by Ethan Cross
“But I’m guessing that if your ideas are adopted more widely, then it would significantly cut into the bottom line at PSI.”
“I suppose so, but not enough for them to kill people over it. They wouldn’t have to go that far. There’s probably a hundred different ways they could sabotage this project without shedding blood. They have those kinds of resources. Hell, their lawyers are slick enough they could probably shut me down legally.”
“When money’s involved, there’s no limit to how far some people will go.”
Powell shook his head. “Then why put a note into the pocket of my lead programmer and shove him into traffic?”
“Maybe to raise the profile of the case. I’m not sure yet. But don’t worry. I don’t make assumptions. I’ll find the truth and accept it for what it is, warts and all.”
Powell spread his arms. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. How can I best assist with all the finding and accepting?”
Marcus thought for a moment and said, “The first thing I need to see is what your shooter saw just before he pulled the trigger.”
*
Spinelli typed and clicked and transformed the display wall into a window into the yard and Tower 3 on the day of the shooting. The cameras seemed to be everywhere, every location covered by multiple angles.
Marcus asked, “Do you have this many camera angles all around the prison?”
“Everywhere,” Spinelli said.
“Bathrooms?”
“Lots of incidents occur there,” Powell said. “Privacy, remember? That’s what these men have given up.”
“What about meetings with their lawyers?”
“Legally, we can’t watch that. In most cases anyway. But there are cameras in that room, which are active whenever it’s not in use. So no inmate can try to sneak in there to avoid detection. When it is in use, we flag that room as not viewable.”
Spinelli said, “Where do you want to start on the videos?”
“Tower 3 interior and then the yard,” Marcus said. Then he looked to Powell and added, “Do you have files on all the shooting victims? Our briefing materials only had names.”
“Absolutely. I actually assumed you would want those, but we hadn’t put them together before you flew out. I wanted to make sure they were comprehensive, and so I had some of the watch commanders type up a summary of what they knew about these men. I thought that may save you some legwork and time.”
“That’s very helpful, but I prefer to do my own interviews,” Marcus said, again wondering how Powell and the Director knew one another.
Spinelli played the video showing the interior of Tower 3. Ray Navarro climbed out from a hatch in the floor. Navarro seemed on edge. He kept shaking and running his hands through his hair. But then he seemed to go through the standard preparations of a tower guard coming on shift. Or, at least, what looked normal to Marcus.
Navarro loaded the rifle and started picking out targets.
Marcus said, “Can you back that up ten seconds and pull in closer on Navarro?”
The display changed to the specifications he had requested and resumed playing.
Marcus watched Navarro closely. He could see the sniper sight in on a target, shift to another, and another in quick succession. But without firing. A dry run. Then Navarro repeated the same movements. He lined up his shots.
Marcus imagined what Navarro was seeing through his scope and said, “Can you pause it there and bring up the corresponding time on the yard cameras?”
When the video changed to a high-definition overview of the yard, Marcus pictured himself from Navarro’s point of view. He tried to imagine what Navarro was seeing. The video played out showing the yard, the men being shot, and the chaos that followed. The victims had all fallen in the areas Marcus guessed that Navarro had sighted in on during his practice movements.
“Can you show me the video of Navarro again?”
Spinelli played the video, and Marcus counted as Navarro moved. He noticed four distinct times when the sniper sighted in on something, held for a millisecond, and then moved on. Four stops. Four victims. Four pulls of a trigger. Four dead men.
On the video displays, Navarro again followed his practice movements with the real thing as he carried out the deed. Marcus noted that Navarro followed the exact series of movements on the real thing as he had on the dry run. The only difference being that he actually shot.
Four pulls of a trigger. Four dead men. But not four random men. Four targets. Four men chosen for a specific reason.
*
Powell led Marcus and the others, including Ms. Spinelli, out of Control Center West and through the newly renovated manufacturing plant. Marcus inspected the industrial equipment and machines and tried to act as if he had some clue as to the function of any of the metal monstrosities that filled the huge, open warehouse.
Marcus said, “License plates?”
Powell laughed. “Hardly … One of the companies backing my project is responsible for manufacturing everything from pipe fittings to coffee collars. When we open this industrial wing six months from now, it will make this old building the fourth-largest manufacturing facility in the state.”
The tour continued forward through some hallways, which still maintained the original 1950s decor and ambiance. Then they came to an extremely sophisticated security checkpoint equipped with massive steel doors. Powell waved his fingers at the nearby camera, and the thick metal barrier crawled slowly open.
Powell said, “The old asylum building is actually a quarter mile from here. We did the math, and it was more advantageous to dig an underground tunnel between the two buildings. Plus, it also allows us to control who has access between the two. Just another level of security.”
The walls and floors of the tunnel were cold concrete, but iridescent bulbs casting out a spectrum of colors had been installed every few feet. Their warm glow made the space seem more natural and less industrial. Marcus had seen the same technique used in a few airports that had built tunnels like this between separate terminals.
“This whole area,” Powell said, “was once a thriving industrial zone, but most of the factories were just husks by the time we bought them up. I think the decline had something to do with the interstate being moved. In the 1970s and ’80s, these two buildings were updated a bit though. The asylum owned both buildings and used the factory to make … plastic cups, I believe.”
Andrew said, “So the asylum put its patients to work in the same way you plan to?”
“I certainly can’t take credit for the idea of putting inmates to work. That’s something that’s been done on many occasions throughout history. Although, working conditions are quite a bit better now.”
They repeated the procedure at the security door at the other end of the tunnel and followed another concrete corridor to another checkpoint which opened directly into the prison’s mess hall.
From there on, Marcus felt like he had stepped back into the 1970s. The tile was pale green and speckled. The walls had once been white block but were now a dingy yellow. The place smelled just as he would have expected. Like a mildewed, musty old room holding thirty sweaty men in the summertime. The residents sat around dented metal tables, eating meatloaf and mashed potatoes. The room would have held at least five times as many diners. Marcus only saw four guards. And no overwatch towers, which meant no armed guards in range to do anything.
He also noticed that the tables were divided along racial and gang lines, just as he had seen at other prisons. ”I thought your software eliminated gangs in prisons.”
Powell didn’t slow his pace but glanced over at the inmates. “It eliminates gang violence. I never claimed to have a cure for human nature. Birds of a feather and all that.”
Once inside the actual prison complex, there was little in the way of security. Marcus said, “How many guards are typically on duty?”
“Usually twenty-five guards, plus if you count the civilian technical staff on overwatch in the two con
trol rooms—there’s a control room like the one you saw in both the manufacturing facility and the residential complex. So I guess if you count the civilians who are working video security, then we have thirty-five security people on duty at one time.”
“Twenty-five guards and one hundred inmates. That’s actually not as bad a ratio as I was expecting.”
Powell said, “Actually, we’re up to two hundred and twenty-five on the residents and are bringing in more each day as we ramp up for phase two, which will see us at a thousand strong. And at that point, we’ll still have the same number of guards and staff.”
“You don’t think that’s reckless?”
“This program is designed to run an entire prison system off of a skeleton crew. Now that we’ve proven the viability of the system, I’d be comfortable having ten guards. It’s hard to bypass the civilian specialty workers. The doctors and barbers and maintenance and office workers and such. But you have to remember, the guards here at Foxbury are just the cleanup crew and failsafe. Saint Nick does all the real security work.”
Marcus shook his head in disgust. “This whole place scares me.”
“You don’t trust the system? Even after seeing a demonstration and hearing our record of success?”
“I’m not a tech expert, but I do know one thing. At some point, technology always fails. Whatever can happen will happen. And to be perfectly honest, Warden Powell, I’d like to be as far away from here as possible when you learn that lesson.”
Powell stopped and turned back to Marcus. “Technology most certainly does fail, Agent Williams, but not nearly as often as people.”
*
The Director kept quiet during the walk over from Control Center West and the manufacturing facility. When he initially toured the prison, he had asked Powell several of the same questions that Marcus had been asking.
But Powell, invariably the politician, had a response for every argument. The Director had always thought Powell to be an idealist and a dreamer, and it seemed that the years had only strengthened that flaw in his old friend. Now, Powell was in for some hard lessons.
The Director’s phone vibrated against his leg. He pulled it out and checked the display. The call was from Fagan.
To the group, he said, “I have to take this call. I’ll catch up to you.”
“We have a problem,” Fagan said on the other end of the line.
“Don’t we always.”
“It’s Ackerman.”
The Director closed his eyes. “How many are dead?”
“What? Oh no, nothing like that. But I suppose it could be just as bad in the end.”
“What does that mean?”
“I just got off the phone with an assistant director at the CIA. They want to get Ackerman out of their detention facility.”
“I thought we had that cleared up. Ackerman helps with their R&D teams, and he gets to stay as long as we want.”
“You misunderstand me, Philip. They want him out of there and working for them.”
“Doing what?”
“They didn’t say, but I’m guessing that they’d like him to do what he does best. They just want him to do it for them.”
The Director had heard stories of the government recruiting killers to do their dirty work before. And there was no question that Ackerman had the skill set to remove any enemy of the state, foreign or domestic.
He said, “What are our options?”
“We don’t have any. I was chosen to oversee this task force for a reason, Philip. When I was a DA in Boston, I screwed up the case of a man who had killed five little girls. He walked because of me. And it wasn’t long before he had killed again. That was on me, and I vowed that I would never again let a killer go free. Not on my watch. The attorney general knew that story, and my experiences made him put his trust in me to be your liaison with his office. And now, I’m about to fail him and break a promise to myself.”
The Director looked through the windows in the chow hall door at all of the inmates gathered there. “What if we put Ackerman to work for us instead?”
“We’ve been over this. I won’t put a killer like Ackerman back on the streets. We have no idea what he would do.”
The Director smiled. “Who said anything about putting him out on the street?”
*
Powell led them through the prison’s long, hospital-style corridors and up to a secure checkpoint, the only one Marcus had seen since entering the residential complex. After passing through, they took an elevator up and exited into a room that was nearly identical to the other control room, with the addition of a spiral staircase leading up to another level. Powell started telling them about their rehabilitation and education programs, but Marcus wasn’t really listening. His mind was on the case. And he didn’t like how the pieces were fitting together.
When the Director entered, Marcus asked Powell if they could have some privacy.
The warden led them up to a small conference area connected to Control Center East. A dark, boardroom-style table occupied the center of the room, which smelled of fresh paint. Marcus leaned against the edge of the table and waited for Powell to leave.
Once they were alone, Marcus said, “I don’t think we should get involved with this case. This whole thing is a powder keg for controversy and spectacle. Fagan has lectured me countless times about avoiding both those things. We’re not supposed to draw any attention to ourselves or the SO.”
The Director said, “Already handled.”
“Care to share?”
“I’m bringing in an FBI agent who worked with Powell and me back in the days of old. And before you even ask, the answer is yes. Powell knows who we are. He was a part of my team when I was you. He’s the Andrew to your me.”
“You and I are nothing alike.”
“I don’t think you believe that, but Powell and Andrew are very different as well. Andrew maintains the peace diplomatically. Powell shoves it down your throat.”
“He seems to have some good ideas. Even though they’ll never work or be accepted by the mainstream.”
“He’s a fool. He always has been.”
Marcus started to speak, but the Director cut him off. “Before you even ask, there’s no drama there between Powell and me. Not all of our lives are quite so complicated as yours.”
Marcus wasn’t convinced but said, “It doesn’t matter as long as it doesn’t get in my way. But even with an FBI buffer, we’re letting it all hang out here. If this thing blows up as big as I think it will, there’s a real potential for some reporter to want to dig deep into our lives. And I mean going beyond the fake backgrounds we all have. Beyond our fabricated, glossy cover stories.”
“You’re saying this because the victims weren’t just chosen at random? I already saw that on the video. What does that really change? We know that Navarro’s hand was forced. And the real killer outed himself with that note.”
“But if your only goal here is to kill and create a spectacle, then why kill those specific victims? Why wind Navarro up and point him at those men?”
The Director shrugged. ”Because they pissed him off in some way only he understands. That’s something for us to figure out. I still don’t see how that makes this case any higher profile than our others. What did you see on that tape?”
“I didn’t just notice that Navarro was carefully choosing his targets. I noticed who his targets were on the food chain. Each target was at the center of a cluster of men. Black, brown, yellow—this guy didn’t discriminate. He told Navarro to kill the top gang leaders.”
“How could you tell that from seeing them in the yard?”
“Because each of those men was the center of attention in their group. If they weren’t the alpha, then they were a major up and comer.”
Marcus could tell the Director was starting to get the picture. Marcus leaned in close and said, “It’s nothing definitive. But why take out a player in each group?”
The Director nodded and said, “Be
cause you want to take over. But still, what’s the point in here? There’s no black market or drug business to take over. You know what. That doesn’t matter right now. I’m saying that I get it. This goes big and deep and has the potential to wrap us up. But we are handling this for Powell. He’s a friend of the organization. I’ll take care of the public relations end of things. You just get in this guy’s head and catch him. That’s your concern. Plus, I think I know a way to make taking on this particular case just as personal for you as it is for Powell.”
“How’s that?”
“I just got off the phone with Fagan. Your big brother is going to be giving us a hand on this one.”
“What? I thought Fagan—”
“Ackerman is being prepped for transport as we speak.”
*
“I’m not exactly happy about this,” Fagan said.
Ackerman laughed. “Trever, please. You really must stop trying to play the role of the idealist. It doesn’t suit you. I don’t care what mistake from your past it is you’re trying to cover. At your core, you’re an ambitious realist. You want to be attorney general some day. Maybe even more. But men who rise to those heights always have one thing in common. Think of every great leader in history. Disregard beliefs and whether or not they are perceived as good or evil. All that is irrelevant. All those leaders who were legendary for their leadership skills, those who set the minds and hearts of a populace on fire. All of them did one thing very well.”
Fagan rolled his eyes. “Oh, please do enlighten me.”
Ackerman had been secured to a metal gurney that had been tilted up, but he was still inside the cube of four-and-a-half-inch-thick, clear polycarbonate material that had served as his home over the past year. The cage that he had allowed to temporarily contain him.
