‘I’m not your social secretary Tate.’
She picked up her towel and began to walk towards the door.
‘You’ve got time for a shower, then in fifteen minutes I’m to take you through to the Governor’s office.’
‘The Governor?’ Gerry echoed, intrigued.
‘Yes. Hurry up.’
After her shower the prison officer was waiting in the changing room.
‘Ok where’s your stuff? I have to check it.’
Gerry watched the prison officer go through her clothes, first by feel and then with a metal detector.
‘Ok now you please.’ She placed the metal detector by her crotch and then had her turn round. A few years ago a new guard had attempted to search her by hand with unnecessary vigour. She had dislocated and broken three fingers on the intrusive hand. The other guard present had begged her to stop, not daring to try and prevent the punishment meted out by prisoner Tate 1167832. She was too scared of her.
‘Do you think I might attack this visitor?’ Gerry asked, interested in the unusual precautions.
‘I don’t know. You’re to be taken to the governor’s office. That’s all I know.’
‘That’s certainly unusual,’ said Gerry. ‘Maybe she’s going to let me out of here.’
‘Well it certainly won’t be for good behaviour. I’ve got more chance of winning the lottery than you have of being given probation. Here, get dressed.’
Gerry followed the prison officer through the security gates along a corridor to the governor’s interview room. The governor was sitting behind her desk and to one side stood a man slightly over six feet tall, physically strong; still good looking although his well-cut blond hair had a little grey in it. Her rapid calculation placed his age at fifty-three. She swallowed hard. ‘Richard Cornwall,’ she said, ‘what the fuck are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to get you released,’ he replied.
She stood still, then sat down on the chair in front of the desk and breathed deeply for a few seconds. ‘Has someone admitted I was set up? Have you got someone else for Furness’s murder?’
‘Gerry, we have something for you to do for us, and if you cooperate then we’ll make sure you get a chance of parole in another year or so.’
‘What?’ she blurted out after a few more seconds of amazed silence. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Why the fuck do you think I would want to work for you bastards again?’ she replied, trying without success to keep the furious tremor out of her voice.
‘As I said, so you can get out of here.’
‘But I like it here. Ask the governor; ask any of the staff or prisoners. That’s why my applications for parole get refused.’
‘I want you to come up to the office to discuss matters. We’ll tell you what we want you to do and perhaps you could give it some thought.’
‘No bloody way,’ Gerry declared. ‘You can bugger off. The only way I’d do anything for you is if my sentence was set aside and I was released immediately, then I might consider it. But I’m not going to do any more assassinations for you.’
Cornwall exchanged a glance with the governor who looked askance at this statement. ‘You didn’t hear that did you?’ The governor slowly shook her head, looking slightly pale. He looked back at Gerry. ‘Ok — agreed,’ he said with a quick nod of his head
‘What?’
Cornwall picked up a suitcase that stood against the wall. ‘These are some of your clothes and personal effects which I had picked up from your flat. There’s a new set of toiletry items. I’ve had your place cleaned and it’s all in order. You seem to be pretty much the same shape so the clothes should fit you. The governor and I have some paperwork to complete so can we leave in about forty minutes?’
Gerry stared at him in open mouthed silence.
‘I’ll take you to the official visitor’s apartment,’ said the governor. ‘You can use the facilities there. I don’t want you talking to any of the staff or inmates.’
Gerry followed her in silence along a corridor, through another gate. ‘I can’t believe I’m getting out of here!’ she blurted out as the governor showed her the bathroom.
‘Neither can I, Tate. I’m sure you don’t deserve it. I’ll be back in half an hour.’
Gerry ran herself a hot bath and dumped in a generous quantity of foam. She lowered herself in and laughed out loud, then burst into tears, rubbed her eyes making them sting from soap and then smiled in delight.
‘Perhaps you can tell me what’s been going on at the office for the last few years,’ Gerry asked as they set off together in Cornwall’s chauffeured car. ‘Who’s retired; who’s been promoted, who’s been kicked out, besides me.’
‘Well Don Jarvis retired last year, through ill health.’
‘That bastard!’ Gerry exclaimed. ‘Something life-threatening, I hope.’
‘Er… heart, I think.’
‘So who’s Director of Operations, now?’
‘I am actually. Of course there’ve been many changes over the last few years. We now have…’ He realised that Gerry was staring out of the window at the countryside flashing past and no longer listening to him and he continued his surreptitious examination of her. Despite having seen recent photographs he had somehow expected her to look no different from the young woman who had been expelled from the service and imprisoned. Now her face was showing the signs of approaching middle age. Her hair was tied back severely in a ponytail. She wore no make-up but her face was still attractive, the cheeks thinner with a few lines that seemed to emphasise her determined character. There was the same tall frame that now seemed even more muscular. He noticed that her fingernails looked badly bitten. After a few minutes she looked round at him.
‘Sorry, you were in the middle of telling me.’
‘Sir Hugh Fielding has left us, and is now in charge of overall security strategy for the government, although of course he maintains close links with us lot left behind hewing at the coal face. We’re much like any other Government department these days. Part time contracts; working from home; flexible hours.’ He smiled. ‘I regret to say that Arabic language skills are still rather thin on the ground. All the clever linguists at university seem to want to learn Spanish and Chinese these days, and then they get well-paid jobs in the city.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve sprung me from jail because you need a translator,’ said Gerry. ‘And if you think I’m going to carry out some suicidal mission for you as a price of freedom you can forget it!’
‘No it’s nothing like that,’ Cornwall assured her. ‘As you are no doubt aware, shortly after his inauguration, President Obama announced that the prison camp at Guantanamo Bay will be closed. He gave his people a year to move the detainees out and then close the facility. The timetable has slipped a few years, shall we say, but some of the people are our own citizens, and have already returned home, with a couple more to follow. Others will return to their own countries, and some will be going to third countries because their own governments have threatened them with, how shall I put it, further sanctions? Some of these people are suitably chastened and will return to a peaceful life; others are diehard terrorists and will no doubt attempt to return to their former wicked ways. Many will fall in between, and could go either way depending on the reception they receive when they return, or who their friends and associates are. They hope to prosecute some of the worst cases and send them to conventional prisons on the US mainland. They don’t have evidence against many of them though, which of course is why they’re still in Cuba, and the detention centre is still open some years later.’