Undersea Prison s-4

by Duncan Falconer

  He picked it up.‘Congressman Forbes.’ His pen went still in his hand as he recognised the voice. ‘Yes . . . yes, of course. Where? . . . But . . . OK . . . No, I’ll be there . . . Yes.’

  Forbes replaced the phone, put down the pen and paused to collect his thoughts. He got to his feet, walked to a coat rack by the door, took his jacket off a peg, pulled it on and left the room.

  His secretary looked up enquiringly as he passed her desk. ‘I’ve got to go out. Be back in an hour,’ he said as he left the office.

  The congressman walked briskly along a shiny marble corridor, doors staggered along either side and adorned with ornate brass plaques bearing the names of various committees. He passed through an arched opening into a palatial hall where a staircase descended to a broad lobby. He skipped down the steps with a degree of athleticism, headed across the mosaic floor, returned greetings to colleagues without stopping and walked through the entrance into the bright sunshine.

  Forbes stopped at the top of a broad arc of stone steps and scanned the panorama, starting from the Botanic Conservatory on his far left and sweeping across the manicured gardens in front of Capitol Hill. Halfway across he saw a man wearing dark sunglasses and a brown suit standing alone beside a groomed hedgerow and looking directly at him.

  Forbes did not hesitate and walked down the steps, this time with a sense of caution. He crossed a footpath and deliberately headed in the opposite direction along the hedgerow from where the man was standing. When he reached the end he kept going at a casual pace. The man, who had followed Forbes down the other side of the hedge, was soon alongside him.

  They continued in silence towards the Library of Congress until Forbes judged that they looked as if they had been together for the entire stroll. ‘I’m assuming this is extremely important for you to meet me here of all places and without more than a minute’s notice,’ Forbes said without looking at the man, an irritation in his voice as if he were the superior of the two of them.

  The man in the brown suit didn’t reply as he casually looked behind them and to the sides whilst adjusting the glasses on his nose. Satisfied that they were unobserved he broke his silence. ‘The feds are sending someone inside,’ he said.

  Forbes was perplexed enough almost to stop.

  ‘Keep walking,’ the man said casually. He was half Forbes’s age and infinitely more composed.

  ‘You mean Styx?’

  ‘Where else?’ the man replied dryly. Forbes was no superior of his.

  Forbes’s mind raced to calculate the implications of the statement. ‘This isn’t official. I mean, I’ve not heard anything,’ Forbes said, unable to see the irritation in the man’s expression.

  ‘It’s an undercover operation. They’re making their move . . . It was only a matter of time.’

  ‘You people said it would be years before anything like this could happen.’

  ‘It has been years. Just not as many as we would’ve liked . . . We haven’t been as nice to the feds lately as we should’ve. They’re punishing us.’

  ‘Just you? I mean, they’re not investigating us, right?’

  The man grinned and shook his head slightly, a gesture that Forbes also failed to register. ‘You’re the key to closing us down. You always were . . . They’re investigating your offshore accounts.’

  Forbes couldn’t help pausing. The man continued and Forbes caught him up. ‘Why’re they sending in an agent? I mean . . . they . . .’

  ‘To confirm what they already suspect . . . You can help us - the both of us.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Give us more time.’

  ‘More time?’

  ‘They’re sending in an agent - as a prisoner.’

  ‘A prisoner?’

  The man glanced at Forbes, irritated again, this time with the congressman’s panic attack. ‘He’s on the next scheduled intake.’

  Forbes stopped, unable to talk sideways for a moment longer. ‘That’s in a few days.’

  The man stopped and faced the congressman. His eyes were invisible behind his dark glasses but the scowl etched into his acne-scarred skin was plain enough. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What . . . what are we supposed to do?’

  ‘Stop him.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘How do you think?’

  ‘I don’t think I like your tone.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn.’

  ‘Don’t you talk to me like that, you son of a bitch. I’m not some CIA lackey. I know what we’re doing here. Remember it was the CIA who approached me first, asking for my help in pushing forward the prison concept. I got myself on the congressional delegation trip to Guantánamo. I got onto the House Intelligence Committee so that I could push votes for you.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all correct. But we came to you only after we learned you owned a piece of the Felix Corporation and what you were planning for the old NASA facility. You already knew about the possible yield of the mine.’

  ‘That’s bullshit. The facility was built on legitimate concepts. The mine was a plus.’

  ‘Is that right? The way I heard it was that a Felix engineer kept the potential mine yield from the various committees that oversaw the original NASA project . . . what, three years before the proposal of the detention centre?’

  ‘It was you who corrupted it by introducing questionable interrogation methods.’

  ‘And very successful methods too. We saved a lot of lives. You came into this deal a crook, Forbes, and we turned you into a patriot.’

  ‘How dare you! No amount of money from that mine would even begin to compensate me for the risks I’ve taken for the Agency.’

  The man didn’t want to put Forbes over the top and softened his manner slightly. ‘We still have a problem to take care of.’

  ‘I want you to take that comment back.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘I am and always have been a patriot.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the man said, doing his best to sound sincere and almost making it.

  Forbes knew it was the best he could expect and calmed down in order to think. ‘Are you telling me it’s over? The feds are making their move and so we pack our bags and leave.’

  ‘No. We’re not ready for that yet. You’re going to stop that agent from getting into the prison.’

  ‘I’ll need the name.We can reverse him on a medical issue.’

  ‘We don’t know who he is.’

  ‘Then how the hell do you expect me to stop him?’

  ‘Use your imagination.’

  Forbes stared at him, unsure quite what he meant. ‘My imagination’s not that good.’

  ‘You’ve got people who have imaginations.We went to a lot of trouble to put them in the right places to help you in the event of situations just like this.’

  ‘Mandrick.’

  ‘For one.’

  ‘What precisely are you expecting to happen?’

  ‘There’s over half a dozen men in the next intake. Since we don’t know which of them is the agent we can’t afford to let any of them get inside.’

  ‘We can’t turn them all away.’

  ‘I know.’

  Forbes struggled to think where the agent’s line of thought was headed. When it eventually struck him his eyes widened in horror. ‘You’re insane.’

  ‘It’s the only way. There has to be a little accident before they get to the prison . . . The ferry - before it docks.’

  ‘You don’t get little accidents at those depths. Even the ones that start little end up big.’

  The agent’s smile was gone.

  ‘That’s going too far,’ Forbes said, his voice quivering.

  ‘Too far, congressman, is a distant star we haven’t been to yet . . . You want to be a patriot. Nothing is too far when it comes to protecting this country, even from itself.You will block this move. There’s a lot more road ahead.We like our little partnership. As always, you help us, we’ll help you.’

  ‘This is not cooperat
ion. It’s blackmail.’

  ‘Blackmail is for civilians. We strategise. If Styx goes down before we’re ready you’ll go with it. Is that simple enough for you to understand? You hang in there and you’ll get your villa on a mile of Caribbean beach with a little cottage at the end of it that your wife won’t know about where you’ll keep the little chick - Melissa? - currently living in an apartment you rent for her in Alexandria . . . You back out now and you’ll sure as shit remain in the jail business, Forbes. Someone else’s.’

  The man started to walk away.

  ‘If I go down you’ll go with me,’ Forbes growled.

  ‘You don’t even know who I am,’ the man said without looking back.

  Forbes stared after him with a scowl that quickly melted into an expression of utter anguish.

  A prison transport wagon made its way along the San Luis Pass road from Scholes Field Airport, the sun rising out of the tepid waters of the Gulf of Mexico making a splendid view from the driver’s window.There was no view for Nathan Charon and the prisoner seated opposite him, or the guard at the other end of the windowless cabin sealed off from the cab by a steel wall.

  The prisoners were wearing crisp new white convict suits with light green stripes made up of small forks, the official inmate uniform for Styx penitentiary. On closer inspection the forks turned out actually to be mythological tridents, an attempt at irony by the uniform’s designer.

  Charon was staring down at his handcuffs, chained to his seat in utter disbelief at his predicament. The prisoner opposite, a bald-headed, grotesquely scarred beast, was half dozing as the van shook gently.

  Charon looked at the guard at the other end of the cabin who was leaning forward in his seat reading a magazine. ‘Hey? . . . Hey?’

  The guard sighed heavily. ‘Give it a rest, will ya, for Pete’s sake. You’re driving me nuts.’

  ‘You’re the last person from the outside world who will see me before I go into that place,’ Charon whined.

  ‘Yeah, I know, you said - several times now.’

  ‘Don’t you care that you’re taking part in this enormous travesty?’

  ‘I’ll get over it,’ the guard said, turning a page.

  ‘Doesn’t anyone think it’s just a little odd that a minimum-security prisoner with just two months left to do is being transferred to the highest-classified security prison on the goddamned planet?’

  ‘It is kinda weird, ain’t it?’ the guard said, turning the magazine and holding it at arm’s length to appreciate the centrefold.

  ‘Kinda weird?!’ Charon echoed, resting his head back against the van’s internal wall with a bang. ‘That’s the final word, folks. That’s what happened to good old Nathan Charon. Kinda weird, though. But hey - these things happen.’ He dropped his face into his hands.

  ‘It’s gettin’ old, Charon. One more word outta you an I’m gonna gag yer. Ya hear me?’

  ‘Yeah, shaddap, Charon,’ the other prisoner said without opening his eyes.

  The vehicle suddenly shuddered violently, swerving slightly before rolling along with a rhythmic judder. The brakes were applied sharply and the dozing prisoner slammed his head painfully against the frame of the next seat.

  The guard got to his feet as the vehicle came to a stop. He opened the small hatch into the driver’s cab.

  The guard sitting beside the driver turned to look at the cabin guard as he reached for the door. ‘We gotta flat,’ he said.

  ‘Great,’ the cabin guard sighed.

  There was the sound of doors slamming, a clunking from outside, and a moment later the back of the van opened and the light spilled in, silhouetting the driver’scab guard who was standing on the road. ‘Get your ass out here, Jerry.’

  ‘Technically, I ain’t supposed to get out, Chuck,’ Jerry said.

  ‘Oh yeah. Well, technically you do, ’cause Harry’s got a bad back and health-and-safety says I can’t change the wheel on my own.’

  ‘In that case we’re supposed to call in roadside.’

  ‘You wanna sit here for the next four hours?’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘Well, I do. Besides, we gotta have these guys delivered by twelve.’

  ‘Who cares if they’re a little late?’

  ‘Don’t screw with me, Jerry. I ain’t in the mood. Get your ass outta there. I don’t wanna hear anything more about it.’

  ‘Who put him in charge?’ Jerry mumbled as he lowered his oversize frame out of the back of the transport wagon and onto the road. A car cruised past with no others in sight as he joined his colleagues who were kneeling on the grass verge inspecting the flat.

  ‘I still think we should call someone,’ Jerry said, unwrapping a strip of gum and pushing it into his mouth.

  ‘It’s a flat tyre, not a broken axle,’ Chuck said. ‘You don’t wanna get your hands dirty, fine. I’ll do it.’

  ‘Come on,’ Jerry said. ‘I didn’t mean anything. I’m gonna help.’

  ‘You don’t have to,’ Harry said, removing his jacket.

  ‘I wanna help. Can we just forget I said anything?’

  ‘We’re all gonna help,’ Chuck said, removing his jacket. ‘I’ll get the spare, you do the jack, you untie the wheel nuts. OK?’

  Everyone agreed and set about their respective task.

  Fifty metres from the side of the highway Stratton, wearing a pair of overalls, sat in among a dense crop of bushes, unscrewing a silencer from the end of a rifle barrel. He placed it in a box designed to house the weapon pieces and started to unscrew the scope. Paul and Todd, both wearing prison-guard uniforms identical to those of the guards in the prison van, sat a few feet from him. The two young men looked pensive in contrast to Stratton as they watched him place the final piece of the rifle in the box, along with an empty brass bullet casing, close the lid and fasten the clips. Stratton opened a small backpack beside him and removed what looked like an ordinary black tube-flashlight except for its unusual bulbous end.

  ‘Speed they’re going they should be done in about fifteen minutes,’ Paul said in a low voice, rubbing the palms of his hands together, unaware of his nervous gesture.

  ‘You ever used one of them before?’ Todd asked Stratton.

  ‘I haven’t seen one in about ten years,’ Stratton said as he pushed a test button on the bottom of the device that glowed green for a couple of seconds.

  ‘It’s that old?’

  ‘Older. Works even better underwater.’

  ‘SBS,’ Todd said decisively, nudging Paul.

  Stratton removed the bulbous rubber cover to reveal a thick fish-eye lens. ‘They went on to develop a riot-control version but scrapped it because it induced fits in epileptics.’

  ‘What if one of these guys is an epileptic?’ Todd asked.

  ‘He wouldn’t get a job as a prison guard if he was,’ Paul said.

  ‘Good point,’ Todd conceded.

  ‘They’ve got the wheel off,’ Paul informed them.

  Stratton took a moment to ensure that his kit was organised and he had everything he needed. ‘Glasses,’ he ordered, taking a pair of dark brown goggles from the bag and putting them on.

  Paul was wearing his around his neck and he pulled them over his eyes, tightening the elastic straps that held them firmly in place.

  Todd took a long look at the device before pulling his goggles on. Stratton could feel the young man’s eyes on him. Todd had hinted more than once the past few days about his desire to move up the ladder to hostile-field status. Part-way into an operation might seem hardly the time to do it to some but not to Stratton. It depended on the operative and he felt confident that Todd was up to it. He held out the device to him.

  Todd looked at him in surprise.

  ‘You want to do this?’ Stratton asked.

  Todd’s mouth dropped open, a mixture of soaring excitement and apprehension. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Your first lesson: when you’re sure never hesitate unless it’s part of the plan.’

 
Todd practically snatched the device out of Stratton’s hand and then held it as if it was something precious.

  ‘No doubts,’ Stratton said, more an order than a question.

  ‘None,’ Todd said quickly in case Stratton took it back.

  ‘The beam’s forty degrees. You need to get within fifteen metres.’

  ‘I know,’ Todd replied, getting himself ready to move forward.

  ‘You’re not serious?’ Paul asked, looking horrified.

  ‘Watch out for cars,’ Stratton continued, ignoring Paul. ‘Let’s not cause any collateral accidents.’

  ‘You’re going to let him do this?’ Paul insisted.

  ‘How long does it take to work?’Todd asked Stratton.

  ‘Depends on the individual. Disorientation is almost immediate. Full incapacity can take up to ten seconds. Lasts about five minutes. But you can double-dose if need be.’

  ‘This is madness,’ Paul said. ‘He’s a tech.’

  ‘Chill, Paul. I’m not going to kill anyone.’

  ‘This is where it starts, though.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ Todd scoffed, getting to his feet but remaining in the crouching position.

  ‘They’ve got the spare on. Let’s go,’ Stratton said.

  Todd made his way forward, keeping low through the long grass, as Chuck reached under the truck to release the jack and the new tyre took the vehicle’s weight.

  Todd eased his way down an incline and through the foliage to the base of the slope that led up to the edge of the highway. The three prison guards had their backs to him as he moved into what he considered to be the ideal position, placed a finger on the trigger and aimed the device towards them. He suddenly couldn’t remember if the target actually needed to be looking in the direction of the light or not. It seemed logical to him that they should. He decided not to take the chance - he’d wait for the guards to turn around.

  Chuck pulled the jack out from under the vehicle, turned his back to the highway and looked directly at Todd who was partly exposed in an effort to get a clear shot. Chuck wondered why someone was in the bushes in the middle of nowhere pointing a flashlight at him.

  Todd immediately recognised that his predicament was expecting all three guards to face him at the same time. Realising how unlikely that was, coupled with the fact that one of them had already seen him, he hit the trigger. A penetrating white light flickered from the lens like a powerful strobe.