by Ethan Cross
Maggie had been fighting to ignore the drying blood and the filth from the trailer still staining her jacket. “I fell. What are you doing out of the hospital?”
Powell looked unsteady, as if he could fall over at any moment. If she had to guess, she would say he was strongly disobeying doctor’s orders by even being out of bed. He said, “I wasn’t about to stare at some hospital room ceiling while my dreams burned.”
“Fair enough. But don’t take that out on her.” Maggie gestured toward the cowering cyber queen.
Powell glanced at Spinelli and closed his eyes. “I apologize, Lisa. I know it’s not your fault.”
Spinelli said, “I understand. It’s totally fine.” But the young blonde thanked Maggie with her eyes.
“Tell me what’s happened,” Maggie said.
“It’s about your friend, the agent you have undercover.”
“He’s not my friend. What’s he done now?”
Powell said, “It’s not so much what he’s done as what his intervention has exposed. Earlier, while we were at the shipping container, Ms. Spinelli called me about the incident involving your non-friend and our resident celebrity, Mr. Lash. I instructed her to hold back certain information from your team.”
“You have to be kidding me. People are dying.”
“I just wanted to make sure that no one went off half-cocked before we had all the information.”
“You just wanted to make sure that no one shut down your pet project and burned your dreams.”
Powell nodded and said, “Yes, that to. But it’s in the past now. We have considerations that are far more important. We need to go speak to your non-friend. If he confirms my fears, I’m going to follow Agent Williams’s advice and evacuate Foxbury.”
*
Maggie, Powell, and Jerry Dunn took the elevator down two floors and then walked through the old lobby. It was a large, open space with a staircase leading up to a reception area. Ackerman was just down the hall from there in the Administrative Segregation Unit, the place where troublemakers went after being subdued.
Ad Seg at Foxbury was actually four separate holding cells with one shared hallway. The cells were all padded and each one had a large window for looking inside. She had seen something similar at a prison in New Jersey where they were using holding areas like this as segregation and suicide watch. She wondered if the residents here could even commit suicide. Would the system allow them to harm themselves or shock them into submission for trying?
A small metal shade that could be slid off to the left covered the monitoring window of the first cell. She guessed they were keeping Ackerman in darkness. Probably treating him as they would any other prisoner, in order to maintain his cover. That was fine with her. She knew Ackerman wouldn’t mind the dark and, even if he did, she could have cared less about his well-being.
Jerry pulled the metal shutter to the side and flipped a switch to turn on the lights inside the cell. She was glad to have Jerry there. She had yet to let her mind wrap itself around the events that had taken place at Clarence O’Neal’s trailer. She felt nauseous and shaky every time the thought of how close she had come to dying caught up with her. An experience like that formed bonds quickly. And Jerry Dunn had been there when she had needed him. She was glad he had stayed and wanted to help.
As Jerry stepped aside, Maggie looked through the viewing window at Ackerman.
He had his right arm in the air, blocking some of the light to help his eyes adjust to the sudden illumination. Then she noticed that a makeshift patch, fashioned from a torn strip of his prison jumpsuit, covered one of his eyes. She wondered if he’d hurt it in the fight with Lash. He was shirtless in a crouch with his back pressed against a corner of the room. He looked feral and powerful. He stood and approached the viewing window. His muscles were coiled and bulging, and he had no trace of fat on him, but his body was also covered with layers of scar tissue. She knew each of those scars had a story. Some of them had come from his father, Ackerman Sr, who was at that very moment withering away in a Supermax prison. But she also knew that many of those other scars had come from his victims and law enforcement fighting back.
She said, “Where’s your shirt?”
“In the corner. It’s hot in here.”
“Put it on.”
“Do my scars make you uncomfortable, little sister?”
“Your existence makes me uncomfortable.”
Ackerman said, “You took your time getting down here. Where’s my brother?”
“We’re trying to do our jobs, not babysit. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”
“You can’t prove that.”
“What’s with the eye patch?”
“I’m maintaining my night vision. I read somewhere recently that the reason pirates wore eye patches was actually for strategic purposes. So they could maintain perfect night vision, which it takes a half hour in darkness or low light to achieve. Say a pirate boards another ship. The people down in the hold would have an advantage over the conqueror because it was often very dark down in the belly of those ships. When the pirate entered, he would essentially be stepping out of the sunlight into darkness and fighting people who could see where he was essentially blind. So, along the way, some above-average swashbuckler realized that he could wear an eye patch and maintain his night vision in one eye. Then he could just switch the patch to the opposite eye or flip it up and continue on with the looting and pillaging.”
“Okay, but why are you wearing one?”
Ackerman said, “It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“It’s not for you. And I think you have more important questions to ask.”
She said, “How did you bypass the security system?”
“I didn’t bypass anything. I provoked Mr. Lash into prematurely revealing his hand. He had a device in his possession which disabled the security system in that room.”
She looked to Powell with a question. But the warden was staring off into space, and there were tears in his eyes.
“Mr. Powell? Are you okay?”
Powell nodded and said, “Yes, we found the device he mentioned. Your undercover agent here managed to kick a breaker and trigger a secondary alert system. Otherwise, I’m not sure what would have happened.”
Ackerman said, “They would have killed me and disposed of the body. I’m sure they had at least some plan for that. But you see, that’s the problem.”
Powell said, “Attempted murder is usually a problem.”
“Work with me, Maggie. Why is an attack like this a problem?”
She said, “There are a lot of problems here. Just tell me.”
“Think about it, little sister.”
She resisted the urge to tear the door open and smash Ackerman’s face in. She said, “It’s obviously pretty disturbing that Leonard Lash is in possession of a device that can bypass the prison’s security.”
“Yes, and why would he ever give that secret away? Why would he ever give away that tactical advantage?”
“We would never have known about the device if you hadn’t kicked that breaker.”
“Wrong,” Ackerman said. “They would have been able to dispose of my body and slip away, but they couldn’t just make the system and everyone here at the prison forget that I ever existed. I’m betting that as soon as they turned off their cloaking device, the prison’s monitoring system would have flagged that my restraints were no longer reading a pulse.”
Powell coughed and leaned against the glass. He looked like he was going to pass out. “Are you going to make it?” she said.
“I’m fine,” Powell said with a bit of a sharp edge to his voice. “I was just going to say that he’s right. I have no idea how they planned to get away with killing or even injuring him.”
Maggie finally saw it.
She said, “They were going to leave the device in there with you and stuff you into one of the machines.”
“Probably something li
ke that.”
Powell shook his head. “No, that would have prolonged it a bit. But the laundry staff starts at 5:00 a.m. They would have found the body almost immediately. Then we could have just watched the tape of who entered and left the room. We would have had the murder tracked back to Lash before breakfast.”
Maggie checked her Apple watch. It was nearly two in the morning. She said, “It’s because they knew things would already be in motion by that time.”
Ackerman added, “I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet. I’ve been expecting it to come at any moment.”
“Expecting what to come?” Powell asked.
“The conclusion of your experiment, Mr. Powell.”
“I know we have some issues here, and we’re going to—”
Ackerman said, “You still haven’t put these pieces together yet, have you? The shooting incident was to remove opposition and ensure that there wouldn’t be any power struggles once the lights went out.”
Maggie said, “But the games?”
“A distraction. He has Marcus racing all over the countryside like a horse with its eyeballs scooped out.”
Maggie grimaced. “Thanks for that image.”
“Is that not a saying?” Ackerman shrugged. “Anyway, the point is that the theatrics are to keep everyone’s focus away from the prison, where the real game is about to begin. And he’s successfully sent the lead investigator and all the tactical units far away from Foxbury.”
Powell said, “Who is he? Who is Judas?”
Ackerman shrugged again. “I can’t do everything for you.”
Maggie said, “We need to evacuate.”
Powell rubbed at both his temples. Tears were forming in his eyes. “I’ve already ordered all non-essential personnel moved out. Which wasn’t too difficult at this hour. Most of the doctors and barbers and such are already at home in bed.”
Maggie said, “We’ll need to coordinate with the sheriff’s department to transport the prisoners somewhere. Or maybe it would be easier to just use the sheriff’s department as extra guards. Completely bypass the software.”
Ackerman knocked his fist four times against the reinforced window. He said, “If I may interject, you only have one chance at stopping this.”
Maggie was about to beat the answer out of him when the lights dimmed and then extinguished completely. A flashing red glow replaced the warm white light of the fluorescents.
Maggie said, “What is this, Powell?”
“It looks like a lockdown. Like a threat level red was triggered.” He snatched the handheld radio from his side and called out for Spinelli. But there was no answer other than the static hum of dead air.
Ackerman started laughing. He walked over to the corner and picked up his shirt. He slipped it over his shoulders, popped his neck, and stretched his arms. Then he walked over to the security door to his high-security padded cell. He pushed through the door like the cell was just his bedroom and he was coming out to join the family.
Ackerman said, “As I was saying before Foxbury returned to the stone age, you can’t let them take the control room. It might be your one shot at stopping them from taking over completely.”
Powell said, “The restraint system should still be active.”
Ackerman rolled his eyes. Then he punched Jerry Dunn in the face. It was a quick jab that caught everyone by surprise and left the young correctional officer on the ground.
Maggie rushed forward to help Jerry and screamed at Ackerman to get away from him. She pulled her gun and pointed it at Ackerman. “Get back in that cell!”
Ackerman took a step toward her. “Or what?”
“I’ll do it. I will kill you. Just give me a reason.”
“I’m sorry, little sister. I didn’t mean to imply that I didn’t think you had the balls to pull the trigger. I just wanted to hear you say the words. I’m glad to inspire such passion in you.”
“Get in the cell.”
“It doesn’t lock anymore.”
“We’ll figure something out.”
“I don’t think so. You need my help.”
“I don’t need anything from you.”
Ackerman sighed. “We don’t have time for this. Mr. Powell, where was Leonard Lash taken after our scuffle?”
“He and all of his men were taken to the infirmary.”
“And they would still be there now?”
“That’s right.”
“And where is that located?”
“Just down the hall from here.”
Ackerman nodded. “So we’re sitting directly between the infirmary, where Lash was being held, and the control room, where he’ll be headed now.”
Powell said, “I suppose so.”
Maggie asked, “Why is the control room so important?”
Ackerman said, “Let’s talk about that in a moment. Right now, you should probably concern yourself most with the group of large, angry African-American gentlemen who will be storming into this room at any moment with the intention of ending our lives.”
*
Marcus told Ian Navarro, “My son, Dylan, he’s about your age. He’s actually here in Tucson. Maybe we could get the two of you together before we fly back to DC.”
The scared little boy didn’t acknowledge him. He hadn’t spoken a word since Marcus had carried him from the mine. Ian and his mother, Renata, sat in the back of an ambulance parked just outside the mine’s entrance. Renata had latched onto Marcus in much the same way he had seen kidnapped children do when reuniting with their parents. He didn’t blame her after all they’d been through. She was just looking for any stable ground to stand on.
Renata said, “I’m sure he would love to meet your son.”
Marcus said, “He’s big into Legos and action figures. He takes an old suitcase full of them with him everywhere he goes. You into Legos, Ian? Dylan loves using them to create his own little worlds.”
A paramedic said, “We’re good to transport them, sir.”
“Great.” Then to Renata he said, “If you need anything, you have my card. Don’t hesitate to call, even if you just need someone to talk to. I don’t give very good advice, but I’m cheap.”
She smiled and said, “Thank you, Agent Williams. I don’t know how to thank you. You …”
She started to tear up, and Marcus said, “I tell you what. You send me a Christmas card and a family photo every year, and we’ll call it even.”
As the paramedics loaded them up and closed the doors, Renata gave him one last nod of thanks and, for the briefest of moments, Marcus felt like a good man who did good things.
From behind him, Sheriff Hall said, “Nice call with the breaching shotgun.”
“I have my moments.”
“We’re working on recovering Reese’s body and the tablet, but it’s going to take some time. The insurance company says we have to call in cave rescue and mining experts.”
“You’re a by-the-book kind of guy, aren’t you, Sheriff?”
Hall got that far-off look again, same as he had during the briefing. Marcus said, “What’s bothering you?”
“It’s nothing. Just thought this kind of thing was behind me.”
“Where were you on the job before this?”
“Detroit.”
“Detroit SWAT? That had to be rough.”
“It had its days. What about you?”
“Brooklyn Homicide.”
“Wow. One of the best departments in the country. And I hear it’s becoming a hip place to live now.”
“Yeah, a lot’s changed there since I was a kid.”
Sheriff Hall gave a nod. “The world never ends up being the way we thought it would be.”
One of Hall’s men, of the full-tactical-gear variety, ran up and announced, “Sir, I think something’s wrong at the prison. We just lost all communication.”
*
Demon stared at the block wall and waited for the first part of the plan to begin—a plan that he had helped devise. Of cours
e, no matter how much hand he had in the design, he would never have set foot inside Foxbury. He was only here now because the law demanded it. His law. A cardinal sin had been committed, and retribution would be swift and come directly from him. That was the law. It was what the Legion demanded.
And it gave him a chance to get out and stretch his legs a bit. Spread his claws and keep them sharp.
As he watched the block wall, it started bleeding. The grout between the blocks became veins. The aged concrete became as flesh. Then the veins burst, and maggots spewed out of them. Thousands of tiny bodies. They were all screaming. They each had their own small voice. They were screaming his name. His real name.
And then the falling maggots struck the concrete floor of his cell. They burst into black tar and morphed into millions of tiny flying creatures, all of them different. Different faces, characteristics, and numbers of limbs.
He could feel the tiny creatures more than he could see them. And he could hear their songs. Their siren calls. Telling him to bite into his own wrists.
He ignored it all, as best he could. But there was always something there, something strange right outside the corner of his eye. Something shrieking, growling, calling his name, or hurling insults.
The Legion was currently criticizing him for letting things go this far. Maybe he should have stepped in earlier and put an end to Judas and his machinations. But he had been curious. And he enjoyed a good piece of theater as much as anyone; as long as it was a tragedy, and everyone died in the end.
The lights in the hall flashed to red, and he heard the lock to his cell click as it disengaged.
The dark man had been crouching like a spider in the corner of the room, but now he stood and moved toward the door.
Demon stood and followed.
*
Ackerman felt like a curtain of blood had fallen over the sun. The red glow permeated everything. He supposed the system had been built with a fail-safe evacuation setting. Something the new program hadn’t overwritten. Some switch built into the foundation programming, which told the emergency lighting to kick on in the case of all hell breaking loose. And, as Ackerman watched the red glow, he felt as if hell truly had come to Foxbury.
