The Sanctuary

by Ted Dekker

  The overwhelming emotion he’d felt only a minute earlier was gone. Now he felt mostly relief for himself and simple empathy for the warden. He did owe the man his life, because the man had spared his life, but he couldn’t find it in himself to voice support.

  “You see? You still don’t get it, do you? But you will soon. I have great confidence in you, Danny. A profound respect.”

  The warden let the words settle, then walked to the end of the table and began to release the leather straps that held Danny’s legs. When he spoke again, his voice had taken on the firmer, more assured tone that Danny had grown accustomed to.

  “The ugly business of corrections is worthless unless we conform to what is right, my friend. All of this is lost unless you can truly expose that lingering core of depravity in your soul. Once we force it out into the light, we can go about correcting it. I hope you can appreciate that more now.” He looked up at Danny. “Your legs will ache for a few days, but you’d be surprised at how quickly the puncture wounds will heal.”

  The doctor wiped the blood from his leg like a tattoo artist cleaning the skin as he worked. A transparent salve covered five tiny red pinpricks on his shin.

  “I’ll give you a few hours to gather yourself before they take you back up.” He unfastened the straps on his left leg. “It’ll help if you get the blood flowing through your legs again. You’ll have some bruising on your heels, your tail bone, and the back of your head, but otherwise you’re no worse off for the wear.”

  He undid the last strap and brushed his palms against each other. “Almost good as new. Bend your legs for me.”

  Danny slowly turned his ankles, then drew his stiff legs up, one at a time. A dull pain throbbed in his shin, but on balance he was surprised he didn’t feel more.

  “See?”

  “Thank you.” The words sounded empty.

  “It’s the least I can do.” Pape slipped his hand into his pocket and came around the table, staying clear of Danny’s legs. “You seem like a good man on the outside, but you’re here because you’ve broken the law. You strayed from a more righteous way. Until I am confident you can be truly rehabilitated, I can’t consider you for the privileged wing or for early release.”

  “I’m not asking for either.”

  “No, you’re not asking, are you? The question you should be asking is are you still a killer?”

  “I didn’t kill Randell.”

  “True, but that was hardly a sufficient test. And by refusing to obey you earned yourself some correction. You have to learn to follow my rules, Danny. No one else’s, only mine. Do that and perhaps you’ll win my confidence. It’s really that simple.”

  “Even if it means killing.”

  “If I command it, yes. Trust me.”

  “I’ve taken a vow of nonviolence.”

  “Sounds nice and cozy, but if I ask you to go to war, you must. Will you drop the bomb for me, Danny? There’s always a time for killing, and in my sanctuary I decide when that time is. Doesn’t God kill? As the good books say, ‘Vengeance is mine, says the Lord.’ And in here”—he spread his hands—“I am he.”

  “I’m not sure you know who God is.”

  “Don’t be absurd. God is God. They’re all the same.”

  “All of this so that I’ll kill again.”

  “No. All of this so that you never will unless I demand it. I need to lay you bare to see who you really are.” The warden lowered his arms. “I’ll leave you to consider that. Hopefully the worst is behind us.”

  Pape headed for the door but turned back when he’d opened it.

  “Oh, and a bit of news you might find interesting. Renee has decided to join us. She brought along a new friend.”

  Danny blinked. “Renee?”

  “Yes, Renee. She’s been put through the ringer and finally led here, where she can be of some use to all of us. Maybe she can fill Peter’s shoes. Maybe you’ll get a conjugal visit out of it. Remember to move your legs around. Good for the circulation.”

  Danny didn’t hear the door shut. He heard nothing but the roar of blood rushing through his head. He didn’t actually see the warden leave. His vision had gone blank.

  One thought alone consumed his mind. Renee was here. Renee was in Basal.

  His bride was in hell.

  Danny’s body began to shake.

  34

  JUST LIKE THAT.

  Keith and I had broken into Basal and were being given a quick tour by Michael Banning, the warden’s assistant, and no one was stopping us. All was at ease.

  The inmates were hanging out in small groups over card games, or wasting time alone, when we entered the common area, but we managed to attract most of their attention. I did, that is. All of the guards I’d seen were men; I was a woman. A cute blonde with teacher glasses. It made me wonder if the warden knew something in particular when he’d suggested that there were men here who’d like to get to know me better.

  “The yard’s through that door,” Banning was saying, motioning across the large common area. “Think of the layout as like a compass cross and you won’t get lost. Administration behind us, that’s north; infirmary, cafeteria, recreation, et cetera, directly opposite, south; commons, the largest wing, to our right, west. And the privileged wing, east.”

  “Privileged?” Keith said. He’d left his coat and his briefcase with the receptionist. Everything we needed was on me, under my loose slacks.

  “Essentially an honors program for qualified members who earn certain privileges. Best accommodations in the state.”

  “I see. And segregation?”

  “Below the administration wing. If you need access, just let me know.”

  “We will,” I said.

  “Of course. You’d like to go there first?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Keith glanced at me. “Give us half an hour to conduct a few interviews among the general population first.”

  “Of course.”

  Something was wrong, I knew it in my bones. Sicko was still out there, and we didn’t know who he was.

  Danny was in here and we didn’t know where.

  His name wasn’t on the roster given to us by the warden’s assistant, and in my mind that meant he must be in the hole. I had to get to Danny. I had to see him. I had to speak to him and give him the letter, but we couldn’t ask for him by name because that might raise suspicions.

  We also had to get to Randell, and his name was on the register, cell 134 in the commons wing.

  “Right,” I said.

  Banning glanced between us, then motioned at the south wing. “Our milk stock’s behind the cafeteria. You sure you won’t need me to accompany you? It would make—”

  “That’s generous of you, but it’s better for us to maintain the integrity of our inquiries,” Keith said. He lifted the stapled roster already opened to the third page and marked off a few names. “If you could please inform these inmates that we’d like to speak to them in their cells, we would appreciate it.”

  He handed the clipboard to Banning, who quickly scanned the list. “Watkins, Collins, Randell. I can assure you of their full cooperation.”

  “No assurances needed. Just have them report to their cells as soon as possible. We’ll take it from here.”

  “Of course.” He handed the roster back, lifted his radio, and passed the instructions on to a CO, who came back over the air and informed Banning that members Collins and Randell were in the wing and would be in their cells. Watkins was either in the hard yard or the privileged wing. They would track him down immediately.

  “The staff all knows you’re here,” Banning said, and handed the radio to Keith. “The prison is yours. If you need anything, anything at all, just call on that channel. We’ll have a special response team standing by, but I wouldn’t worry—you’ll find our members to be cooperative in every way. We’re very proud of our program.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  Banning didn’t seem eager to let us go, de
spite all of his assurances. He finally nodded. “Well then. I guess I’m done here.”

  Keith nodded once, dismissing the man as anyone accustomed to authority might. I was a basket case under my short blonde wig and stony mask, but Keith’s training as a sheriff kept our cover smooth.

  The warden’s assistant turned and left us on our own.

  “Where’s Danny?” I whispered, keeping my eyes forward.

  “We’ll get to him. First things first.”

  “Then Randell first,” I said. We’d planned on getting a few samples of milk first and then interviewing a couple of random inmates to put up a good show before zeroing in on Randell and Danny. But Danny’s name wasn’t on the register, and that changed everything for me.

  “Agreed,” he said.

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Just stay focused. We’ll find him. Let’s go.”

  I walked next to Keith as we headed through the huge domed atrium, struck by just how different Basal was compared to what I’d seen of Ironwood. New and clean, for one thing. Ordered and quiet. My experience visiting Danny was always filled with prying eyes, chattering wives, and families in a crowded visiting room. Kids crawling on the dirty floor, crying.

  Basal looked more like a casual resort. The inmates were called members and dressed in neat dark blue slacks and tan shirts. The guards all wore black, cleaned and pressed. If they had weapons they were hidden.

  I took it all in, but my mind was buzzing with images of Danny. I was scanning for him, searching every face and coming up only with winks, smiles, and scattered comments as we passed.

  “Welcome to Basal, honey. Any time, baby.” None of it was loud or obnoxious, just isolated men reacting to a woman. I expected nothing less. If anything, their natural behavior took some of the edge off my anxiety.

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Banning was talking idly to a CO by the door to the administration wing. Danny was below them in the bowels of the prison, I was sure of it. I wanted to grab Banning by the collar and demand he immediately take me to the member named Danny Hansen who wasn’t on their roster.

  I wanted to throw myself into Danny’s arms and tell him that I had come to save him. That I’d found a way to get him out of here. I’d found the judge whose son Danny had killed. The man would help us, because I’d heard his confession and would tell the world of his own crimes if he didn’t help us.

  The commons wing was a long hall with two tiers of cells on one side and a guard station on the other. The station was unmanned. Was that normal?

  I didn’t have time to worry. We were suddenly there, not only inside Basal, but twenty yards from a cell on the ground floor with the numbers 134 stenciled in black above the barred door.

  Two members leaning on the upper tier railing watched us idly as I followed Keith toward Bruce Randell’s cell.

  “Nice,” one of the men muttered.

  The whole thing was utterly surreal. The towering gray walls, the barred cages for convicted criminals like Danny, the raw power of incarceration in the great state of California reinforced by billions of dollars and millions of tons of concrete.

  And there we were in the middle of it all, audacious enough to think we could walk in and out with impunity. Just like that.

  I slowed and trailed Keith as we approached the door to Randell’s cell, unsure how I felt about seeing Danny’s enemy.

  We had to make Randell our friend, because it wasn’t enough to put him on notice that we were going to bust his chops wide open if he touched one hair on Danny’s body. We also had to convince him to take our side. We might have gotten the keys to the prison, but we needed the keys to the warden and to Danny.

  Keith spoke before I could see who was inside the cell.

  “Bruce Randell?”

  No answer.

  I stepped up and saw a large man with a pitted face and light hair staring over a book from the lower bunk, unimpressed.

  Keith showed the man his badge. “We’re with the inspector general’s office and we’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Randell sat up, immediately more amenable than he’d initially appeared. Naturally. Among other things, OIG stood alongside prisoners by investigating their grievances. He stood and dropped the book onto the bed.

  His eyes glanced down my body, then met my own. I had expected to feel rage and was surprised when I didn’t. I only wanted him to help me save Danny now.

  “Can we come in?” Keith asked.

  “What’s this about?”

  “Just a few questions about the milk supply. We’ve had complaints about spiking.”

  Randell nodded once and stepped back.

  I followed Keith into the cell, leaving the door open behind me. There was little privacy, but the cells on either side were unoccupied and no other members were close enough to hear us if we kept our voices down.

  “Have a seat.” Keith motioned to the bed.

  “I’d rather stand.”

  “Sure. I don’t see why not.”

  “I’d rather you sit,” I said, stepping to the side for a better view. “If that’s not too much to ask.”

  Randell gave me a long look, then took a step back, leaned back against the edge of the sink, and crossed his arms.

  “Good enough,” Keith said. He slipped a pen out of his pocket, peeled back the first page on his clipboard, and scanned the page.

  Our first concern had been whether Randell might recognize Keith, the deputy sheriff who’d put him behind bars, but clearly he didn’t. The dye and facial hair threw him off.

  “Bruce Randell. Number?”

  Bruce rattled it off.

  “You’ve been here how long?”

  “Here or in prison?”

  “In prison.”

  “Eight years.”

  “What were you convicted of, Bruce?”

  “Distribution.”

  “So you know substances, I take it.”

  “You could say that. I used to, anyways.”

  Keith lifted his eyes and stared at the man. “How about in Basal? Any that you know of?”

  “Nope.”

  “Really? Because that’s not what we’ve been told. What do you know about the milk here in Basal?”

  Randell just looked at him and it struck me that maybe he actually did know something about spiked milk in Basal.

  I knew that Keith wanted to play it out and go through the questioning as we’d agreed to, but that was before I knew Danny was missing. There was an open door at my back and beyond it a prison with a warden who might be breathing down our backs.

  I couldn’t think of any reason to wait, so I stepped in front of Keith, hoping his body made a good enough shield behind me, and cut to the chase.

  “Do you know a woman named Constance?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t think so. Nope.”

  His eyes were blank, not a hint of recognition. I’d expected to open the door with that question, but his reaction took me off guard.

  “You know nothing about a finger in a shoe box?”

  It took him a moment to digest the question before a smirk crossed his face. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Nope.”

  Behind me, Keith cleared his throat. This wasn’t the plan, I knew that, but it was now.

  “What about a million dollars?” I pressed. “Does that ring a bell?”

  “Sure, I’ll take a million dollars. You gonna get me out of here so I can spend it?”

  Not even a hint that he knew about Sicko’s game. But he was connected, and I had to know how.

  “So you’re saying you don’t know a thing about any threats to anyone involving body parts or missing drug money.”

  “I honestly don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, lady.”

  “And what about a priest? Know any priests?”

  His eyes flinched and I knew two things. One, Randell really didn’t know anything about Constance or drug money. That had to be Sicko’s doing,
which confirmed our assumption that Randell wasn’t Sicko.

  Two, Randell not only did know Danny, but there was history between them.

  “Danny Hansen,” I pushed. “You know, the priest who was transferred to Basal ten days ago. What can you tell us about Danny?”

  “Nothing.”

  He was lying.

  “I think what Julia’s trying to ask—”

  “Not now, Keith,” I said. “We don’t have time. You see, my partner and I sometimes play good cop, bad cop—him good, me bad—but we’re in a rush, so I’m gonna get straight to the point. This whole prison is about to blow sky-high, Mr. Randell. We’re going to give you about three minutes to decide if you want to go up with it. Fair enough?”

  He stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. Keith was probably thinking the same thing. I’d mistakenly used his real name.

  “Why are you messing with Danny?” I asked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Seriously?” I was incredulous. “You’re actually going to drag this out? We know about the threats to Danny’s life. We know what’s going on in Basal—we just need to decide who goes down with the warden.”

  “You’re lying,” he said. “This some kind of test?”

  “A test by who? The warden? Because I’ll tell you this, I don’t care what the warden’s told you, it’s over. If we don’t find Danny alive and well, it’s all going to lead back to you, and you’re going to end up on a bus to death row.”

  For a moment Randell looked like he might capitulate, but then his jaw slowly firmed. Whatever hold the warden had over him, it was strong. My ploy wasn’t going to work.

  So I bent over, hiked up my right pant leg, and pulled out the Beretta I’d strapped to my calf.

  Keith touched my shoulder. “Renee…”

  I stepped forward and shoved the gun below Randell’s belt. He jerked back, grasped the basin with both hands, and stared down at the gun. I knew I couldn’t shoot in here—the gun was only meant to be used for leverage if we needed it—but it was loaded and my finger was already tightening.

  “Now you listen to me, you pig. I know you were abused by a priest when you were a boy, but the priest you’re messing with now is going to get you killed. The state knows everything. We’re here because we have reason to believe there’s a direct threat to Danny’s life as we speak. You’re either going to tell me where he is or I’m going to shoot off your toe.”