Undersea Prison s-4

by Duncan Falconer

  ‘You impress me, Pieter. No need to worry about that.’

  ‘Oh? How?’

  ‘You run the most dangerous prison in the world for the most powerful country in the world. That’s impressive.’

  ‘And that’s all that impresses you about me . . . my job?’

  ‘No. But that’s all we’re going to talk about right now . . . What does a girl have to do to get a cup of coffee around here?’

  Mandrick reluctantly broke away from her and walked over to an ornate wooden dresser with a couple of thermos flasks on a tray alongside some cups. ‘When do you leave?’ he asked as he filled two cups with the black liquid.

  ‘I have a couple more inmates to interview, a guard or two. That’s me pretty much finished.’

  ‘Which prisoners would you like to interview?’ he asked as he passed her a cup.

  ‘You choose,’ she said and shrugged, taking a sip. ‘I’m just playing the numbers game.’

  ‘You haven’t asked to see any of our political prisoners. ’ He gave her a sideways glance.

  ‘I told you the day I arrived.This inspection is apolitical. I’m here to review health and living conditions for staff and inmates . . . To tell you the truth, those Taliban guys scare the hell out of me.’

  Mandrick stared at Christine for a moment, his smile growing thin. ‘I don’t believe you,’ he said, his expression serious.

  ‘What don’t you believe?’ she asked, her smile hanging in there.

  ‘I don’t believe you scare that easily. I know potency when I see it. Particularly in a woman.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re very experienced. But you’re wrong this time,’ she said. ‘I’m a pussycat.’

  His eyes flicked to her body, unable to resist looking at it. ‘And how is our Mr Charon?’ he asked. ‘You’ve spent quite a lot of time with him since he arrived.’

  Christine shrugged. ‘I was waiting for him to regain consciousness. I’m going to be asked questions about the ferry incident.’

  ‘There’ll be an official inquiry.’

  ‘Yes, but I was here when it happened. I’ll have to refer to it in my report. I’ll probably get roped into the inquiry.’

  ‘Good. So we will see more of you.’

  ‘Not down here, I hope.’

  ‘My sentiments exactly.’

  Mandrick was giving her the creeps and she hoped it didn’t show.

  ‘What did Charon have to say?’

  ‘Aren’t you going to talk to him yourself?’

  ‘Of course. But you hogged his initial reaction.’

  Christine made a show of rolling her eyes at the word ‘hogged’. The subtle implication that she had a special interest in seeing Charon first was not lost on her. Mandrick often made little digs that suggested she was doing more than merely inspecting the prison. Sometimes she wondered if he really did know what she was doing and was just playing her along because he fancied his chances of getting her into bed. ‘He can’t remember much about it,’ she said. ‘All he recalls is the ferry flooding, the guard freeing them and him getting out of the hatch. I think he’s just thankful to be alive.’

  Mandrick considered her answer as he sipped his coffee, his eyes lowering to admire her body again. When he looked back at her face she forced another smile.

  ‘Let’s get down to more important matters,’ he said.

  ‘When you’ve finished your task I’m going to escort you back to Houston and take you to dinner. And until you promise me that you will accompany me I can’t guarantee that any of the ferries will be working.’

  ‘How can I refuse such charming blackmail?’ she said.

  ‘It wasn’t an idle threat.’

  ‘I didn’t think it was,’ she said, looking away.

  ‘Why do I get the feeling that deep down you really don’t like me? Or am I being too sensitive?’

  ‘No.You’re not . . . I despise you. But you’ve discovered one of my darkest secrets,’ Christine said, putting down her cup and stepping closer to him.‘There’s always been something sinister about the men I’m most attracted to. It’s a good sign if I start off by loathing you.’ Her face was inches from his.

  ‘Not the characteristics of a pussycat,’ he said. Mandrick enjoyed the closeness but despite her forwardness he could feel the wall between them as if it was made of granite. He trusted no one at the best of times but Christine was an uninvited and unwanted guest over whom he had limited control. He would be a fool to believe she was a mere inspector. He would doubt her as a matter of course but something about her made that doubt more emphatic. Even so, he would still scheme to bed her even if she turned out to be an undercover Supreme Court judge. Every time he saw her all he could think about was how she would look naked. He wondered if she deliberately wore tight jeans just to taunt him. He would have taken her to his bed while she was in the prison if she had allowed him to. But she was proving difficult to ensnare.

  It was all a part of that wall between them. They ate dinner together every evening, along with the doctor and any visiting engineers as was normal when there were guests. But when the others were ready to leave Christine departed with them. He wondered if she would evade their dinner date in Houston. Without a doubt, there was something phoney about her. But her body was real and desirable enough and he wanted her despite his doubts.

  The phone on his desk rang. ‘Excuse me,’ Mandrick said as he walked over and picked it up. He talked in a low voice, the background hum that seemed to permeate every corner of the prison helping to mask his words. He removed his minicomputer, opened the cover, selected one of a dozen micro data-storage cards and inserted it into the side of the device. After pushing several command icons he gave the caller some information.

  Christine stared at the device. It had become the holy grail of her mission, the final phase before she could get out of the damned place. She had been sent to reconnoitre the prison and look for information. Her brief was not actually to acquire that information but to pinpoint its location. Any more would have been asking too much of her. Further ops would be devised to obtain it.

  But Christine wanted to complete the mission in one go. She promised herself not to take unnecessary risks but the drive to get the computer was strong in her. Technical attacks against the prison and corporation data files had failed to produce anything of value. From the moment she first saw the minicomputer she knew it contained everything Mandrick reckoned was secret. If she could get hold of it, or the memory cards, she would have achieved far more than she had come for. If she left the prison that minute and reported her find her mission would have been a success. But she was impetuous and hungry for success. She knew it was recklessness encouraged by her ego. Still, the closer she got to Mandrick, or the closer she allowed him to get to her, the more she believed she could succeed. If she attempted it while she was in the prison it would be a two-phase operation: first to get her hands on the material, second to get it and herself to the surface. It didn’t matter if Mandrick knew she had it once she was clear of Styx.

  But that was the difficult part. If he found out before she reached the surface Christine would be in serious danger. The other option was to meet him in Houston and do the whole dinner thing. The risk with that would be if it was his habit to leave such a precious item in the safety of the prison.

  Mandrick put down the phone and came back to her. ‘Where were we?’ he asked. ‘Oh, yes. You were telling me how you loathed me enough to have dinner with me in Houston.’

  A buzzer interrupted them. Mandrick looked up at the bank of monitors that displayed practically every part of the prison. One of them showed a man in slacks and a jacket standing in the cavern outside his office. ‘There’s my luck again. I know you were about to give yourself to me. But duty calls.’ He produced his remote control and hit a button on it. There was a clunk as the door hissed and opened.

  The man strode into the room, his manner authoritative. He was grim-faced and large, like a former lineman, still nat
urally tough but aged and out of condition. He seemed anxious to say something but held back as soon as he saw Christine.

  ‘Hank. How was your trip?’ Mandrick asked.

  ‘Fine,’ Hank replied dryly.

  ‘This is Christine Wineker from the Federal Bureau of Prisons.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard.’ Hank could not make his reluctance to meet her more obvious.

  ‘Pleased to meet you too,’ Christine said. She knew he was CIA, probably one of the senior guys if not the senior, and that he suspected her and loathed her.

  ‘Hank’s one of our VPs,’ Mandrick explained.‘I don’t know what the hell he does, though. Just turns up here once in a while to get in the way.’

  ‘We need to talk,’ Hank said, ignoring the charade.

  ‘I was on my way out,’ Christine said, shouldering her laptop and heading for the door.

  ‘Thanks for stopping by,’ Mandrick said.

  Christine did not look back. Mandrick closed the door behind her.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ Hank blurted out as soon as the door had sealed shut.

  ‘You sound in a bad mood,’ Mandrick said, walking over to his desk.

  ‘I’m gone three goddamned days and the goddamned wheels start falling off the place.You gonna tell me that ferry disaster was an accident? I could tell it was a goddamned massacre all the way from Florida.’

  ‘Why are you acting so surprised?’ Mandrick’s question was sincere.

  ‘Are you fuckin’ kidding me?!’

  ‘Hank. The order came from your own people.’

  ‘Bullshit!’

  ‘OK. The order came from Forbes. Now, if you suddenly believe he’d make a decision like that on his own then you are crazy.’

  Hank was stunned. His voice became quieter. ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘He told me it was a direct request from your outfit.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The feds were trying to slip one of their people inside as an inmate. We had no ID so . . . everyone had to buy it . . . You clearly didn’t get the memo?’

  ‘They’re out of their friggin’ minds.’

  ‘But we know they’re not. They thought it through and decided it was a good idea.’

  ‘It could close this place down.’

  ‘They have to prove it wasn’t an accident.’

  ‘That’s the first really dumb thing I’ve heard you say. I don’t care how you did it - there’ll be a clue and someone’ll find it.’

  ‘Hank. You’ve misread me. I couldn’t agree more.’

  ‘Then why the hell did you do it?’

  ‘I didn’t realise the Agency had given me veto power.’

  ‘You should’ve called me.’

  ‘Now you’re starting to sound pretty dumb yourself.’

  Hank had to agree. He just couldn’t believe it.‘There were smarter ways of handling this.’

  ‘There’s one clue lying in the hospital.’

  Hank looked at him. ‘Styx hospital?’

  Mandrick nodded. ‘The lone survivor - from the prisoners, that is. The other one was Gann.’

  Hank shut his eyes and squeezed his temples tightly. ‘Shit. I should’ve guessed that moron was involved.’

  ‘You thought I would get my own hands that dirty?’ Hank pondered the situation for a moment. ‘How do we know he’s not the fed?’ he eventually asked.

  ‘We don’t.’

  Hank went silent again.

  ‘Interesting, isn’t it? We don’t kill him we could be damned, but if we do and he’s the fed . . .’

  ‘It doesn’t seem to bother you,’ Hank said accusingly.

  ‘I take life as it comes.’

  ‘You can afford to.’

  ‘I’m not in control. I’m just a hired hand.’

  ‘And getting well paid, too. How is that offshore bank account? Don’t forget that’s the reason this place came about in the first place.’

  ‘This place was built by your people to interrogate political prisoners.’

  ‘Maybe. But the mine’s drying up, isn’t it? I know that. You people want out now, don’t you? And while we’re on the subject of money, my bank account hasn’t seen any zeros added to it for a couple months now. That looks to me like someone’s planning on leaving without paying the rent that’s due.’

  ‘Why’re you bitching at me? I’m on the same level as you when it comes to distribution.’

  ‘Sure you are. How ’bout we take a look in your safe? I’ll give odds there’s a bag of gems sitting in there right now.’

  Mandrick sighed, tired of the line the conversation was taking. ‘When I first met you at the start of this project you gave me a long and patriotic speech about the purpose of this prison. You cited national security, revenge for nine-eleven, protection of fossil fuels and the lifeline of this great country’s economy. You never mentioned money. I’m not pointing the finger, Hank. In the end it all comes down to money. And you’re due your share.’

  Hank looked away as if Mandrick had wounded him - which, in fact, he had. Hank was a patriot who had lost his way.

  Mandrick saw the effect of his dig but he knew he could not afford to make an enemy out of Hank.‘You’re wrong, anyway. We’re not planning on leaving any time soon. I would know . . . No one’s ripping you off, either. Pay’s been slow the last couple of months because of the market. It’s not the first time. It’ll pick up . . . You’re wrong about the mine, too. It’s doing just fine.’

  Hank regretted his own outburst. He didn’t like to hear himself talking about money. There was a time when he would not have given it a second thought. But he was older now and the disillusionment of the job had been wearing him down over the years. He was still a patriot but he also wanted his share of the spoils since everyone else around him seemed to be getting theirs. There was no end to the stories about people he had either worked with or for who had made fortunes along the way.

  He had begun to weaken around the time he started calculating the pension he could look forward to when he retired, realising how paltry it was considering all he had done for his country. Normally he didn’t lose control the way he just had but the ferry disaster had set him off. It had been a crazy stunt but Mandrick was right. He needed to examine all the implications and possible Agency motives before he did or said anything else. The first thing he wanted to know was why the hell he hadn’t been informed.

  ‘When’s that bitch outta here?’ Hank asked, wanting to change the subject. ‘I came back for a specific interrogation and I don’t feel comfortable while she’s snooping around.’

  ‘I think she’ll be gone tomorrow. I’m doing everything I can to facilitate her.’ Mandrick privately enjoyed the double meaning. ‘Anything I can do in the meantime? ’

  Hank walked over to Mandrick’s drinks cabinet and poured himself a whisky. ‘I need a pre-interrogation.’

  Mandrick picked a pen up off his desk. ‘Who?’

  ‘Durrani. Four seven four five.’

  ‘Duration?’

  ‘I need him ready by tomorrow midday. You need to start right away.’

  ‘He’s not been through pre-int before. That makes it easier.’

  Hank finished his drink and put the glass down. ‘You tell your boss to make sure I get my money. Unless he gets a cave alongside Bin Laden there’s nowhere on this planet he can hide from me.’

  Mandrick hit a button and the door hissed as the seal deflated. Hank walked out of the room, leaving Mandrick with his thoughts. He set them aside, picked up the phone and punched in a number while at the same time opening a computer file. The senior operations controller answered the phone.

  ‘I’ve got a pre-int for Durrani, number four seven four five,’ Mandrick said, consulting his monitor. ‘Cell number three eight eight . . . and get the right cell this time . . . Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just make sure. It’s important. ’

  He put down the phone and sat back to resume thinking.

  Chapter 10

  Stratton, ha
ndcuffs securing his wrists, a clean laundry bag over one shoulder containing his bedsheets, towel and spare underclothes, walked along a dripping, dingy corridor that had been cut through the rock and smelled of strong disinfectant. The roughly hewn ceiling was arched and no more than a couple of feet above his head at the highest points. Water leaked through cracks and ran down the walls, providing moisture for the slimy kelp-like vegetation that clung to the rock in green and grey sheets. A gum-chewing guard wielding a baton which he spun on the end of its leather strap sauntered alongside Stratton. One of the low-voltage fluorescent lights flickered and dimmed up ahead as if it was about to die. The guard gave it a tap with his baton as they passed but the blow had no effect.

  They were on level three which was where all Western prisoners were accommodated. Level one was operations, level two was given over to the kitchen, laundry and galley while level four housed the foreign and Muslim prisoners. The layers below that housed the pumps, storerooms and various pieces of life-support systems machinery and were the main source of the constant humming that filled the prison. Then there were the various split levels and sections that contained the hospital, the ferry dock, Mandrick’s office and what was commonly known as the spook wing where the Agency had its various quarters.

  Stratton and the guard walked along a row of identical heavy steel doors spaced at regular intervals a few metres apart. All were painted in a dull green and displayed brown streaks that radiated from suppurating rust sores. Each had the same characteristic bulging rubber seal around the edges, indicating that they were pressure doors.

  ‘Here we go,’ the guard said, stopping outside one of the doors. ‘Two, one, two.’ He checked a pressure valve on the wall and pushed a button on the side of a small flat-screen monitor inside a clear protective plastic box. A fish-eye image crackled to life, showing a small room with a bed either side of it and a man in prison uniform seated at a small desk. A curtain drawn across one of the corners partially hid a toilet bowl.

  The guard pushed several buttons on a keypad beside the monitor. ‘Pete to OCR,’ he said into a mike clipped to his jacket lapel. ‘Prisoner Charon at cell two one two requires entry.’