The thinnest of smiles came to Gann’s lips. ‘Use Palanski.’
‘Palanski?’ Mandrick was unaware of any significant connection between Palanski and Gann. ‘Why him?’
‘He’s a leak,’ Gann said. ‘He’s been talking to a journalist. They’ve met a coupla times already. We’ve been wondering what to do with him.’
We?This was another reminder that Gann had sources and controllers that bypassed Mandrick’s own authority. It had CIA written all over it. Mandrick showed no hint of surprise or disapproval. Palanski was a fool for going outside the corporation and deserved whatever he got anyway.
‘They won’t survive,’ Gann said reassuringly, as if Mandrick needed convincing.
‘That will be unfortunate,’ Mandrick said, checking a screen on his computer monitor. ‘Ferry four is officially operable.’
Gann knew nothing about Mandrick beyond his role in the prison. He suspected that the man might be weak. Treating him as a boss was an act. Mandrick was the warden but Gann did indeed answer directly to others and looked upon his official prison duties simply as a cover for his real purpose. Mandrick’s cold willingness to be complicit in the deaths of so many people did, however, impress Gann. Mandrick obviously had to have some kind of background that qualified him for the position. But what Gann didn’t know he didn’t particularly care about as long as it did not directly affect him.‘It must be important,’ Gann said, wondering if Mandrick knew more about what lay behind the plot.
Mandrick would not tell Gann the precise nature of the problem, that the victim was an FBI agent - it might even have negative implications if he did. This sabotage was a serious act of desperation and had ‘endgame’ stamped clearly right through it.The writing was on the wall.
Mandrick didn’t want anyone prematurely jumping ship, not before him. If the feds were snooping around it was a warning that the party was coming to a close. The death of one of their agents might only accelerate it. But perhaps the end could be delayed, which was clearly what the Agency was hoping for. It suited Mandrick too.The mine was still generating cash while the CIA was extracting information from Taliban and al-Qaeda insurgents. All affected parties wanted it to go on for as long as possible.
Mandrick made a mental note to start putting together his escape plans in greater detail.‘We can afford to have at least one serious mishap, I suppose,’ he said as he touched a button on his desk and another gush of air announced the opening of the door.
Gann smirked, wondering if Mandrick knew anything at all. He walked out of the room.
The door closed behind him with a clunk and yet another hiss of air and Mandrick looked once more at the names of the men who were going to die. He dropped the paper onto his desk, walked over to an antique bureau, opened it up and took out a bottle of fine Scotch. He poured himself a small glass and took a sip.
Chapter 8
The prison truck slowed to a crawl in order to negotiate a fat speed-bump, its chains and metal innards rattling as it lurched over it. Out of the corner of his eye Stratton watched the guard pull himself to his feet.
Jerry had scrutinised Stratton when he’d eventually climbed back inside the van after the police had arrived at the scene of the escape on the highway. The guard’s expression conveyed his irritation with the prisoner for not being of any help to the investigators.
While a medic had cleaned Stratton’s wounds and inspected his body for anything more serious a police officer had questioned him. For the most part Stratton just shook his head and mumbled how he had seen nothing. They eventually left him alone, unsure if he was telling the truth or simply protecting a fellow con. Stratton felt confident that neither of the guards was suspicious about his identity.They were preoccupied by their own problems and were also still suffering some minor after-effects of the strobe.
Before the police had arrived the guards had huddled outside the truck, trying to clarify the events leading up to the escape. They were worried about their descriptions of the strange hypnotic device and wondered if they would be taken seriously. Harry described a multicoloured flashing light while Chuck remembered the man in the bushes pointing something at them that was not a gun. Jerry could only remember feeling nauseous, followed by an intense paranoid feeling that he was going to die. It all sounded too much like science fiction.
The first thing the police did on hearing the story was to breathalyse all three of them and then take samples of their blood for testing. The cops eventually provided an escort for the rest of the journey while the investigation continued.
Stratton was pleased with how it had gone. He had successfully passed through the phase that many in the planning department had considered the greatest gamble - mainly because it had been left entirely up to the Americans who had failed to send through a photograph of Nathan Charon to confirm the degree of likeness between him and Stratton. Handing control of such an important segment of the operation over to any other outfit had always been going to be difficult but the Yanks had, Stratton reckoned, just about come through, with a little help from Todd’s fists. So far, so good. The rest of the journey into the prison would be relatively straightforward.
The vehicle continued slowly around a tight corner before it came to a stop. The guard walked to the rear doors and waited beside Stratton.The outside latch was pulled aside with a heavy clunk and fluorescent light spilled into the cabin as the doors creaked open.
Jerry climbed out of the back and exchanged greetings with several men. Another guard climbed in and unshackled Stratton from his wrist and ankle chains. ‘Let’s go,’ he said and Stratton got to his feet. ‘Prisoner coming out!’ he shouted and Stratton was helped down.
‘Stand still,’ Stratton was ordered as his feet touched the concrete floor surface inside a large hangar. A robust wire-mesh belt was fastened around his waist and his hand shackles were secured to it, in front of his stomach.
Chuck appeared from the front cab, holding out a box file. ‘Here’s his files,’ he said to the handover guard who took the metal box.
‘Hey, you managed to bring half of ’em home,’ the handover guard said sarcastically, much to the amusement of the others. ‘Walk on,’ he said to Stratton as another guard joined them.
Several more prison wagons were parked around the hangar, with clusters of guards standing around them, chatting and smoking. Stratton walked up a short flight of metal stairs onto a concrete platform and stopped in front of a heavy-duty steel door. The handover guard pressed a button on the wall by the door, a buzzer sounded inside and he looked up at a video camera. ‘Come on, wake up,’ he mumbled impatiently. Seconds later there was an electrical buzz followed by a clunk.
The guard pulled the steel door open and Stratton was led into a white room where a female officer seated inside a steel cubicle watched them from behind a thick glass window. The guard bringing up the rear closed the door behind them and a red light above another steel door on the other side of the room turned green. ‘Walk on,’ the female officer said over a loudspeaker.
The two guards moved Stratton towards the door, one of them in front, the other behind. The handover guard pushed open the steel door and they entered a sterile concrete corridor with a high ceiling. Halfway along they turned and entered a room with yet another heavy steel door already open.
Stratton was led to a metal bench that was bolted to the wall.When he sat down a chain attached to the bench was threaded through rings on his mesh belt and fastened with a lock.The handover guard left the room while the other stayed by the door, one hand on his holstered baton alongside a Mace dispenser, a zapper and a radio.