon, Officer. Deputy Julia Wishart.” I could think of nothing else to say, so I just said, “Shouldn’t take long.”
The man took my badge and dipped his head. “Just one second.”
He retreated into the booth, spoke to the other staff member, then lifted a phone off the wall and made a call.
“He’s checking,” I whispered.
Keith didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at me, which was message enough. Shut up.
The guard spoke into the phone, tapped quickly at a keyboard, then hung up the receiver. Our names would come up on a list of registered OIG deputies because our counterparts actually existed, far away in Sacramento, probably pushing paper. Keith had done his homework. An elderly man with round spectacles somewhere in Culver City knew he’d forged two OIG IDs for the fair price of five thousand dollars, but any admission on his part would land him in prison. We were covered.
Again, I only half-believed it.
The guard leaned back out of the booth and handed Keith the IDs. “Long way from Sacramento.”
“Tell me about it,” Keith said. “They’re running this one out of the main office.”
He nodded. “Head on down to the first sally port. They’re expecting you. A staff member will accompany you from there.”
“Thank you, sir.” Keith gave him half a salute, put the car back in gear, and headed past the lifted gate.
We drove for a hundred yards before either of us spoke. “Never underestimate the value of a good forgery,” Keith said.
“Just like that.”
“Not quite.”
But it was just like that.
I knew it was too easy. I should have known then that something was terribly wrong. I kept telling myself that it would work, that everything was going to be all right, that the demons screaming inside of me were just a part of my neurosis. I kept thinking that although getting in was the easiest part, God was on our side, because we’d come to set the world straight and sometimes the good side does win.
But then suddenly it wasn’t just like that, because we came around a corner and the massive structure called Basal loomed before us.
I sat next to Keith, numbed by our audacity in the face of that fortress. It had all seemed so doable on paper, but driving up to the prison I was suddenly certain that I wouldn’t come out alive. If I did, it would be in Danny’s shackles because he would no longer need them. He’d be dead.
Then again, maybe it really was just like that, because we were breaking in, not breaking out, and getting into prison was very easy in the United States of America. You can check in anytime you like, but you can never leave.
The first gate at the perimeter fence rolled open as we approached. I sat still and tried to keep my mind on Danny as we rolled into the sally port.
“This is it,” I heard Keith say.
“Just like that,” I returned.
“Not quite,” he repeated.
But it was. A deputy welcomed us, asked us to leave the rental car where it was, and then led us, briefcases in hand, along the fences to steps leading up to the arching front entrance. The massive bolts on the iron doors were drawn back. Some would say that Basal looked stately compared to other prisons, but all I saw was a glorified dungeon. I tried to imagine Danny locked away inside such a beautiful building, but I couldn’t and my mind returned to flip-flopping between just like that and impossible.
Something was wrong.
No, nothing’s wrong, Renee. My palms were sweating, but everything was going exactly as we’d planned it.
We were breaking into Basal to save Danny.
We were ushered into a reception area that reminded me of a waiting room at a doctor’s office. I stood by the window, looking calm and collected with both hands clasping my briefcase as Keith gave our badges and paperwork to the staff member on duty.
I was thinking that I should do something besides stand there like a coat rack, but Keith was in charge of getting us in.
The CO who’d ushered us in stood by the door patiently, watching me. I gave him a shallow smile and a nod, then averted my eyes. Did he suspect anything at all? Evidently he didn’t, because he just stood there for the five minutes it took the clerk to process us and call for our escort.
A staff member dressed in a white shirt and blue tie walked into the room and smiled.
“Welcome to Basal, deputies.” He reached out his hand. “Michael Banning, assistant to the warden, at your service. I understand you’d like to inspect our milk.”
Keith took his hand. “Just a random inspection, no cause for alarm. We’d like to get started if that’s all right with you. We have another appointment today.”
“Of course.” He offered me his hand and I didn’t want to take it, but I did. “I’m guessing you’re Julia.”
“Deputy is fine,” I said.
He grinned wide. “Well then, Deputy it is. The warden is on his way down. Can I get either of you anything? Coffee, a soda?”
“This isn’t a social call, Mr. Banning,” Keith said. “The warden will be notified of our findings when our investigation is complete. Now if you wouldn’t mind,
we’d like to get started.”
“Of course. But I’m sure the warden would feel he’d insulted you if he didn’t greet you himself. It’ll just be a minute.”
I don’t know what came over me at that moment—maybe my fear of meeting the warden, maybe my aversion to waiting one more minute for anything when it came to Danny. But I looked into his eyes and spoke with simple authority.
“Do you know how much evidence can be burned in a minute, Banning?”
Banning. Not Mr. Banning, or Michael, just Banning.
He flashed another grin. “Of course. It’ll just be a moment.”
Before I could make another pass at setting him straight, the door crashed open and a tall man wearing round glasses and a black suit walked in.
“Who do we have the pleasure of assisting today?” he boomed.
This was Marshall Pape, warden of the Basal Institute, I was sure of it. Danny’s greatest enemy.
My demons vanished, fleeing the sudden rage that boiled in my gut. I wanted to walk up to him and slap him in the face and demand he take me to Danny immediately, but that would have only made our break-in a disaster.
I stepped forward and spoke before Keith could. “OIG, Deputies Somerset and Wishart. Thank you for having us, Warden. Nice place you have here. As my partner was just explaining to your assistant, we have another appointment, so if you could help us keep this as simple as possible, we’d be grateful.” I considered stopping there but kept going. “Nothing to worry about—we just need to take some random samples of milk and question some of the inmates about spiking. I’m sure you’ve heard of the recent issues with the Prison Industry Authority. Point us in the right direction so we can get out of your hair.”
Keith watched me, masking his surprise at my monologue, I’m sure. The warden looked down at me with a kind face, if a bit long in the nose. I wasn’t sure if his smile was forced or if he truly found me amusing.
“Right to the point. I like that.” He slid one hand into his pocket. “It is a nice place, isn’t it? We take a lot of pride in what we do here. You have my full cooperation. No one is more eager to root out any irregularity or misconduct, I can assure you.” His eyes turned to Keith. “You’re not from this region. I know most of the deputies.”
“We’re out of the main office. Thank you for your help, Warden. We’d like to get started.”
“Of course. Michael will take you to our conference room and call up any staff or members you wish to interview. Samples of the milk can be taken from the kitchen.”
“The conference room won’t work,” I said. “We’d like to question the inmates in their cells. It’s less formal and more direct. We’ll need a roster.”
His grin faltered. “Of course. You didn’t bring your own records?”
“Policy requires we use the most recent, which would be yours,” Keith said.
“Yes, of course.”
A moment of silence hung over the room.
“Well then, Michael will be glad to take you wherever you wish to go. My prison is yours.”
“Thank you,” I said. “But we won’t be needing an escort.” I looked at the assistant. “Get us a roster and show us around. We’ll take it from there.”
Another beat of silence.
The warden dipped his head. “Michael? You heard the deputy.” He started to turn, then faced me again. “Please be careful, Ms. Wishart. We have a number of men here who would love to get to know you more personally.”
He smiled at both of us, and then walked back out the door.
“So then”—Michael Banning clasped his hands together—“follow me.”
Just like that.
But it was never just like that.
33
DANNY HAD ENDURED punishment and he’d suffered pain, but he’d never been taken to the edge of himself as he had over the last thirty-six hours. There was no escaping that cell, no refuge from the excruciating pain, no reprieve from the warden’s place of punishment. If he’d been weaker, he might have passed out, but he could not, and he now regretted his strength.
His body seemed to react without his will engaged. He’d never screamed as he had on that table. His muscles had never locked up so fiercely or shaken so violently without soon submitting to his control. But there in deep meditation his physical torment was beyond him entirely, and his body could only revolt in the most strenuous terms.
All of his attempts to muscle his mind into a calm, meditative state failed to attain the peace he sought for more than a few minutes. There in the darkness behind closed eyes, he searched for and found light, but it was fleeting, stamped out by raging pain.
He refused to surrender to the pain. Neither could he surrender his mind. But all of his attempts to step beyond it failed him far more than they aided him. Unending misery was his only friend in that place of torment.
If they hadn’t cinched the leg straps so tightly, he might have shaken loose from the restraints. The only reason the bit didn’t break off in his bone was because it was flexible, like a very thin cable.
The doctor had taken many breaks, one that lasted nearly six hours, presumably to sleep. But as Danny quickly learned, the breaks only intensified the experience. After thirty minutes of grinding he found that his body began to shut down his nerves of its own accord. The doctor would withdraw the needle from his shin, calmly lay the device on the table, and sit for a smoke or leave the room for ten minutes before resuming his task with the calculation of a brain surgeon.
Initially, Danny had found the break welcome, but the first time the bit returned to the tiny hole in his shin and made contact with his inflamed nerves, he understood their intentions. The pain was even more intense than before and only seemed to increase each time the doctor repeated the cycle. His anticipation of that pain was its own kind of torture.
Bostich had left them after the first hour and checked in on several occasions, each time muttering words that Danny could hardly hear much less digest in his condition.
The ordeal jerked his mind back to the pain he’d inflicted on his victims before taking his vow of nonviolence. He’d never tortured anyone—he didn’t have a sadistic bone in his body—but he had used painful force. It was true that each of those he’d confronted were guilty of heinous crimes, but while lying on the table in convulsing agony he wished no pain on the guilty, because he knew his own guilt. Weren’t all guilty?
He lost track of time. His life descended into cycles of suffering marked by the doctor’s insertion of the bit into one of several holes he’d made in Danny’s shin. There was no end; there was only more. At some point he began to forget that it would end. Minutes felt like hours, and hours like an eternity.
Danny was strapped to the table, alone in the room, a shell of himself when the door opened once again. He didn’t open his eyes or demonstrate his fear. He’d salvaged that much control over his body.
At any moment a gloved hand would touch his leg. The wire would be carefully slipped into one of the holes. The machine’s whir would scream to life and his body would begin to shudder.
At any moment.
But that moment did not come. Instead, a new voice. He didn’t hear the words, only the sound of the voice. It took him only a few seconds to connect the voice to the warden, and with that connection came the memory that the warden had said he’d come back when the ordeal was over.
The words gained meaning.
“…that I don’t enjoy this any more than you do. But it was necessary.”
The punishment was finished. The pain was done. Danny’s chest rose and fell as his mind wrapped itself around the warden’s voice.
Danny opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling.
“The doctor said you were brave. I want you to know that I appreciate that.”
The warden had come. Danny’s mind stalled for a moment, then restarted, surging with question. It was done? No, it was only a ploy. And yet he’d said he would come at the end.
“It’s
finished.” The warden walked up to the table.
From the deepest parts of Danny’s soul rose an emotion that he could never have anticipated. It started out as relief but then suddenly became more. Much more.
Gratitude. Appreciation. Wonder. Awe. He closed his eyes and let the emotions spread through his body, flooding him with a warmth and gratefulness that made the pain he’d felt a distant memory.
“I’m sorry, Danny. I truly am. You have to believe that I wish this on no one.”
Danny connected his intense relief to that voice. The warden had put an end to his suffering, and for that Danny felt deeply indebted. For that he owed the man his life. For that he loved the man.
He slowly released his grip on the rubber bit between his teeth. The blurred image of the warden’s face looked down at him. There was concern in his eyes.
“It is finished, Danny. No more. But you didn’t obey me, you understand that, don’t you? I don’t like this any more than a loving father enjoys punishing his son.”
The warden turned his head and looked at the wall, which held the restraints they’d strapped Danny into the last time he had visited deep meditation.
“I lost my children, but the truth is I’ve gained so many more,” he said in an introspective tone. “They’re all like sons to me. Even Slane. But Slane refused to accept my help. The terrible task of guiding them to the light falls on my shoulders now. It’s the only way I can honor my own son and daughter.”
The warden faced him, frowning.
“Say something, Danny. You’re a priest, you should understand these things. Tell me that what I’m doing is right.”
He wanted to say something, but his mind was awash with conflict. In the warden’s words, he was hearing his own thoughts of not so long ago. He’d never motivated others with the threat of sadistic punishment, but he’d killed them just the same.
“Just say something, for heaven’s sake. It’s not easy doing this sort of thing.”
Danny started to speak, but his voice cracked and he had to clear his throat.
“No,” he said. “It’s not easy.”
“So you approve then.”
